Goldfish

My best friend and I often joke about goldfish. When one of us forgets something obvious, the other compares them to the fish that remembers only two seconds of life before forgetting again.
But it strikes me now, how terrifying the memory-span of a goldfish is. They spend their lives, trapped, swimming in a glass bowl, and never once realize that they aren't going anywhere. They can move in circles, and not notice or care. It seems almost ridiculous to humans that anything could forget so quickly, but to the goldfish, it would never register, because they could never hold onto a thought long enough to realize just how meaningless and pathetic their lives are.
So what if we're the same way? What if I'm that way? Perhaps our memories are just as comparatively short, and our lives, equally meaningless. As we can think with no greater brilliance then our own memory capacity and intelligence as a species allows, we can imagine nothing better then what we already are. So just as a goldfish cannot see that it is perpetually trapped, forever running over the same ground in a meaningless attempt to go somewhere that doesn't exist, are we not trapped in a fish bowl of our own?
For most of us, our fish bowl, our cage, is no larger than our own town or city. We have nowhere to go, and no way to get anywhere. Some people have a bigger cage: a country, or the whole planet. But even when you can fly to any country on metal wings, you are still not free. If other human beings are anything like me, than surely, you must feel the trap, sense the uselessness of our efforts, and the horror of our own limitations.
I don't want a cage, but I will always have one. And if I must have a cage, and a limit, then I want my cage to be as wide as the universe. I want to be able to go everywhere, and never be obstructed, whether by glass, or the impossible distance and immensity of space-time that we cannot yet (and possibly never will) traverse. I don't want to forget everything, and never even see the bars of my prison. I want my cage to expand, until it holds all that we know, and perhaps a little more.

The G20 meetings in Toronto have resulted in unnecessary violence from both protesters and police officers. There have been riots, illegal searches, and general chaos. However, this video proves that there are still a few original people in this world. :)

Shadow

November

The Fake Girl

The fake girl

Smiles at everyone,

And attracts strange stares,

As a reward for her boisterous antics.

The fake girl

Laughs at stupid jokes,

And clumsily carves a happy face,

Into the tender skin on her wrists.

The fake girl

Is the clown that no one laughs with:

Just at.

The fake girl

Doesn't mind being a source of entertainment.

She'll gladly sell her soul,

To keep everyone happy.

She dances in dizzy circles,

And trips over her own feet.

She grins with hollow eyes,

And wishes that she knew why,

She wanted so badly to die.

The fake girl

Is a mask.

Something cheaply made:

An artificial flavor,

That can never truly substitute for sugar.

She is the rug that you throw on the floor,

To hide the dust and stains beneath.

The fake girl

Is about to fall to pieces.

Inside, the mutant screams.

It claws at the insides of pretty plastic flesh,

And tears at the corners of the fake smile.

It puts its claws through the faux sparkly eyes,

And rips out through the brain.

Foolish creature:

It wore the mask too long.

Never will this androgynous, shapeless, heartless monster

Be accepted.

If it wanted to be seen,

It should have never hidden in the first place.

A life of real pain,

Is better than a make-believe existence.

The fake girl

Isn't so fake anymore.

She may not be much,

But she's the only thing left.

She's all you ever wanted anyway.

Isn't she.

(Note: the lack of a question mark at the end is intentional. It isn't a question: it's a statement.)

City of Steel

This is the city of steel,
Where we close our hearts
And pray that no one sees us.

This is the city of steel,
Where the homeless beggars,
Make up the dominant population.

This is the city of steel,
Where broken dreams are hammered down,
And turned into the foundations of the nation.

In this place,
There are no soft edges,
Or foolish illusions of happiness.
This is a dying world,
Where even the blue skies,
Have a hard, metallic edge to them.

Hush, hush, little baby.
Be silent,
And learn to cry only in your mind.
Don't try to escape the bars of your little metal cradel,
Because it's just the same on the outside.

Hide, child,
Behind a cold stare,
And a mask of apathy and indifference.
Don't try to smile:
The ones that smile never last for long.

Our city is a place of pain,
Where we can walk by the same desolate building,
A thousand times,
But never see it.
In this place, beauty is the shine of polished glass,
And the way the light refracts off the gunmetal.

This is the city of steel,
But even steel can break
....Right?

Well, on that happy note...:P Review? *Puppy eyes.*

The Archie Revelation

Dear, lovely followers (not that I have many...),
Today, my dad, knowing of my involvement in the gay movement, sent me a fascinating article. What was that you said? "Wait?" Oh: you must be wondering about my last comment. "Since when," you ask "Is this annoying, hyperactive teenager involved in the gay movement?" A little history, then.
I started high school last September. For the first few weeks, I stumbled through the halls in a daze, much like any other semi-unpopular grade nine student. I looked in awe and fear at the seniors, and clung to my small group of nerdy friends. Then, about a month into the first semester, I met James.
James was probably the most hyperactive male I had ever met. I recall wondering if he was mentally disabled the first time I met him, because he acted like no boy I had ever met. However, I quickly grew to like him tremendously, and we struck up a friendship. In my mind, I soon labeled him as the happiest person I had ever met, and I could always count on him to cheer me up. Always, at least, until the day he spent the entire lunch period near tears because his boyfriend had dumped him. I was shocked. Up until that point, I'd heard James mention hot guys, but I'd always assumed that he was just joking.
With James to lead me, I timidly entered my first GLBTQ meeting, Colouring Outside the Lines. I was frightened of being seen going there; frightened of the other students attending; frightened of what I was beginning to know, despite my best attempts not to--that I was not straight as I have so vehemently stated in the past. After about two months of going to the GLBTQ, I finally admitted the truth to myself: every idiot who had ever insulted me had been correct: I was bisexual. I'm not sure yet where this will take me: until I came out, I had never allowed myself to like girls, but now, I find them more attractive then boys or men. Perhaps I am bi, perhaps a lesbian. Regardless, the moment I came out, I became deeply involved in the gay rights movement.
Alright! That's the back story! Now, onward with the plot!
Today, I opened my gmail, and, low and behold, I found an exciting article that my dad had sent me. It was published in The Hamilton Spectator, and was simply the announcement that, for the first time ever, Archie comics would have a gay character. Kevin Keller (the character) will not only be the first gay character in the Archie comics, but will also remain as a prominent feature. This is a big step for a series that I previously thought of as enjoyable, but simultaneously shallow and sexist. For a long time, Archie has been stuck in the past, but now, it will begin to lead the future.
Well, that's all for now. This is the article: http://thespec.com/article/756877. I hope that you enjoy reading it, and I look forward to the coming of Kevin Keller to Riverdale!
Rock on!
-Eva