Chapter 29, Verse 2: Thaw

Greetings Space Travelers from the heart of the Snopocolypse. President Obama perfers to call it Snomageddon, but I think he secretly likes Snobama (either way, I think this means somebody in his office reads twitter and briefs him). SnOMG appeals to my nerd background, but ultimately the b-boy in me has a sweet spot for the Snowtorious B.I.G. Anyways. All this snow got me inspired, and when inspiration strikes, it's like blizzard. Words, like snow flakes appear, but how much falls, and how much sticks in the end we just have to wait and watch.

We all want to be the snowflake that falls last.
We all want to be the one that lays on top,
and sparkles in the dusk light.

We all want to be situated on a perfect drift of snow,
far from the pedestrian foot path;
far from being trampled;
far from the the filth of the
shoes and tires
traveling fast
with no care to take in the beauty of a
picture perfect snow-scape.

We want to be untouched, and appreciated from a distance.

We don't want to be a part of someone else's design;
their half-assed snow man;
their snowball busted and melting against a warm car window.

We want to be emergent and beautiful,
and we want to be the
last
to
thaw.

Let it snow Space Travelers.

Trying My Hardest.

With the invention of the revolving door and the automatic door, people can less and less have the chance to hold the door for someone. Hell, we used to be able to practice courtesy just by rewinding our VHS before returning them to the rental store. Eventually our cars will drive themselves, and computers will control everything. Although, this will make traffic obsolete, I think I'll miss the look of thanks and relief I get when I let someone change lanes. A brief relationship certainly, but one without an agenda. It's just a quick gesture, and a glance in their mirror.

I love technology, but we're losing opportunities to be kind to our fellow citizen.