All we could do was aim the hose at the base of the fire and pray. The smoke and the flames take the attention, but the solution is always right there at the ignition point. We were afraid of course, but we loved that old house. It was time to stop the burning, to save what was still standing, something solid to preserve and build from.
Cairo grins at me in his teenager way, part love part mischief. "You are now breathing... on automatic," he says. And so suddenly that process I was unaware of is there in my thoughts and as my breathing pattern changes he laughs in the same way he did as a little child. So I laugh too, and then there we are, too beautiful idiots laughing together on a rainy day.
When I'm hungry, I can't think of anything but food. I'll sit down to do my algebra donut, but my x's will turn into broccolis and my y's will turn into cupcakes! I spaghetti would like to stop thinking about food all of the cake, but I guess I'm just tofu distracted by my stomach.
Emotional indifference itself isn't evil, there are times we need it as a valid form of defence from emotional abuse both in personal relationships or in dealing with others who intend to con, mislead or dominate through power. Emotional indifference is thus at times an acceptable response to protect the self. As with all things, however, it can be overused, and if that is the case then we are in danger of building a cold self capable of evil. Balance is key. The ability to "shift gears" in the brain according to the "terrain" is a sign of good health; an inability to shift back into loving empathy however is a sign of the opposite.
Massive amounts of wind are both music and the dance-floor for the clouds... vagrant, white and puffy as they are - playing and teasing with other clouds and moving freely in the sky as if they own freedom itself. Yet I wondered why at times they cry with fierce and sonorous thunder...
The first thing you'd see is a typical honors kid - large dark eyes behind blue rimmed glasses, holding all the bookish knowledge. The girl's curious eyes asking for more, conflicted with the tight smile silently begging to be left alone.
She'd wear her dark straight hair up in a ponytail, with a pink baseball hat. With the pink sports backpack, she'd deceive anyone. But her scrawny figure in an over-sized men's sweatshirt, underneath a denim shirt from Goodwill, with a pair of jeans ripped from overuse - told a different story. So did her punk boots picked from garage sale.
She hid her scars under thick spike bracelets, another piece that did not match with the silver heart locket hanging from an unusually long necklace.
Even with all the pieces roughly glued together, she had yet to find out which was her real face.
The coffee table was concrete with sand embedded in the top. It always reminded her of LA, the city and the beach. She loved it for not being made from a tree, for having such boldness in simple industrial artistry. The table had never been a part of a rainforest, never put down deep roots or stretched up toward the sunny rays, and so she felt that it was a green choice. If she wanted to see wood she'd step outside, see one that was living instead of the varnished slabs generations have sought such empty status in.
Capitalism is designed to reduce labour cost and maximise profit, thus it relies on poverty and desperation to function. This system born in the Victorian genocide of the aristocracy on the poor is still causing massive death and starvation globally - twenty one thousand child deaths from malnutrition related causes daily, hellish lives, early deaths. It's time for a new system, one that is built on love as the philosophical first principle, as a tree trunk from which all branches must grow. We need social evolution.