2 Minutes. Go!

It's sometimes pretty hard to see the forest for the trees. Or to feel proud and worthwhile when you can't get off your knees. It's tempting to throw it all into a big pile, scatter kerosene...wait for the inevitable explosion. It's harder to realize that the forest is strong and resilient, even if some of the trees are sick, weakened by avarice, and trafficking in greed. 

Metaphorical trees and forests can be a real bitch. 

It's easy to sit and complain. It's even easier to give up. There are a million ways to do it, and there are dozens of chemicals that can kick your 'give-up' right in the ass. You can make it seem like you are just doing what needs to be done, but not if you never think. Not if you never use your brain. Don't take the easy way out. Don't make those excuses for yourself.

Bitch, you need to look at the forest AND the trees. You need to take your blinders OFF. Think critically. Break out the old sniff test and see if shit checks. Like, if one of the trees tells you that it will fix the economy by crippling working people and enriching the wealthy... 

It's so damn tempting to look away. Don't do it. That's what they're counting on.

Look at the forest and the trees. Look at the flowers and bees. Hug the ones who love you and hold their feelings gently in your hands - that is everything. Lead with love. The world is a massive place filled with good, bad, and indifferent. Try to be one of the good trees. 

Your forest will appreciate it. And remember, forests are good places, even with the few, inevitable shitty trees. They are outnumbered by those who still grow.

2 Minutes. Go!

    It starts with a handshake, subtle, on the down-low. A quick pressing of hands, flesh to flesh, and then it is over. If you aren't paying attention, you will miss the whole thing. If you are paying attention, there are tells. For instance, most people are too dumb to know they shouldn't look around suspiciously before they do something suspicious. They might as well have a bullhorn.

    There's an extra bit of slide to the shake. We're not jive-ass- turkeys in some long lost Harlem yesteryear. No one says slap me some skin anymore. We're all about fancy handshakes and firm handshakes. Fist bumps. That slide speaks volumes.

    How many people do you know who shake hands and then immediately shove the shaken hand into a pocket? That's what I'm talking about. You need to look for the things that are off. The things other humans don't do. That is, if you want to see what really happens on the streetcorners in your neighborhood.

    If you've never done it, maybe you don't look for it - that sliding shake. But don't go thinking you're too slick. Don't think you're fooling everyone. You may fool most people, but there are a bunch of us who know exactly what you're doing.

    We just don't care.

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Hear the bells? They're tolling. Feel the drums? They're rolling. You can smell dissention in the air.

It smells like 'about goddamn time.'

Fuck a Republican. Fuck a Democrat. Fuck both sides of the coin you're supposed to swallow. I won't wear their colors...

The revolution will not be televised, we will attack in Red and Black.

I got way more than 7 seconds, and I think for myself. 

When did politicians become rockstars? Politicians are supposed to be boring assholes we mostly ignore. 

They aren't supposed to be your hero.

You can feel revolution in the air. People are going to die. People are going to step up. The world is going to change. So it goes. 

Crises birth progress. It's going to be interesting to see how it all ends. 

We might not have long to wait. 

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The signs went up in the dead of night. No one saw who posted them. They were just there, and word spread fast. 

There's another sign! 

It was whispered fiercely between hedgerows. The community already felt loss, and now there was another sign. 

No one would tell anyone what it said, just that it was there.

New sign in the center. You gotta read it. Have you read it?

I had to finish my chores, but then I ran as fast as I could. There was already a large mourning group. Mothers were tearing their hair out. I had lived these past weeks, and I thought I knew what terror was. You could have never prepared me for what was on that sign, though. 

I made it home just as the curfew horn blew.

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There's frost on the memory. It flashes cold, but bright. It finds a way to get inside of you. You take the memory out and inspect it every once in a while...see how the years have been treating it. See if you can still make it bounce off the wall. 

Memories can be smooth or they can have sharp edges. They can be a worry stone, or they can cut you to the bone. Memory is something you shouldn't fuck with. Memory is your lifeline. Your shield against the world. 

We try to categorize memories into good and bad, but they can switch categories. Memory is fickle. Memory has seasons. 

The sun will warm you. The sun will melt the cold. The sun won't erase the memory, but it is a momentary solace. 

So, bask in it.

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The whistling sound you hear is the other shoe dropping...it just takes a while. Something about wind resistance or inertia. Some seventh grade science thing. Point is, you know it's coming, and you can almost feel it. The slap of sneaker tread against your face.

Shoe aerodynamics aside, this is not altogether a crazy occurence...shoes are falling all the time. Sometimes they're little and don't make much of an impact. Sometimes they're combat boots, and the steel toes can kill you.

Still, you can't go around dodging shoes that might drop. You'd drive yourself crazy. You'd crimp your back up. It would be bad for your spine and posture. Your friends will find you odd.

Maybe I'll just walk on my hands. Catch those shoes on my feet where they belong. Or maybe the euthanasia shoe is coming, and I should just smile and wait. 

You never know. Maybe this time it will land on the other foot, and I'll get to watch.

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The witches switch it up sometimes...they come in the daylight. They come in pairs and alone and in small groups. They are silent in their power, but the children don't fear them. They are not evil witches. They are the ones that protect people from evil. 

There are old timers in the village who lick slick lips and yearn for blood. They are predatory. The children know all about them, which is why they love the witches.

I am not a witch, but I know them. I see them. I see what they do. 

Someday, I will reward them. Someday, the witches will be celebrated. 

Someday...