aplus
06-10-2005, 12:56 PM
This one was once a poem I dropped in one of the open mic contsts a long time ago. I flipped it and came up with this. It just won a contest over at Writingcompetition.com (http://www.writingcompetition.com/page7.html). Let me know what you think...it ain't really a story, but it is not a poem either...1
Zen Moment on a Metro Transit Bus
Everything was going along as usual, that is until I questioned reality during my Friday evening bus ride. Then the day seemed computerized and messy. The week felt empty, filled only with dust-covered wires and sluggish internet connections. Life appeared to be some low-budget reality TV production, scripted with just enough familiarity to make everything feel fake. Happiness had officially vanished like sugar in hot tea. Or maybe happiness just gave its boss a lame excuse to go home early, like that ditzy secretary who marinates in Chanel No. 5.
Anyway, after hours of pretending that my career is legitimate, I started believing that this whole productive member of society bullsh*t is overrated. Instead of coping with cubicles and khaki-clad liars, I contemplated the subtle benefits of laziness, balancing days of video games with nights of Cinemax soft core porn. After all, what good had striving towards greatness done for anyone? As the bus lunged forward, I daydreamed about ancient African empires, all of which had been crushed into Saharan sand. This made me wonder how culture becomes exploited and why destiny often gets tilled into irrelevance.
Soon, within the confines of my degenerate mind, the pointless began to have purpose. Then, right before I considered giving up completely and crawling into that special section of Hell reserved for politicians and couples who wear matching outfits, the bus stopped, and so did my commute, and so did any thought of changing the world that I live in instead of simply living in a world that changes.
Zen Moment on a Metro Transit Bus
Everything was going along as usual, that is until I questioned reality during my Friday evening bus ride. Then the day seemed computerized and messy. The week felt empty, filled only with dust-covered wires and sluggish internet connections. Life appeared to be some low-budget reality TV production, scripted with just enough familiarity to make everything feel fake. Happiness had officially vanished like sugar in hot tea. Or maybe happiness just gave its boss a lame excuse to go home early, like that ditzy secretary who marinates in Chanel No. 5.
Anyway, after hours of pretending that my career is legitimate, I started believing that this whole productive member of society bullsh*t is overrated. Instead of coping with cubicles and khaki-clad liars, I contemplated the subtle benefits of laziness, balancing days of video games with nights of Cinemax soft core porn. After all, what good had striving towards greatness done for anyone? As the bus lunged forward, I daydreamed about ancient African empires, all of which had been crushed into Saharan sand. This made me wonder how culture becomes exploited and why destiny often gets tilled into irrelevance.
Soon, within the confines of my degenerate mind, the pointless began to have purpose. Then, right before I considered giving up completely and crawling into that special section of Hell reserved for politicians and couples who wear matching outfits, the bus stopped, and so did my commute, and so did any thought of changing the world that I live in instead of simply living in a world that changes.