A Thought that Piddled Out
Kitsch causes two tears to flow in quick succession. The first tear says: how nice to see children running on the grass! The second tear says: how nice to be moved, together with mankind, by children running on the grass!-Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Perhaps that is what makes... .. .
You know what, I changed my mind. Suddenly whatever it was I was thinking lost all significance.
That frequently happens. Those thoughts that while walking home swells within me a desire to raise my fist or hug a stranger, or whistle a tune. The thoughts that are my companions outside, fall away when I pass through these doors. Perhaps they are claustrophobic. Perhaps they are too large to enter the gates. Perhaps they find other solitary selves roaming the streets, minds silent and free from all interference but the passing voices and humming cars. Perhaps they are traveling ministers who only preach their sermons to congregations of one.
I feel as if I have returned from the supermarket, bags brimming with delicious groceries. Vegetables and spices and meats. With recipe in hand I turn the lock at my door. But when I reach down for my bags, they are unexpectedly light. A look inside and find each empty. Every item was stealthily snatched away as I unlocked the door. Inside, I search the cupboard and find only a bowl of instant ramen. Forgive me, guest, I had plans for greater things.
You know what, I changed my mind. Suddenly whatever it was I was thinking lost all significance.
That frequently happens. Those thoughts that while walking home swells within me a desire to raise my fist or hug a stranger, or whistle a tune. The thoughts that are my companions outside, fall away when I pass through these doors. Perhaps they are claustrophobic. Perhaps they are too large to enter the gates. Perhaps they find other solitary selves roaming the streets, minds silent and free from all interference but the passing voices and humming cars. Perhaps they are traveling ministers who only preach their sermons to congregations of one.
I feel as if I have returned from the supermarket, bags brimming with delicious groceries. Vegetables and spices and meats. With recipe in hand I turn the lock at my door. But when I reach down for my bags, they are unexpectedly light. A look inside and find each empty. Every item was stealthily snatched away as I unlocked the door. Inside, I search the cupboard and find only a bowl of instant ramen. Forgive me, guest, I had plans for greater things.
