May 7th, 2012

It was quite a revealing time for him, that fifteen minutes at the butchery. The dry crackle from the old ledger spoke to him, and asked him to make a promise. To promise himself that he would write more. Perhaps a journal, if nothing else. He indulged in an argument, with himself, about whether it should be in the form of a monologue, or in the third person. Obviously the third person won out. While he appreciates the intimacy of a monologue, a third person, to him, felt more ‘detached’ – or, if you’d rather not feel too cold at the choice of adjective, ‘neutral’.

He found out that there are still people who use landlines. Exclusively almost. Because they’re free, and because well, you can always call someone back in a half hour.

He re-learned that people don’t always tell the truth, even if they smile it into your face. He imagined that there are far worse states than ‘dead’. Like ‘dying’. He learned that there’s only a point in owning something if you master it. He learned that the scale of everybody’s problems is different, and so is their perception of it. He learned the value of a good laugh, and free time.

It was a very revealing fifteen minutes.

Dear Love(s) Past

Forgive my rudeness, but you no longer have names. You no longer have associations with songs and movies. You no longer have faces with big, beautiful eyes. Or a big, shiny bun of hair on your head. Your memory no longer makes familiar jokes under my breath, and your scent no longer lingers on in a coffee shop by the breakwater, sifting by along the smoke of fifty glowing sheeshas.

You are merely the girl with the elixir laugh. Or the girl who made me like myself a little less. Or the girl who always knew what to say. Or the girl who took offense to my often too speedy speech and my edgy manner. Or the girl who had the cutest twisted accent. You are a compliment, or a sarcastic smirk. You are a loving smile, or a raised eyebrow. You are the breath exhaled, you are the breath withheld. You are the prayer that woke me up, or the voice that laid me to bed.

And as little as I may remain to you, you will always remain a memory to me.

Tech

I’m a big fan of technology. I do things with technology sometimes which are of no practical benefit to me, but I do them because I’m curious. Because I can. I ran Linux on my iPod just because. I swapped the firmwares on a Korean wireless router with a tweaked Cisco firmware just for the heck of it. I try out new things not because I need them, but because I’m curious.

But sometimes I ask myself, how much is enough? I’m not even gonna bring up cell phones and personal technology – augmented reality, life-streams and the fusion of technology and daily life. But today, we have 3D printers. In 20 years, people will be able to order a pair of Nikes online and print them at home. You’d be able to print clothing, accessories, even spare-parts for the machines that are printing these for you. You’d be able to print your own breakfast. And chances are, you won’t even need a computer to do all these things.

Today, we have walking people with no pulse. People whos hearts have given in but technology hasn’t. They have blood running through their bodies – they breathe, they eat and sleep and go about their daily business as usual. But if you put your ears close to their chest, they have no heartbeat.

The iBookstore just announced electronic textbooks seeking to replace paper and binds. I’m writing this on an electronic machine when I’ve always wanted to own a typewriter. The connection – of man and anything derived of nature, is fading away.

I’m not saying that these are bad things to have, but certainly things to think about.

Nice

You can feel it slipping through your fingers, can’t you? The burden of humanity slowly sucking each moment of ease and comfort from your desperately clenched fists? No, this isn’t some stupid metaphor about how you should never hold on to something hard enough. That metaphor is for quitters.

But you’re not a quitter. You’re a pleasant human being who always puts up a smile when asked “Hey, can you come to the office over the weekend? There’s numbers we need to run, and everybody around here seems to already have a life.” Of course. After all, despite what you may or may not love to do. Or have a passion for in life, your work is what puts the bread and butter on the table.

Besides, at the end of the day, you have family and friends to fall back on, right? “How’s the wife and kids?” Oh. It’s that smile again. Don’t feel sad, marriage is not the fulcrum of your life. You have other people to try and please. There’s the friends who have always been there for you. Perhaps because you’ve always set floored expectations of what qualifies as being there. And also skewed your perception of them fulfilling that criteria. So you somehow made it your life purpose to be there for them when they needed you to. Because you’re a dutiful friend. Don’t you let anyone tell you how you’re ruining any grim chances you might have at actually living a happy life by being there for them. Because that would be wrong. After all, what are friends for? Don’t ever doubt that. No matter what anyone else tells you.

Why? Because you’re nice. You’d hate to hurt anyone through your actions. You’re pleasant to be around and you always have spare change in your pocket to feed the meter. You could even park their car if someone was in an absolute hurry. But only if they’re in an absolute hurry – you have your own ego, after all, you wouldn’t let someone walk all over you like that. Unless they were in an absolute hurry. Then it would be okay. Because you understand. You’ve been there. You know how it feels, and how nobody else in the world understands their pain – you can fix it. You can fix them, if they allowed you to. Some people would call that an obsessive compulsion to fix things, but you know that’s not it, right? You do it out of goodness. Not because you feel that fixing them would somehow fix you. That would be stupid.

You’re a good person, you really are. You’re nice.

To Whom It May Concern

You know who you are. This is for you:

The most devastating object in this world is not violence. It’s not murder or theft or war or even moral corruption. It’s a smile. Because a smile is everything else combined unto one – it IS violence. It IS murder. It IS war. And it IS moral corruption. It can change the winds of conversation. It can compel towards crime. It can change the chemistry of the human body – raising imbalances and flooring inhibitions and sensibilities. It can change the chemistry of the human body.

And while you may think that an object of such power must be impenetrable, it is not. The same murderous, corrupting smile can give away more than words or even the stolen glances of the eye. Its mere texture can give away doubts and hopes and if-dos and if-nots. A slight tremble of the lips, the failing efforts to hold back – it can give away the war.

A smile CAN be war. It can either be victory, or it could be surrender. And it can make both seem trivial.