When I hear or see art that blatantly rips the truth from the backs of our minds and places directly in front of us, I want to set fire to something, to words and to tears. I want to go be a revolutionary and hand megaphones to those who we only allow to whisper in places where it won’t be too offensive so they can be reminded no one should have jurisdiction over your voice. My bones and flesh want to riot, to fight, to demand that they hear us, see us, respect us. But I remember the honest decision I made years ago which only allows my spirit the options of quiet and gentle. And I question how my faith and my art could expect me to be two vastly different things when they merely exist to be contingent upon each other. My soul sits heavily on this reality; my perpetual internal war.
I thought I could hear two kids wailing in the wind and rain outside, looked outside and saw that they are two cats, not children, whimpering to one another. They sound so sad. But I live in an apartment. What does one do?
Ok that was ten mins ago… So I brought a bagel downstairs for the cats to eat after googling “Can cats eat bagels?”. Number 1 risk was their becoming fat and I figured with wind and rain such as tonight’s, being fat would be no harm. Went downstairs but couldn’t find them. Wandered through the car park, mewing to myself with a bagel in my hand, all to no avail.
I hope they’re ok.
yes! someone is saying this!