Voices 02-10-2017

You don’t register it at first, you think it’s somebody goofing around or part of the show…

It sounded like firecrackers…

Suddenly everybody was running…

I used to be agnostic but now I believe in God…

I don’t think he made it…

We need to use your truck, we need to get this man in the hospital…

Was this act of terrorism?

Did he get the weapons illegally?

How can we decide on the line between ideology and insanity?

It’s harder to pass security, so he does it outside of the venue.

I think I’ve been hit…

There are no negotiations, he just wanted to kill as many people as possible…

I don’t think I’m going to make it….

How many more people have to die before they get it…

Congress is not going to do a damn thing…

How dare they push their agenda in a time like this!

I love you.

What the fuck is happening to our country?

This was something he must have been planning for a long time…

He didn’t fit the traditional profile…

Our country will prevail. This country was build on the foundations of unity, we won’t let this man tear us apart…

This country will prevail. Our country was build on beautiful foundations, it will never back down. We will be united. We are strong together…

You see the fear of death in their eyes, there were people trampled to death…

We could never see him do a thing like this…

I’m not leaving you, I’m staying right here.

It’s the biggest mass-shooting of American history…

I wish I was the one who got him…

There will be more casualties…

You don’t think it will happen to you and then it does…

Though there was chaos, there was hope. Everybody was helping each other…

Sometimes these incidents bring the best out of the people. They don’t even realize they’re doing it, they just run and do it…

It sounded just like in Iraq….

He’s tired, we should bring him home after the song is over…
Znalezione obrazy dla zapytania vegas shooting

***

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That Small Part

”I used to consider myself a writer, but then I couldn’t find the words anymore. I hated every word I put down. They seemed disingenuous, hackneyed, soulless. When I looked back at my earlier work, I was horrified. It wasn’t that it was filled with clichés- even though it was- it’s that I couldn’t get the clichés right. It all fucking sucked. To even call myself an amateur would be insulting to amateurs. Amateurs can have careers in their particular craft, they can become professionals. I don’t know how to walk this path. I find it, then I turn into the forest. I keep getting lost along the way. I remembered them to have promise, I would read the works of others and feel that I grasped something they didn’t. But it was all just a dream. We get lost in our dreams, some never come back. After many pitiful attempts, I decided that the best thing for me was to give it up. I just didn’t have it. There’s talent, a lot of luck. Some say it’s nothing but hard work. Perhaps but the right ones get better. The right ones learn of their mistakes and figure out how to make things work. I couldn’t do this. It’s okay, I will be just like most people. No more stories, no more poems, no more imagined novels. You’re not a creator, you’re the one that appreciates the creation. Nothing wrong with that. Artists are dicks anyway… But then the words came back! It came flooding back, every word seemed right, the sentences kept coming, the poems seemed meaningful, the stories seemed to be about real people. I was a writer again.
And then it happened again. Another painful break-up. I lost my mind again, there was the edge and it seemed so right to jump. You will go there anyway, might as well jump. Nobody will pick you up from down there. There’s nobody there. It’s a place where everybody goes but nobody’s there.
But I decided to save myself. I stopped writing again. I promised myself once more: don’t write another word. You don’t have the right kind of insanity to be a writer.
I haven’t written in quite a while but I feel the urge coming back. Sentences assemble, ruminations that turn into reflections, stories, limericks. There are these moments between people, or by ourselves; a human experience, sometimes tragic, hilarious or even wonderfully mundane, that deserved telling. But I know I can’t do them justice. I’d only screw them up. Nobody would understand why they are valuable.
But the words are there… I just need to write them down…
I know I shouldn’t, I know how it will end. But I keep thinking about death, the void, the nothingness. It seemed the only way to combat is by writing. The thought of not leaving any words around scares me. I could die at any moment and all the words, stories, poems, novels in my head, would die along with them. They are so dear to me, even if I never seem to find them.
If I don’t write, the void will take everything. If I leave some words behind, the void can only take parts of me. Even if it takes most of me, that small part will still be out there. That little part will never go away, that small part will make me immortal…”

Picture taken in Wisla, Poland
***

Fake Samurai Swords

There were these children who pretended to be adults,
fighting against the forces of evil.
Inspired by animated films that focused on this ancient struggle,
these adults, these children in disguise, were transformed into cute animals, anthropomorphic, pure of heart, ready to suffer the ultimate sacrifice if it means a happy ending.
As long as good wins against evil, they can sleep soundly.
The world can be full of loss, but the balance is there.
There will be justice for all,
everything will be alright.
There is a life we fight for,
and when that ends,
we will go to heaven,
celebrating eternity with the ones we love.

This is what these children believed,
they acted this out, wearing their parents kimonos, using sticks like they are samurai swords.
One of these boys played this game devoutly,
he was going to save the world.
His grandmother told them stories about this great war,
the unfathomable death toll, piles of corpses, buildings made for death.
Desperate men crying out for their mothers,
crying out for their dreams of childhood: a universe that balances itself out, a universe that punishes the wicked and rewards the good.
And it’s then that this child started wondering about those who died so that this narrative could linger: the heroes who never had a chance to dream, heroes without luck, heroes too weak or too good to kill without hesitation or guilt.
It then dawned on him these were childlike fantasies,
something to make us sleep better at night.
This cosmic battle of good versus evil,
belongs to man alone,
the great cost of life,
is ours to make sense off.
But it won’t make anybody come back,
and nobody will be waiting for us,
none of the dead will forgive us.
the great cost is only ours to bear.
And what about the universe?
The Universe can’t be bothered.

This realization made the child cry,
when he wiped away his tears,
a process that took years,
he became an adult.
He continued the fight against evil,
playing by different rules,
wearing a army-uniform instead of kimonos,
wielding military-grade weaponry instead of fake samurai swords.
He would get ready for that great war that would come again,
he could either die so that others could dream,
or live so he could be inspired by those who died for this dream.
But sometimes he couldn’t help himself:
sometimes he just wanted to play with fake samurai swords again.
And when his platoon wasn’t looking;
he pretended to be that child pretending to be an adult.
He knew that when the time came,
he had to let this go,
but for now,
while no one was looking,
he was winning the fight against evil,
and sometimes he would lose but the universe would balance itself out,
he would see his fallen friends in heaven,
they would wait for him,
salute him on arrival.
He would sleep soundly those nights
and
all his dreams
would have a happy ending.

Picture taken in Wisla, Poland

***

The Revolution Repeats Itself

‘’I used to be an anarchist. I believed that there was something insidious about the system, a mind virus inside fabricated by the oppressors that needed to be eradicated. This evil spread, the cure was awareness, spreading truth against the lies. The kids today do much the same. They don’t call themselves anarchist, but the language they use ‘systemic racism’, from movements such as intersectional feminism and the theory of patriarchy- which used to be believed by only a small minority of colleges back in the day- sounds much the same. They want to save the disenfranchised from the oppressors. I understand that more than anyone else. But you have to listen to me, all of you, and know that it’s pointless. Nothing is going to change. The human animal will always be as rotten as it is now. The saddest thing is that even the most goodhearted human animal will be fooled by his hubris. The things I believed in were not true, parts of it were, but much of it was inflated in order to serve this narrative I had about the world. I was living a dream, much like the people I considered my enemies. We were all just dreaming. None of us had the answers but we think we did. So stop it. Listen to the writings of Charles Bukowski’s tombstone: don’t try. Don’t try to change the world. Live your selfish life. Let’s others fight the war. My generation tries, the generation before us tried and look at the mess they made. If you’ll be part of the same fools, you’ll  make even a bigger mess. They want you to kill for them. They want you to die for their cause. It’s not your cause. Your only cause is your life. Don’t protest. Don’t share memes. Don’t listen to your news or be swayed by political pundits and charming revolutionaries. Don’t think it’s your moral duty to save others. Get away from this world, the more you get involved, the more you understand that it’s all fucking hopeless. You’ll be just like in that movie about two revolutionaries: you’ll be staring at the fiery wreckage that tore your friend into a million pieces, wondering only one thing: what about me?’’

Picture taken in Katowice, Poland. 
***

Am I Going To Make It?


Remember the moment when you stopped fighting
and started drinking…
It’s the moment when you realized that you were through,

that the jig was up.

You lost the game of self-deception,

the world won,

you tried to built this fantasy world in which you were king,

but instead you were forced back into reality.

There’s the usual moment when you feel sorry for yourself,

you act as if you lost everything,

and you hope the universe will give you some sort of sign;

”don’t give up yet buddy!”
But the universe ain’t your buddy,

and it’s all about the golden rule:

shit just happens and some get lucky.

Some breeze through life

with little or great tragedies,

they don’t struggle in school,

they don’t get bullied because they have this innate coolness,

they have what it takes to be accepted in the fanciest schools

and even if they don’t;

they have parents that can pay the schools to accept them.

It’s that easy. For them it’s always easy.
They learned who they were at a young age,
and did what they could to make this person come alive.

And when you aren’t one of them,

you hope you’ll be one of the success stories,

the one that rises up through the muck,

one day they’ll interview you and you will give advice to all those people

who are just like you,

and you’ll tell them: ”don’t give up buddy! Don’t give up!”
This game you are playing means everything,

if you follow the rules- don’t give up!- you can make it…

There’s an end to this, you tell them…
One day you’ll be the master of the universe….

But maybe this doesn’t happen,

maybe you keep feeling sorry for yourself and the signs never come.

You’ll be sitting here,

like I am,

drinking beer,

smoking a cigarette,

realizing that this is the moment you stopped fighting

and the moment you start drinking….

…And then you laugh and realize that you’re not much of a drinker,

you’ve had enough already,

and it’s still early in the night,

so you wonder what to do…

And since you have nothing to lose anyway,

you start doing what you love

and before you know it,

you realize you don’t need the universe to give you any signals.
You can manage fine on your own.


Picture taken in Wisla, Poland

***


The Adventure

”I know you prefer playing videogames. It makes you traverse a different world, it morphs you into a superhero. You don’t have to be afraid of demons. Even if they kill you, you will be reanimated anyway. They keep killing you and you keep coming back alive until you finally kill them. I understand why you like it. It’s better than what is happening at home. It’s better than seeing the distance between two people you love. In that world, we are all connected, people don’t lose touch, people don’t separate, people stick together. I wanted to leave you in this world but I brought you here anyway, just so you could see that this world can be beautiful too. I hope you can see at the end of the day because if you can’t see it now, how will you be able to see it when you’re an adult, when the world expects you to provide for yourself? We need to have meaning beside our own little world. We all have to get out eventually, we can’t just stay in our room. We have to know that there’s something beautiful out there, something worth going out the door for. This is the way for a true adventure. This is the way to reality, to appreciate it at least. I know you can’t see it now, but if you follow me, I can show it to you…”

Picture taken in Wisla, Poland.
***

A More Realistic Option

”It still hurts, goddammit it still hurts. It doesn’t matter what I do, it doesn’t matter how hard I district myself, the plain slips into my consciousness eventually. This is the kind of pain you can’t run away from. Everything reminds me of it. I’m not allowed to move on. They say I’ve gotta learn from it, look at the bright side. But I can’t see it. I tried but I just can’t. Even when I make one up, it seems so disingenuous. Other say it takes time. Maybe, that’s true but even it happens, it will be a long time from now. And I just can’t see it happening. I try to imagine it but it just seems like fantasy. I don’t want to do either things anymore; whether it’s looking at the bright side or have faith in the future. I just want to live with the pain. It seems like a much more realistic option…”

Picture taken in Katowice, Poland.
***