It was a shit day, sunny and windy and full of extreme emotion sprouting out from under the pale grey the school bus’s stiff seats. The thought that we’ll have to spend the next seven hours rotting away at one museum or another, made our torsos melt deep into the jabbing leather. We just couldn’t fritter it all droning “say something”….”whaaat”…”say something”……”whaaaaaaaat”. It was pain, the inflexible, solid pain, the never ending epic pain. We wanted the guts to soar up and scream, “Like I need your approval” and rupture through the doors and stride away with pride. But that’s only a fraction of what we wanted the guts to do. We wanted to make an FMyLife series on Mrs. Jolly Rancher, we wanted to convince the blond dreadlocks bodyguard that we were 19 and our “sweetheart” was inside, we wanted to sneak into GW and buy Josh an orange t-shirt, we wanted black saris with yellow padded bras for convenient swimming in case of Atlantis emergency, we wanted apple bottom jeans with the boots of the fur, we wanted cucumber bumper cars, we wanted bruise-less flats, we wanted buy one get 4 free lives, we wanted tic-tac with barbecue potato chips, we wanted to touch Bob’s ass and not be afraid – Bob is our goldfish. We wanted stench-less beef.
So what the hell. It was clear by now that we couldn’t have what we want, unless we become all holly and convince ourselves to believe that “you can have anything you want, you just gotta believe that what’s happening is what you want”. We were stupid, but not that stupid.
And to make existence more dreadful, our gloomy crust had secreted fluid haze, to make us utterly confidant that what we were drowning in was actually BIRSK LEMONADE – at least that’s how it tasted.
WE couldn’t do this forever, we were thawing away into the rigid ground – we required hope, and we required it now. So we at last gathered ourselves and strolled off the bus, sensing NOW OR NEVER. It was time, to put all tedious uncertainties behind and march to the path of chaste freedom. The self-determination, the liberty, the independence. There’s just so much the limbs can take, they necessitate movement as much as we necessitate a life. We had it, our bags hanging loose from the edge of our shoulders, our hair soaring free from the breeze that moments ago hurt every skin cell. It was the crisp bliss that made us happy; we were dumb, but we liked it. We had unibrows and nose hair, we liked it. We were cute and we were in charge.
The breathtaking moments are never, if truth be told, that thorny. We merely exaggerate every condition until it emerges like a frightful disaster. This time we had sucked up a lesson, appalling to know we actually had. The signs had flipped and we were darting there. We had dreams with massive direction, we had dreams with FML scripts, and fake IDs, and cheap GWs, and black sari’s with yellow padded bras, and cucumbers, and bumper cars, and lives, and mint barbecues… and Bob’s ass. We had dreams with stench-less beef. We were there, and we were the future, and we weren’t frightened.
To me, satire is one of the most appealing forms of writing. I think because it makes use of Humor, and I think that humor can make anyone content and convey any idea through. 
As I listened to “
As I was reading the article about John Cage I learned a lot. I never would have thought that someone could be praised for doing nothing but listening to the piano’s silence. This relates to the idea that some people can say so much more by not saying it at all. This got me thinking about the power of silence, how silence can mean so much. Sometimes the strongest words can lose meaning in front of silence. What is more beautiful than to be able to sit at ease with someone in silence without feeling an urge to speak? Or the silence of sleep, the peace it brings. The silence of early morning and late night. The silence of hands that feel and eyes that see. The silence of trust and understanding. The silence of hopes and dreams and igneous reality. For me, Silence is the security of knowing, silence has its own place in the hierarchy of sounds.
