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Materialism - Blog Posts
Gas Prices Skyrocket
He bluffed, “It’s the cheapest you’ll find a vintage sports car.”
She huffed, “It looks rather new for a vintage sports car.”
Love for the ages: soft, steady, slow, and sweet, or a
flame: fast, beautiful, and deadly, like a vintage sports car.
Pulling off her shirt she felt revealed, reviled, repulsive,
telling herself it’s not trashy if you do it in a vintage sports car.
Cherry red, blood red, red wood. Scattered under moonlight.
On the accident report they called it a vintage sports car.
Heaven forbid honesty! Hide your feelings, your secrets,
undercover. Like in the driveway, a vintage sports car.
Status symbols: a Rolex watch, a million bucks, a
yacht in the bay. Trade your wife for a vintage sports car.
The past thrown away, left to rot and not be remembered.
Left to decompose in a junkyard next to a vintage sports car.
Lost, lonely, loveless? Ditch the club, forget online dating.
One thing that can never leave you: A vintage sports car.
To escape your problems you must run far away.
My suggestion? Zero to sixty in a vintage sports car.
A gold-digging robbery! Get away with his money, his heart,
a license plate reading RAY-RAY on a vintage sports car.
things and gifts
The thing about things is that the more you have things the more you want things
When it comes to gifts, it's not the thing that counts, it's the thought of bringing the gift that counts
Belonging
I let people go while I hold onto things. People drift apart, flowing rivers and I remain a shore, holding onto their fragments. The letters they wrote, the illustrations, the conversations, I preserve them, becoming soil, fertile and fruitful.
I hold onto memories, capturing the person I know would change eventually. Who finds the same person twice even in the same person anyway?
So, thereby, my efforts are never focused on caging the flowing river rather, take a part of it and make it a part of mine.
Be it good or bad, I absorb everything to nurture my being, to experience bliss and pain, to experience fertility, to experience solitude when called barren.
The rivers become a medium of change sometimes, I flow through them, my silt deposited where it didn’t belong but still absorbs in it, becoming a part of something different yet I remain different.
I wonder whether my identity of being silt was just an imagination. Being a human, I must be a river, ever flowing, irrigating fields of livelihood, ever changing, giving and taking yet never keeping.
But that’s where the difference came. I too give and take but after making it mine.
I possess; hence, I belong. I belong; hence, I remain trapped.
Sketchbook dump (just some random shit)
personalnie nie mam nic do żadnej Aldony, ona jest po prostu uosobieniem cech których nie lubię w moich rodzicach i ich znajomych