The Givers

Why is it that we, as human beings, sit around a large piece of wood or other material and use small, bizarre metal utensils to shove food into our faces? What, even, is the act of sitting? We, the strange bipedal creatures that we are, rarely question these things.

Concerning the face: Is eating or communicating more important?

Of course, these arbitrary examples and seemingly random statements are the caboose of a much longer train of thought. Forgive the brevity. More passengers of that train later, perhaps. Now, onward.

We have changed our paradigm. We expect things in different ways.

You graduate from high school, college, get your doctorate degree. You get appointed to an important company position. You become the President. You get married. You move into a new house. Someone passes away.

It becomes about the ceremony (as defined: an act or series of acts performed according to a traditional or prescribed form). We get lost in the faux-importance of the traditions. The graduation is expected; the wedding reception, expected. We feel obligated to give the new cutlery, the cheque in the greeting card. We have to give.

We have become the Givers. We relate and compare everything to our past experiences, relevance being our most sought-after value. Rather than allowing things to happen and living in the moment, we must manufacture an experience. All memories are malleable, and the present is molded to fit the relative — not absolute — model of our traditions, our ceremonies. We feel we must force on ourselves what is expected.

Wouldn't it be better to exist in the real world, rather than behind the facade of acts and fakery?

Rather than giving, just live. Just experience. Just be.

La Calunnia - Paraphrased

I sang this song, La Calunnia from The Barber of Seville, in a recital a couple weeks ago, and one of my assignments was to paraphrase the song. College being the sometimes tedious thing it is, I decided to embellish the translation a bit. You can read the original Italian and translation here.

Slander comes along
softly touching cheeks of fair maidens
and just barely
ever so slightly
starts creeping in

With this quiet beginning
it whispers across from mouth to ear
many many times
all around the town
saying “Here I am!”
as it confuddles and bemuses
making the townspeople into regular bruises

Moving about
like a swelling sea
the swirling venom becomes more potent
with each victim it possesses
Armor clatters down, minds turn to cheese
and off in the distance
a great rumpus is heard
that gives your blood goosebumps and makes your skin run cold

Then the vicious volcano erupts
gaining more victims
and runs into the sea of venom
before helicopters arrive
and open fire on the viscous smoke
corroborating the cacophony
that reverberates in the victims’ ears.

The poor little lemming of a human
is utterly destroyed
by the lava, smoke, venom, and helicopters
and dies a sad, unceremonious death

Here We Go