I grow tired in this place. The world has lost its mystery and luster. Can I fabricate it here? I dream of websites with black backgrounds and electric green outlines where iguanas crawl. Of fairies glowing in the brisk night, their light illuminating the undersides of fir trees. I see the haunted wood beneath moonlight, sounds creaking from deep behind its wall of trees. But I can’t concentrate at the moment because a loud group of demonstrators cheer from outside the news station on the next block. I don’t know what they protest; trade in Spain, maybe. Maybe they protest the lack of magic in our world. That’s what we discontents need to do: organize and march. Make banners and carry megaphones to magnify our voices above the noise of traffic and demand an end to smalltalk, daytime television, mail ad-campaigns, and 24 hour news. But instead we retreat to our own little isolation chambers; the den to scribble in a notebook, the home theatre to bask in the light of a fifty-inch plazma screen and surround sound, or a book pried open and nestled in the lap like a child. These are our small condolences for making it through yet another day of dissatisfaction.
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2 comments:
There is no possible way this world has lost myster and luster. Find a discount ticket to Japan and we'll find a way to chase away your sullen.
Carefull now, or I just may show up on your doorstep one of these days! The interesting factor has gone up in my life lately (thought it still can't be qualified as mystery and luster). I'm in Denver for work at the moment, 6 AM perched in front of the window on the 21st floor of my hotel, waiting for sunrise to hit the mountains. Then Thursday morning I'm off to Florida to spend Christmas with my Mom. I plan on doing a lot of writing while there, and reading (I think Murakami should have arrived from Amazon before I leave).
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