Row upon row of inane images. Grotesque colors and shapes begging me to choose them. "Use me," they shout from their neat formations. That they don't play hard to get makes me hate them. Scooped up by wanna-be creatives and inserted into yet more clip-art templates.
I loath lack of creativity as much as I loath lack of talent. These thoughts feed my own sense of self loathing. One can't be master of everything. But to see clip-art on a website is a knife through my heart. For a venue as far reaching as the Internet, I want local color. I want what is in your heart and soul. What expresses you.
Clip-art stifles. Clip-art constricts the lines of that box around our brain from ever parting. Clip-art fills me with dread. Anyone that uses clip-art isn't someone I want to know. Isn't someone I find interesting. Because someone who takes from the masses to project their own sensibilities is just playing scrabble with the same known words, forming and reforming some tired old thing. Am I bitter? No, hungry. For something new.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Why Moises Seems So Happy
I see him. Sidewalks. Grocery stores. Big Lots. Target. A squat, happy nebula spinning around a solid core based on an attitude of gratitude and a sense of family. He doesn't care how fat he is. He loves the idea of sitting down to a great home-cooked meal. Extra cheese please. He doesn't fret his corpulent body into anorexia. Holding his kid's hand they cross the street, albeit one of the ugliest intersections in town at Rose and Lincoln. I see their happy laughing faces.
My therapist says there are people out there that get up and go to work at a normal 9-5 job. Then they actually come home, play with the kids and eat dinner. Only to cap off the night with a rousing two hours of television. And they are happy. I envy them. Their sense of community and history and shared struggles. Their laughter and joy. Their gleaming perfect white teeth.
Except for the teeth it's the life I had growing up. The green house with neat white trim. Wild fields to play in until dinner then back outside in the summers and in front of the television and fireplace in the winters. Back when it was impossible to visualize the end of summer vacations when school let out, and an all-nighter meant unable to sleep Christmas Eve knowing a fat, jolly man in a red suite would soon tip-toe into my bedroom, filling my stocking full of amazing little gifts that would keep me busy until mom and dad could get up.
My therapist says there are people out there that get up and go to work at a normal 9-5 job. Then they actually come home, play with the kids and eat dinner. Only to cap off the night with a rousing two hours of television. And they are happy. I envy them. Their sense of community and history and shared struggles. Their laughter and joy. Their gleaming perfect white teeth.
Except for the teeth it's the life I had growing up. The green house with neat white trim. Wild fields to play in until dinner then back outside in the summers and in front of the television and fireplace in the winters. Back when it was impossible to visualize the end of summer vacations when school let out, and an all-nighter meant unable to sleep Christmas Eve knowing a fat, jolly man in a red suite would soon tip-toe into my bedroom, filling my stocking full of amazing little gifts that would keep me busy until mom and dad could get up.
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