Title Wave

The revolution is upon us, and it started with this bloke named Billy. Billy realized he had a voice. Realized that his life spent working for the power plant, and his time spent at Off Track Betting was interesting. That his 25 year old tiger tattoo really did mean something and that the pain was real. That it talked to him when he got it, and it talked to others at the bar when he showed it off. Even though, he picked it out of a book and it very closely resembled clip art.

Billy realized he had a voice. He might not be special, but he is Billy, and there is only one of him. So damn. I guess he's special. And in collecting his thoughts and writing a sentence or two of English, although it be broken and bastardized, he feels validated. And somehow it all becomes worth while for a while. His mark can be made. One word at a time. And the interesting thing is, that he has a following. That there are a thousand folks like him reading his blog while sitting in their trailers using their mom's old 400Mhz Dell, cursing to themselves because they are still using dial-up.

As they read, they realize that they are not alone. That they too, have a very similar tiger tattoo, and that they picked it out of a very similar book at a very similar tattoo parlor. The only striking difference is, that their tiger tattoo has a very different story and it too, is just as significant.

Ivory Pedestals

Do a little dance. Do a little song. American Idol is on tonight. Human combustion machine seen on boob tube glossy miracles of I believe in the dream of I can get the record contract. Of I can be famous. That I can be rescued from my meaningless pointless repetition of 9-5 constants. Of winning the lotto. Of my ship coming in. Vote for me America. Vote for my bleached smile, and surfer haircut. Vote for my boyish good looks. I want to be talked about around water coolers and coffee machines in company break rooms for this entire T.V. season. I want you to tune out your everyday repetitive life and focus on me. I can be your savior. I can be your idol placed on ivory pedestals holding up your 50 inch flat panel, next to your plans of expanding your Florida room because you don't have room for the jacuzzi . . . and the pool table.

You can talk of me when your family gathers for Thanksgiving. We can reminisce about times spent huddled around having family time while you saw my shooting star and grabbed it. And for one moment we were all united. George Washington was watching tonight. He was proud of us as we came together for a moment to see that the roads really are paved with gold. That the roads really are paved with opportunity. Of there being wonderful things here in this country for believers. Our cup does runneth over. Tonight we had the chance to unite and combine our hopes and dreams into one person's future. One person's dreams. We can make them. We can break them. We have a choice. We have a vote. And this time, it does make a difference.

Atmosphere

Click. Click.....Click. Phone ringing. Layered sound. Air conditioning whining. Coughing in distance. Someone cursing to themselves. Phone ringing. Outlook alerts you to another email. Click. Click.....Click.

Car goes by outside. Air conditioning is whining. Bellowing. Typing all around. Forced, angry typing. Click. Click.....Click. Laughter in distance. Mouse clicking. All mouses clicking. Another car goes by outside on the interstate. Lunch time is near. Papers being shuffled. Click. Click. Click. Typing. Deliberate thoughtful clicking. Someone cursing in the distance.

Phone ringing in the distance. Car goes by on the interstate. Air condition is whining. Someone drops their pen. Someone uses their stapler. A piece of paper is being crinkled up to be thrown away. Another piece of paper is being crinkled up to be thrown away. Someone is talking about a new job order they just got in the cubicle next to you. Laughing about a story about when they were in school. About how good it was back then. Someone is ripping a piece of paper out of a notebook.

This is your life. Listen....

Drowning Slowly

Crowded into a lunchbox that has fleas, maggots, and the occasional smoke alarm detector not going off with smoke filling your room, filling your throat, filling your lungs, while you are taking a nap and trying not to think about your problems. This is my apartment.

Sometimes it is best to pay a little extra for quality. That would be a good idea for Wal-Mart shoppers to remember as their purchase puts out another mom and pop shop and pushes more of the American dollar's overseas. I am laughing. Laughing at the cheapest price point. Me, I'm a slave to the cheapest price point. How can one really pay more when you are living paycheck to paycheck, and your baby girl has fleas on her face that have snuck inside from wild dogs that run around in the backyard alley?

We woke up today with our kitchen sink overflowed from the upstairs neighbors mop bucket being dumped into the sink above. Maggots were all in the water, and they began to crawl up the kitchen wall. However, our lunchbox is covered in vinyl and has wonderful character. It' a Spanish lunch box with red trim on a really interesting street. We wake up some nights and can't breathe due to mold being pumped from the walls after years of growth. It's a feeling like drowning. Breathing liquid. Breathing water. Breathe in your life. It is all around you.

Drilling

Into your eyes. Into your ears. Into your head. Into your mind. Over and over. Over. Over. Nagging. Nagging. Buzzing. Buzzing. Piercing. A Piercing flock of gnats flying around your head. Slicing through your mind. All at once. It is cutting. It is burning. Slicing through your mental landscape. You try earplugs, mp3 players. Space. Pure Space. Wall space. Pillow space.

Try and tune it out. Piercing. Nagging. Buzzing. Over and over. Over and over. Slicing through your physical landscape. No thoughts can manifest, but escape. You can't Hide. You can't Run. It grows louder. Louder. Louder. Hours. Hours and hours. It controls you. It breaks you. It makes you. Welcome to the sounds of your seven month old infant girl. Your little angel. Welcome to parenthood.

If You Tried

Pipe dreams. Of having talent.
Of working in your field and folks taking notice.
Of your opinion being worth something.

Pipe dreams. Of waking up and loving what you
do for a living. Of being excited to go to work.
Of not living for retirement.

Pipe dreams. Of not being controlled by fear.
Of not making the logical choice. Of following your heart.

Pipe dreams. Because you think you are not
special. Because a thousand people are waiting
to fill your shoes. Because you are scared of the unknown.

Pipe dreams. Because fear is the controlling factor.
Because you don't know anything else. Because you don't
act on your dreams.

Pipe dreams. Because you don't have enough money.
Because you chose to stay close to your family.
Because what if you didn't make it if you tried?

The Citizen's Test

Ranting. Panting. I have an opinion and it's always correct. I listen to NPR. I know Bush lied. I know there were no weapons of mass destruction. I know it was all to get their oil. To take care of something daddy started and didn't finish.

Or do I really? Do I know anything? Should I be entitled to an opinion when I don't have anything to back it up? Should I believe in the news I get that is filtered and stained then spoon fed to the starving uneducated American public.
I am an empty vessel.

I should have no opinion on politics, because I am uneducated on social problems, and current events. I cannot form an intelligent opinion. I am a reflection of the image of the typical American, raised by television, drive-thru's, and Nintendo, not by Shakespeare, or Socrates. We are a crowd easily incensed, easily disturbed, whose opinions are easily vocalized.

We are not well read. We are not tracking current events in Jerusalem, the former Soviet Union, or even in our own backyards. What gives us the right to voice our opinion or even to vote?

We should all have to take a test. A citizen's test. A test for all Americans who want to voice their opinion. It should be given annually and cover our country's history and the year's past current events. If opinions are like assholes we would have a lot less assholes, and possibly a more educated public opinion.

This change would be drastic, but would help to educate the public and help to enforce a standard of intelligence that could help to propagate the revolution we all yearn for. Be it to the left or to the right. Democracy has the potential to breed ignorance unless our citizens intelligence is policed.