The Virus Confusion
“Billy, I think I might have gotten a virus on my computer!”
*furiously hits keys and sighs in frustration
“Well did you google it?” Asked Billy.
“How can I google it if the internet won’t load?”
“Here, I’ll google it.” Billy said as he pulled out his phone.
“Oh God! It’s crashing! My computer is shutting down!” Oh god. Oh God. Oh God!”
Billy shakes his head, “The first article says not to freak out. Listen it says here it’s probably just a software malfunction. Google is telling you not to freak out. Why are you still freaking out?!”
“This is not good. No, no, this is bad. Very very bad!”
Billy jerked the computer away and hit the power button, “Ugh, your WiFi isn’t connected and your battery is low.”
“I, I. Okay I confess my computer hates me. And maybe I don’t know how to work it.”
“Sure, I didn’t notice that at all.” Billy noted with sarcasm.
Once ago I thought I knew myself. But that was years ago. I’m me. Though I’m not myself.
I see all this time passing by and I think I should be different. Think I need to conform. I clench my eyes shut to pass away the voice inside my head.
Dammit I can still hear it. It never goes away.
My conscience. Is that what it is? Maybe.
All the maybes they drown. Not my soul. They drown my sense.
I’ve done a lot of changing. I’ve transitioned into different stages. I watch the News. I see all these things happening. I listen everyday, what’s going to happen?
I see it all, right here. Right in this exact moment.
I look across a field, glancing between the blades of grass. I can see her. Running, prancing, falling in love with the spirit of life.
She’s sprinting, she doesn’t see the hole. She falls in lost.
She comes back again. Staring back at me. Right here, she looks me in the eyes.
Gone again she goes, rolling through the hills, running through airports, jumping out of planes, and falling from skyscrapers.
I see her once again.
Right here, in my reflection.
This week I managed to pen out four poems instead of three. New record!
Each of the four poems that I wrote, have this symbolic connection to paint. A beautiful connection. It is this bridge that allows people to cross from the present into the past. It lets them see a time they may not have lived through. It can bring them a glimpse of the past, where their ancestors stayed in time.
This bridge it can reflect the sides of pop culture, by showing what was big during certain eras. It shows the ever changing style of the past and compares it to the present. Paint tells a story. Look at a painted wall and it can tell you a story you never would have knew.
My poems this week are: Taste of Life, Feral Time, Canvas Face, On the Wall.
Taste of Life, is a poem to describe life as a hopeless pit. It uses paint as a symbol for the leaving of one’s happiness due to failure, and how fast it can happen. The poem resolves by offering the hope of reaching happiness.
Feral Time, is probably my favorite. In the poem is the reference to popular culture, and to the changing of times. It sort of entails the aging of a person and how paint served as the symbol for time. Paint became the indicator when things changed and the drastic point to which they did.
Canvas Face, is a poem about makeup. Ladies rejoice, here ya go. Doing makeup is the painting of the face. The face is art, and foundation is the lucky paint.
On the Wall, is a story that could tell itself. In this poem story, the paint becomes a villain.
Paint is often over looked. There’s a lot of symbolism that it holds. Often times it is over looked for the simple fact that it is in all of our lives in some way. It’s inanimate. It’s just paint. But is it really? When you throw paint into words as a symbol, things really begin to get interesting.
Think of it no more than it is. Paint, a lacquer that comes in all colors and many different consistencies. It is meant to cover something a wall, a canvas, someone’s face, clothing, any number of things. Most importantly it is meant to make something new out of something that has already been there.
Painting is doing makeup every morning. The face, it becomes something new. An alter person.
Plowing a field, turning the grass brown and spreading it smooth. It is an earth painting.
Paint is simply a new beginning.
Add personification to that and the tales of where paint runs, are endless to the imagination.
This week has been busy. Exceptionally busy. Busy enough that I shouldn’t be sitting at the computer writing this right now but oh well.
Honestly if I wasn’t busy I don’t think I would be able to survive. It’s how I’m wired. Anyway, because of this weeks schedule I felt the need to take some much needed winding down time.
I did that by using my theme exercise with this week’s chosen topic of paint. I wrote two poems. If it wasn’t the most relaxing thing I’ve ever done I don’t know what was. The words they came so quick, it was like I was painting a picture.
It’s amazing how poetry, or just writing in general can make one feel so alive.
Times like these are why I do what I do. There is no other experience like it.