prerequisite starbucks post
With definitions notwithstanding, tony perez says the reason we love democracy so much is because it allows us to love.
I found comfort in a big yellow-ish building with translucent pearlized white floors the other night. Tired from the small-ness of a teaching cubicle where you can hear everyone else’s insecurities, pretensions and identities, I sought refuge in someone else’s haunt and found myself looking for more anonymity, more not-me-ness.
So I ended up in the warm glow of a Starbucks bearing my things like the memory lady of Labyrinth, bent, wrinkled and unable to let go of anything lest everything go crumbling around me. Because really, they’re just things things things.
A long table with people talking with their hands turned the tide. And I watched fascinated with that kind of a world, albeit a romanticized and idealized version of it. (hey, my fantasy.) the simplicity of language, the need to really look at someone in the eye to understand what they’re saying because if you don’t, you’re out of the conversation. The plain act of turning away is equal to refusal and rejection. I’m not listening because I don’t see you. Though I’m sure anyone can learn how to look at someone and still be blind.
And I know all this reflection, all this self-indulgent preoccupation was made possible by a mermaid deciding to get out of the water and sell overpriced coffee. I realize that on some days, our particularities can be exhausting. (They can also be a lot of hot air.) And the illusions of homogeneity are a nice (bland) and safe (no need to get involved) house to hide in.
Only a mall can do this for you. Art is too personal, too human. Shangri-la, its name taking a more ironic bent talaga, allowed me to wallow in a more palatable pretension —- of money, of its direct relation to ease of life.
So I worship thee o gods of capitalism and sameness. I enjoyed my non-fat, venti mochachino from your sterile silicon bosom, I’ve been made numb enough.
image taken from: click