TIGed

Switch headers Switch to TIGweb.org

Are you an TIG Member?
Click here to switch to TIGweb.org

HomeHomeExpress YourselfPanoramaToo Much Talk, Too Little Action
Panorama
a TakingITGlobal online publication
Search



(Advanced Search)

Panorama Home
Issue Archive
Current Issue
Next Issue
Featured Writer
TIG Magazine
Writings
Opinion
Interview
Short Story
Poetry
Experiences
My Content
Edit
Submit
Guidelines
Too Much Talk, Too Little Action Printable Version PRINTABLE VERSION
by (no name), Jun 14, 2002
Culture   Opinions

  

The Memory Of

Mr J who had been poor for years
Inherited all the money in the world
Bought a gun to blow a hole in his head
To let in air and light he said
To let me out

Today, I have my head to shave
There are lights and shadows in it
All too soon empty open ashes
Join mirthfully to earth



I was thinking yesterday about how I really want to die my hair black. I went over all the numerous "short hair styles" I could go with, pondering weather there was a hair stylist at Coup Bizarre that specialized in "girls who shaved their heads because they were sick of hair products and societal pressures and ended up missing their old locks". Suddenly I felt infiltrated; hair dye ads flicked through my head like flashcards, long luscious locks, sparkling with brilliance. Skinny protruding ribs, like my diet-obsessed sister's. She came home from the chiropractors crying yesterday because he told her to loose some weight. Little did he know that she works out 4 hours a day, and limits herself to a strange diet of vegetables, turkey and bagels.

I force my mind back into the cementing stars of the classroom; beautiful girls with shriveling locks, suppressed stomachs, shiny alien faces, flipping through the glossy American policy issue of Adbusters; thinking of their families back home, feeling helpless in it all. I think of the Black Block Anarchists of Eugene; with torn frayed Nikes, smashing bricks through corporate America, twisting in its net. We are struggling everyday for the answers; struck with fear, confusion, apathy, laziness, and anger. I think of my hunger; I haven't eaten all day. $100 for a cut and dye, $100 of food for a starving family in a "lesser-developed" nation. Today my parents rich friends came over for dinner and they were talking on and on about traveling.

"Lisa didn't want to go to Mexico at all, but when she ended up there she absolutely LOVED it!"

"Oh really? What did you think of Mexico, Lisa?"

"Well, it was nice and relaxing. But at the same time it was kind of depressing."

"Oh, why was that?"

"Well on the resort we had everything you could ever need; all you can eat food, snacks, towels, a beautiful bed, satellite TV, a hammock... but outside of the resort, outside of the commercial areas, they had nothing."

"Yes, it is very sad, but at least you're supporting their economy."

"Well, if you really think about it, Mexico has enough land and resources to support itself. In reality we were supporting the unequal distribution of those resources; filling the pockets of the rich, and in turn supporting the power structures that keep the majority of their citizens suppressed in poverty..."

"Oh..."

I constantly dismiss myself as "just a little girl". This works well when trying to avoid responsibility. Whether it's dealing with cops at demonstrations, dealing with unconscious mistakes I've made in other relationships, or anxiety in regards to the future. Yesterday through me into oblivion, into the moment. Not into resistance, into Life. Human nature is so double sided and although we are aware of the danger of our actions we are constantly being bombarded with ideas of normal and safety. There is no safety from death, there is only life. In Michael Moore's new book he reminisces about a generation that was in constant consciousness of the fact that they could be blown to smithereens any second. Some how that consciousness has been thrown off, and with the newspaper headlines signaling the destruction of nuclear warheads, there seems to be a false sense of safety in the air. Where before there were enough weapons to blow up the world four times over, now there is only enough to blow up the world once. Oh thank the Lord; we're all safe now. I reach for the razor and my locks seal the moment on the bottom of the bathtub. I reach out in the darkness, the scurrying, and bring up Philip Whalen. Sipping solemnly on a shrinking inch of reality, the rest remains submerged in spectacle.



Oh The Dilemma of the Occasion ...

She says she's funny-looking
She can't decide on hair nor clothes.
There are too many shoes to wear.
Almost every downtown corner
Displays crippled, sick and dirty people
Beat and tromped on. Others look
For what to look at, watch to see
If they are noticed
Where to spend all this money.





 1     


Tags

You must be logged in to add tags.

Writer Profile
(no name)


This user has not written anything in his panorama profile yet.
Comments


Perfect
Laura Jenoure | Jun 25th, 2002
But Are you doing something about it? We should start now.

You must be a TakingITGlobal member to post a comment. Sign up for free or login.