The 101st Anniversary of the Opening of the Scopes Monkey Trial
On becoming a man? What use could crying possibly have for me now? What difference would wet or dry eyes make to this vicious cycle of waking up and churning through a list of tasks handed down to me -designed to enrich the lives of those near me, unnoticed. Unthanked. The few moments that are spare come with sickness or inescapable noise. I put things designed for the prolonged use of heavy machinery into my ears at night so that I can sleep, but it is still there. The noise, not so much, but the knowledge of it. I have met these people individually. They have limp handshakes, their breath smells of beer and ashtrays. Frames that would not serve them well in collisions or violence. Yet, they end almost every one of my days with the decibels of their lack of meaning. Am i annoyed more by them or that in a street full of people I am the only person to confront them? Once in a while there will be a moment -short-lived- at the foot of a mountain or by the sea. Every ripple...