An attempt to read the newspaper every day led to this highlighting thing. I mostly scanned the articles and got carried away by words jumping at me. I blamed the blah writing. I blamed the bleak news. But mostly I thought – what’s the point of all this; this paper from a tree, the hours of reporting and editing, the tremendous human energy involved in meeting deadlines or keeping the cash flowing, the millions of copies that came through press, the newspaper man making his way on his cycle and chucking it over the gate – what’s the point of all this when, really, we all glance at a few words that jump out at us, proceed to make a neat, accessible stack for when we need to clean a windshield, pick up dog poop or wrap broken glass.
I mean, of course that led me down the route of what’s the point in anything at all.
On better days the pointlessness was comforting and I’d go about the writing and reading, i’d believe in the connecting and sharing. Wise woman once told me that “life has to be kept at a distance, but we need to still act.” I’m trying.
Any mildly aware person knows not to believe everything they read or hear. The extreme end of this greater access to information and more people who can think for themselves is a culture rife with constant cynicism. Yes, we must always understand the often well disguised bias of the particular news agency or organization, seek out criticism, check twitter, call a well informed friend, speak to someone in the area, have at least three dinner table debates – but, do we hope to leave with more facts about what the hell just happened? are we really trying to understand or just confirm our own biases? Meaning, we have to do the journalism ourselves. I question that objectivity is possible – the best anyone can do is state their own biases and let the others take them into account when making an analysis. Satire helps!
So really, this was a way of making myself feel better by taking an irreverent jab at it all. Now, I’m no Michelangelo, but these happened a little like the joke about what he said when asked how he created his sculptures “All I did was chip away everything that didn’t look like David.”.
These were also partly born from trying to write and not being able to find my own words, from wanting to say things without really saying them. Plus, it helps to have reminders of the way I’ve felt and things I’ve written in better or worse states of mind.
show me your night.
how the trees Age.
You fly so searching,
the taste of bitter,
screams of forever.
Keep your breath for me,
now see space rebounding.
the songs, the sun, the
your wide open spaces
in layered harmonies,
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