With a million objects flying around your head like a sandstorm, you're left with two "options" - stop and pick an object to focus on, something to represent the chaos that now surrounds you. Or to hide. Forget. Run away. Images and moments that never last more than ... well, the moment.
I find this difficult to get to grips with sometimes. This overcomplicated reality of ours. This one that I've fed into. I mean, I believe in a "simple" existence with games and music and books and the occasional film. The slimy theatrical personage paid enough money to feed a million starving children - and why? Because he can portray another character with lame familiarity? I don't understand this concept of paying more than 20 million pounds to some shit-licking football player who does NOTHING to really contribute to the planet and our existence. Does his playing football somehow eradicate poverty and disease in the boroughs of his own city? I think not. Then why are these people glorified? Their lives and friendships? Why not doctors and paramedics who go out on a limb every single day of their lives to rescue those that were otherwise lost? This sickens me. Fuckin shit-fuckers - each and every one of them.
Yet, at times, in my weaker moments, I subscribe to their mass-media entertainment. I'm not much better. A product of the masses. I want to fit in. Be a part of it. A cog in the machine of the ever evolving party that is society and peers that I have not.
In this "ever-so simple life" of mine (have I mentioned how much Paris Hilton sickens me?), there's been a measure of gaming. A recent dive into the extraordinary mind of Tim Schafer's Psychonauts sets one thinking about the possibilities of gaming landscapes. My upcoming play with Shadow of the Colossus has me wetting all undergarments in excitement. ;D And Sid Meier's genius continues to blow me away in the simplicity of Civilization 4.
The other day, I was quite shaken by work. More so by people at work. When I think about this now, I can't really find a reason, a point to focus on, that I can highlight as being the moment that broke me. But somewhere in a series of events was one that cracked me down to a broken mass - so much so that I don't want to face the one that cracked my spirit and hope. It's strange and quite painful.
Where do you expect us to go when the bombs fall? Where indeed?
Till it falls upon my shoulders to carry my shell that extra moment.
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1 comment:
"why not doctorsand paramedics who go out on a limb every single day of their lives to rescue those that were otherwise lost?"
Its simple, dear. Because they don't have time to waste on TV like the wastrels you speak of.
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