inreaction

we found some free candles.

free in the sense that no one was asking us to pay for them–in fact, no one was really asking us about them at all. regardless, it’s two twenty-two and sunday is dawning in the same way the flickering flame is throwing the darkness on the walls around, bending them, blotting them, and teasing them away with the promise of warmth.

of course, that only holds true until solid turns to liquid and the flicker turns to no more–as does its purpose as night turns even more decidedly into day.

we found some free candles.

we found in the sense that a dear friend’s face lit up when he realized they were his for the taking–as a matter of assuredness, we were all quite overjoyed when we discovered that not only where they without an attentive owner, but that they were quite fond of my warm pocket.

ironic, of course, that objects that used to serve for warmth would cower from the supposed cold behind layers of woolen coat.

we found some free candles.

candles in the sense that they only need fire to produce a prolonged flickering that can be both fascinating, comforting, and painful. they burn–and they soothe. they’ve become obsolete, in fact, unnecessary. and yet, they are aphrodisiacs.

they are still, of course, fun to watch melt, fun to hold your hand close and closer to until you can no more, fun to blow out and light using the smoke as the wick.

we found some free candles today.
we as in a few people who had no other place to be and the time to be at the place they were at the time when it happened. we as in a few people, who, in fact, might have been willing to bet that they wouldn’t have found anything half as fun as an outdated, warmth-casting, love-making form of light.

it’s okay though, of course. we bet in monopoly money.

they say writer’s block exists. for me, it’s not writer’s block as much as complacency that exists. my current rages are temporary, my passions small ziploc bags with little holes.

instead, i’ll draw.

i saw them out of the corner of my eye but knew they were headed my way. watching a door close right in front of me is an often enough annoyance to make me slow my gait and allow them to catch up while i swipe and open the door. they thank me briefly, i glance at them–a fleeting look it would have been, if not for the seeming permanence of the odd expression of the young man. his eyes, hidden between the shiny dark metal frames always seen on the faces of eyeglass store displays, seem too far apart, and awkwardly shaped. his skin is white, in a dying-to-be-olive way, but it is smooth, almost like a mannequin. his face is not ideally shaped, but perhaps none are.

i turn slightly so my peripherals can seek out the face of the lady he accompanies. at first glance, she appears to be his sister–perhaps showing her one or two year younger brother what college is like. her powder blue jacket belies her false sense of athleticism, and there is a certain sway in her walk that implies she finds herself far more attractive than most might. and for a second, this discord strikes me as beautiful. a few seconds, at least.

regardless, the elevator was waiting and opens at the swipe of a card. i push the number, reflecting on how the movie i just saw was entirely on numbers, they push theirs as their eminent actions prove that there was no movie on their minds. the three of us have barley begun our ascent when i lean against the wall and turn to look at them.

and i am treated to the sights and sounds of an apparently burning and unavoidable passionate kiss.

oddly, my first reaction is to be amused. i then look away, and the metal walls of the elevator reflect the dimly writhing bodies just bright enough for me to realize how amusing this couple really could be. a quick threefold succession of lip smacks proves their thirst for public displays of slightly revolting mouth-to-mouth.

finally, a ding. the elevator–still somehow unfazed by its occupants–slows its upward movement. the door opens and the voice rings true, “fourth floor, going up.”

as the apparently not-a-sister-lady drifts away with a blown kiss and an even more falsely established prideful walk, it strikes me that perhaps the couple fancied themselves as lovers about to say goodbye as the valiant male looks over his shoulder just before being flown to join a sea of men clothed in green and armed with their nation’s honor. he begins to step to the floor button panel, and i’m sure he’ll be landing at the ninth floor, or at least the eighth. anywhere behind enemy lines.

its with a smirk thrown my way that he puts his inordinately round thumb on the already-lit fifth floor button.

the door opens, and even the elevator’s voice seems to enjoy the irony. he heads to the singles, while i lament the fact that the boy with the spaced out man and his companion will one day have to find a happiness that does not come from dragging one’s hormone-driven exchange of bodily fluids in dorm elevators.

update shall arrive.

soon.

oftentimes, the supporters of independent thought and creativity are really those who turn against anything the mainstream may support, whether or not the mainstream is justified in supporting it.

it seems as though it’s ironic that those who praise artists or individuals for their grand exertions of free-will turn around and say that the tastes of another are foolish or ignorant because there’s others who share the same likes and dislikes. the true champion of original thought would be one who cares not for criticizing others as tasteless or uneducated on a subject, but one who is mature enough to realize that true creativity may not always be hidden under some rock. in fact, it may have been discovered, and it may appeal to many.

we often see that there are trend setters and then those who just sound or look like fools. it’s not an accomplishment to be different by merely rejecting anything that seems “normal.” for one, it not only leads to charges of elitism but empowers the “norm,” or the “mainstream” by solidifying its place as the dominant discourse or artistic form. everytime someone turns away from a trend just based on the fact that it is a trend, the trend becomes even more viable, even more justified–for it not only shows its mass appeal, but that it is strong enough to stand the test of elitists who reject it because it is too “normal.”

the idea of normality is honestly one that should have a curious relationship with these nay-sayers. it’s clear that not only do we perceive normality in an individual manner, but we create it as well. by liking something with its “differentness” being the only justification, we submit that our perceptions of normality are wrong, that we crave a difference. instead of using differentness as justification for appreciation, it appears as though it may be more productive to create one’s own normalcy without depending on the destruction of others.

becoming a champion of one’s own likes and dislikes without regarding those of others as worthless, uneducated, and cheap–that, is to be a true independent.

i’ve been asked to think of an untold story, to write a piece on a tale that is witnessed everyday but never seen. something that people see but are ignorant to. an entity that is entirely common but undiscovered as of yet.

and i find this especially difficult. for while i spend most of my writings trying to relate what i see to what others might not, it strikes me that finding an untold story is difficult when the tale of my own being is just as “untold.” tonite, i wonder what i’ve actually accomplished, and cringe in the face of the feats that those my age have already completed.

i find myself realizing that the philandering floating through time i’ve been doing must end–and, it must be replaced by meaning. i usually reject all ideas of meaning and grand generalizations of what matter and what doesn’t, but there’s a point where i have to realize that i’d rather feel something than not do anything.

i was speaking to a few friends today about my feeling of extreme inadequacy of philanthropic work, and it now strikes me that the beginning of this sensation began with my giving up on finding beauty. now i see that while i feel some carnal need to flock to europe and then the global south, there is much right in front of me. i’m living only miles from dastardly poverty and doing nothing about it. i’m walking the campus that has had many come and go change the world, and i don’t even know what the major above my name will be listed, and i feel as though it won’t matter–and i am one in a system of learning–a mere pixel on the viewing screen of potential.

but i’m finding it. i walk past royce hall and feel so wonderfully small. i walk up bruin walk with the amazement that the grass on my left, that the grass by jans steps, that the balcony on the 6th floor of the math and sciences building where the sunlight is so grand that eyes light up and sparkle with a previously unseen greatness, that the sculpture garden, that the botanical garden, that the benches on the sunny back side of powell that seem to be continually basked in a warm vitamin d–that all these places are beautiful. i’m reminded that they are places where i want to have the moments that will amuse me by striking me as meaningful.

i wish to effect change–not on a global scale, or even a system-wide scale. that will come when i figure out what i have to figure out, when i’m on. but for now, i want to effect change in the way people smile, in the way a young boy realizes that although his pain is not unique, it is, like him, powerful. i want to help someone see that they too have the ability to create smiles where laissez faire sloth once lived. i want to see vigor, feel it, and learn about it by helping others find it.

i have time, but i wish to start now. i have one life, i’m alive, and i might as well start to live.