You Can Either Sink or Swim

So this generation that we're in...a little intense right? But we all go along with it. We all add to the intensity and the drama that our lives revolve around. Who's to say that our younger selves would look at who we are now, and point and say I KNEW IT. None of us really expected ourselves to be where we are now, and by this I mean....what the hell are we doing with our lives? It's something we all avoid thinking about, simply because we have no idea. Are we all lazy, or is the world around us just corrupted and crazy?

 I feel as if as the years go by, we are simply reproductions from our originals. When reading Benjamin's The Work of Art as the Mechanical Reproduction, I can't help but to think of myself and everyone else as just a piece of "work" what is a reproduction from the original. Of course, things change over time due to the circumstances and the context of things, but we adjust to things and like pieces of works, we are basically reproductions from the innocence we were born into, who mold into the life thrown in front of us. And that life that I'm referring to isn't so innocent. It's survival of the fittest out here, and we strive for perfection, all of us, which is not necessarily a bad thing...until you aren't the person surviving. 

So, when I ask myself what am I doing in life, isn't the answer for everyone: "What I think I should be doing." And then we hope and cross our fingers for things to fall into place...

No Stomach for Depths

I stood there on the top of the building, looking at the face in front of me that was scanning mine for answers. I was looking past their head and over their shoulder at the city that was going on with their business behind us, all while this happened. I did not know what was going to happen next or what tomorrow was going to be like. But, I felt trapped in a bubble that I couldn’t even call my own. I was trapped in someone else’s bubble. I heard voices and cars around us, something they clearly did not, or at least pretended not to hear as they stood in front of me continuing to wait for words to come out of my mouth.

I was warm, my palms were sweating and my face was red. The person standing in front of me suddenly became a crowd of people, and inches away from me appeared a podium and a microphone. It was my time to let it all out for everyone to hear, to make my impression. The audience’s faces showed they were hungry. The snarling, gnashing of the teeth led me to believe they've been long deprived. But no words came out, and my moments were passing. I choked. I couldn’t say what I wanted to say, or wasn’t even sure of what I wanted to say. The crowd that had been looking up at me was gone, and looking around I stood alone with solely the company of my own silence and I didn’t know whether to cry or to be relieved.