atrocity exhibition

I still exist.



I really want to see control, hence the title, and first line.

but that has nothing to do with anything.


A few things I've seen recently:

A car full of people all talking on their phones. I don't know what exactly it was about that that caught my very insubstantial attention, but that scene did. Maybe it was the isolation of those people in that very closed space - four people crammed into a mid-sized car, all in their own private conversations. Or maybe it was the fact that i imagined them perversely conversing with each other, each listening in on each others' private words, learning more about each other that way than through direct conversation. Or maybe it was the fact that they stopped a good twenty feet behind the car ahead of them, forcing me to glare at them (as they were blocking me from making my left-hand turn).

A spider. Not any spider, but a seven-legged spider. And not any seven-legged spider, but one with an incredible ability to survive. You see, I saw this seven-legged spider months ago, in my home. I was drawn to it even then - maybe it was a morbid curiosity, but I couldn't help but watch it make its way up the walls. I even took pictures of it - I would post them here, but I'm A) too lazy, and B) I have no idea where my camera is. Which brings us back to A, but I digress.
I saw this spider long ago, and saw it again less than a week ago. This isn't all that impressive in and of itself, but there's another little fact - my house was fumigated a few weeks ago. So, a couple of months after originally seeing the spider, my home was filled with poisonous gas. Then I see the very same seven-legged spider trudging through his day. I thought that was amazing, and found myself imagining his perilous journey, surviving the poisonous fumes that filled his home, with one leg missing, then seeing this bizarre giant who took pictures of him so long ago.
I now wish I had caught said spider, and given him/it a more comfortable home - a sort of retirement, where it/he didn't have to worry about survival. But I suppose that would be a sort of insult - this is, most likely, a proud, honorable creature that has survived far too much to be relegated to mere pet. After roaming freely through my entire house, a small glass cage would be dishonorable.


Stories. Especially the filmed variety. I've watched quite a few movies recently, ranging from the recent (the likes of Ocean's 13 and 28 Weeks Later) to the legendary (Rear Window and Cries and Whispers). I noticed something that, for me, set apart the stories I loved from the ones I could barely pay attention to. The best stories, for me, are the ones that focus on the individuals' stories, instead of some grand picture. Some stories try to be all encompassing, while others - the truly great ones - speak volumes about the human condition by focusing on the lives of individuals in minutiae. Those stories that focus on a few characters, and delve deeply into their lives' and experiences hold more weight, for me, than the ones that make sweeping generalizations about humanity as a whole (I'm speaking to you, Michael Moore).


Oh, and I've fallen even more in love with Joy Division.

Plus, I got a random text message from someone I haven't talked to in a long, long time. That was weird.

And I just rambled on for a good, long while about nothing in particular.



Now go listen to David Bowie and Joy Division, and Jenny Owen Youngs (one of these things is not like the other... but great anyway!!!!).


This is just a means to an end (yet another joy division reference, which is what reminded me of Jenny Owen Youngs, as I just refer to her as JOY anyway)