Into your eyes. Into your ears. Into your head. Into your mind. Over and over. Over. Over. Nagging. Nagging. Buzzing. Buzzing. Piercing. A Piercing flock of gnats flying around your head. Slicing through your mind. All at once. It is cutting. It is burning. Slicing through your mental landscape. You try earplugs, mp3 players. Space. Pure Space. Wall space. Pillow space.

Try and tune it out. Piercing. Nagging. Buzzing. Over and over. Over and over. Slicing through your physical landscape. No thoughts can manifest, but escape. You can’t Hide. You can’t Run. It grows louder. Louder. Louder. Hours. Hours and hours. It controls you. It breaks you. It makes you. Welcome to the sounds of your seven month old infant girl. Your little angel. Welcome to parenthood.

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Pipe dreams. Of having talent.
Of working in your field and folks taking notice.
Of your opinion being worth something.

Pipe dreams. Of waking up and loving what you
do for a living. Of being excited to go to work.
Of not living for retirement.

Pipe dreams. Of not being controlled by fear.
Of not making the logical choice. Of following your heart.

Pipe dreams. Because you think you are not
special. Because a thousand people are waiting
to fill your shoes. Because you are scared of the unknown.

Pipe dreams. Because fear is the controlling factor.
Because you don’t know anything else. Because you don’t
act on your dreams.

Pipe dreams. Because you don’t have enough money.
Because you chose to stay close to your family.
Because what if you didn’t make it if you tried?

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Ranting. Panting. I have an opinion and it’s always correct. I listen to NPR. I know Bush lied. I know there were no weapons of mass destruction. I know it was all to get their oil. To take care of something daddy started and didn’t finish.

Or do I really? Do I know anything? Should I be entitled to an opinion when I don’t have anything to back it up? Should I believe in the news I get that is filtered and stained then spoon fed to the starving uneducated American public.
I am an empty vessel.

I should have no opinion on politics, because I am uneducated on social problems, and current events. I cannot form an intelligent opinion. I am a reflection of the image of the typical American, raised by television, drive-thru’s, and Nintendo, not by Shakespeare, or Socrates. We are a crowd easily incensed, easily disturbed, whose opinions are easily vocalized.

We are not well read. We are not tracking current events in Jerusalem, the former Soviet Union, or even in our own backyards. What gives us the right to voice our opinion or even to vote?

We should all have to take a test. A citizen’s test. A test for all Americans who want to voice their opinion. It should be given annually and cover our country’s history and the year’s past current events. If opinions are like assholes we would have a lot less assholes, and possibly a more educated public opinion.

This change would be drastic, but would help to educate the public and help to enforce a standard of intelligence that could help to propagate the revolution we all yearn for. Be it to the left or to the right. Democracy has the potential to breed ignorance unless our citizens intelligence is policed.

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I’m a warrior. Like a mythical warrior with golden locks of hair. My armor is thick. Really thick. And I battle body copy, price points,and legal all day. Sometimes I walk into a conference room, and I can overhear people say, “there is the mythical warrior with golden locksof hair.” I blush. It’s hard to take sometimes. But when my pricepoints ring true $14.99, $19.99, for the first three months, I can’t help but think how much worse the world would be if people had to pay the full price for those first three months.

Sometimes when I’m migrating databases, and talking to programmers I think maybe I’ll use some of my magical powers of mind persuasion and make this programmer work faster, and then I hold back. I know that that would be against the mythical warrior with golden locks of hair code of honor. When I was sworn into the legion I knew that this was it for me. That I had found my calling. That I had finally found a group of warriors who all had golden locks of hair like me, and really thick armor. It’s hard to find people with the same hair and same armor.

And then when we do the secret hand shake which entails shaking hands while reciting the best way to make a selection in Photoshop, which of course is by using the pen tool to draw your selection, going into the path window then choosing make selection, I knew that I could take on the world. I could take on all the price points. That the logos and body copy would be so easily dealt with knowing that I had the backing of the mythical warriors with golden locks of hair. But then one day, there was this price point. It glistened. $29.99. It was way too much for me to handle. I had been very lonely battling price points. I was overcome by a strange attraction to its height, and the way it wrapped just right in a certain block of copy. The Art Director had put a wonderful gradient in it, that made it just pop out against all the other price points.

I didn’t know what to think of myself. I had been programmed for so long that I was never to take allegiance with a price point. That they were evil, and that my job would be more complicated as amythical warrior with golden locks of hair, if I took sides with any price points, logos, body copy, or legal. But I could not contain myself. And then it happened, my golden hair started to fall out. It all fell out, all of the gold and all of the locks.

And then one day I got the invitation to the annual mythical warrior with golden locks of hair pep rally. That morning came, and it was hard to get out of bed. What would they think of me now, without my golden hair? What would they think of my bedding down with $29.99. We had started living together, and I had a dresser drawer over at$29.99’s apartment next to the legal copy. I could put my really thick armor in the drawer when we engaged in relations. Sometimes I knocked her dollar sign right off. It was nice.

I felt like I had finally found what I had been looking for all this time battling logos, price points, body copy, and legal copy. I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t have golden locks of hair, but I went to the meeting anyway. Hand in hand with my price point, with that wonderful gradient. The dollar sign of $29.99 was much bigger now.At that point $29.99 was in her third trimester, and we were expecting a little $14.99 at any moment. It was a strange pep rally this year. They didn’t even acknowledge me. I didn’t even wear my really really thick armor and all my golden locks of hair had all fallen out. They made us sit in the back of the auditorium. It was a scene.

And then at the last moment my dear $29.99 screamed in agony as she was grabbed from behind. Another warrior with golden locks of hair had her by her first nine, as another warrior with golden locks of hair grabbed me from behind and pinned me down. I was upset that $29.99 was being so mistreated. How could they mistreat a price point when all she wanted to do was have our little dollar sign and give consumers a deal on their first three months?

Then it occurred to me, warriors with golden locks of hair are programmed from birth. Their really really thick armor keeps them strong and unsusceptible to the gradients and dollar signs of any price points. All I needed to do was to work harder, grow my golden locks longer, and wear thicker armor and I would be fine. The warriors with golden locks of hair all attacked after that. It was awful. Like a pack of rabid programmers sitting around doing nothing, not responding to your emails, leaving you hanging on projects that need to get out the door. It was too much for me to handle. My precious dollar sign and price point were now being eaten by the pack of golden warriors with golden locks of hair. My family’s future were all down the tubes. I trembled in fear.

Then all of a sudden, I realized. She is just a price point. That once you are golden you are golden forever. That no price point or dollar sign can ever come between me and the magic of being a mythical warrior with golden locks of hair. I mean seriously who would trade being a mythical warrior with golden locks of hair just to be with some price point? I screamed out, “Anything but me. Don’t sacrifice me. My hair will grow back. I’m one of you. Please. Please. Kill $29.99. Not me. Eat the dollar sign.”

After that day it took several months for me to get my head straight. My doctor says I’ll be Okay in a few years. I’m on meds now, and everything is much happier and brighter. I don’t dare think of relations with price points, but I still can’t get the image of my precious price point being eaten, and my dear dear dollar sign. But sometimes if I go to my happy place where I’m surrounded by golden locks of hair, and really really thick armor then I feel much better. Do you have golden locks of hair and really really thick armor too?

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Day over. Another. Again. Again. Do it again. Lifes circular rhythm. The alarm clock goes off. NPR is on the radio, muffled through clogged ears. Oh, I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to go to school. I don’t want to go to work. I don’t want to do this all over again. Again.

Hit the snooze button. One. Two. Three. Four. One hour passes. I knew. Knew it was going to be mundane. Again. Again. Again. Searching again. Searching for truth. Truth be heard. Truth be known. Tomorrow is another attempt of making the right choices. Of being what you know you can be. Of not letting yourself down. Of treating everyone like equals. Of treating everyone like friends. Through the connections we make on a daily basis, we can make this worth while, for a while. I think. I know… Brush your teeth. Get dressed. Start your car. Drive to work. An Emergency light is lit on the interstate. Traffic is slow, five miles to the JTB exit. NPR is droning on the radio. Another day. Another glorious day.

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