fast

i didn't realize what an oxymoronic life i lead. i want things instantly. when i want to watch a movie, i hope it's on instant queue so i don't have to wait for it to get mailed to me. when i have to pay a bill, i do it online. when i need to ask someone a question and they don't answer a text or phone call, i see if they're on facebook. All instant communication; which i hate. i guess it's because the generation i've grown up in grew on technology. i don't know a world without internet, a place without cell service, a time without email (which is becoming outdated in itself). the world is becoming entirely too fast pace to even stop and enjoy anything in it. in high school we had to read Fahrenheit 451 (a book about the disuse of books and an electronic future.. bad description.. it was a while ago that i read it), and as much as i dreaded summer reading, this is one i actually took a liking to. there is a part in the book that i briefly remember where one of the characters stopped being so stuck in a fast paced, electronic world, and was merely staring at a tree and enjoying outside, and everyone questioned them. the book itself was written in the 50s i believe giving an ominous look at how we would become. it was a little farfetched and extreme, but in the back of my mind i can't help but think that's exactly where we're headed. anytime we go 4 seconds without cell reception we vow that our provider is "the absolute worst" and we must switch over to someone else asap. when was the last time we just stopped.... 


sometimes i just want to get a handwritten letter, or write one, whichever. knowing that i had the time, or someone else had the time, to get up from the table and stick it in the mailbox. even with electronic billing i rarely use the mail anymore. working in a fast food chain priding itself on fast, friendly service, where we must serve a customer in 2 minutes and 30 seconds or less and meeting these deadlines for school while paying bill after bill that never seem to catch up, really makes you want to stop, or wish you could stop, and sit; grab some coffee, read a book, and breathe. 


however, the coffee is most likely an instant brew while you read the latest books on your kindle while checking facebook in the other hand; but its close enough.


i say this as i write it on my blog which quickly posts to my facebook for me to monitor and edit on my phone... whatever. 


SLOW DOWN. BREATHE. DON'T WORRY. 


you'll still live... maybe. 

the potter's madness

madness. i've reached it; i've felt it; i feel it. i became an addict clinging to my narcotic, my gateway, my iron clad chains i didn't want unlocked, my religion. A potter can only attempt to sculpt his clay in a way so similar to the twisted and coiled disarrayed vessel i've become. the cracks have formed over time, linking themselves to one another and forcing their way through what used to be resilient. He can, however, glaze over the cracks, gently masking them for a time. your supplied vapor; a poisonous venom that often wafts and dances through the air, lifting me to a higher state of intoxication than i've ever felt before. Unable to defy gravity, i must come down. The crash; the crash, the potter cannot prevent. No matter the labor, the pain, the infinite amounts of time, the potter cannot repair the broken and distorted that now remain lifeless on the pavement. the glaze will never mask, and the hands will never heal the sharp edges that will slowly wither and fade to dust; back to it's origin, only to be reshaped, for another day.