Shawn Michael Quinn: 2006

Misanthropic

We walk hypnotized but not blind to the ways of our kind

So many still believe that a life not tasted is a life wasted

We who walk so tall and proud…
Claiming our righteousness so loud

Hiding behind our corporations, our religions, our terror

Never claiming responsibility for our ways, our errors

Teachers that seldom learn and prophets that choose to burn

These hypocrites, politicians, parasites, priests, and freaks

The fanatics who have been swallowing whole the feast

Believing it’s their right, not their responsibility…

God’s mortals, gluttons, either bitter or driven

Craving any suitable or worthy distraction…

Hiding behind our laws, our cures, our reasons, our whores

Chasing the winds that whisper inside their wombs

Telling us to absorb and treasure each moment
On our way to the tomb

We hold nothing true, nothing sacred, nothing whole

Reflecting the true image of our empty souls

These choices and oceans within have drowned us in sin

Ignoring any wisdom, building our acquisitions

We witness and question, but still play the victim

Blaming everyone else for our inescapable positions

Each of us dreaming, begging and screaming

We haven’t even come together, let alone come clean…

To the fact that we are all slaves
Beings incapable of change

As we continue to float on this fluffy white wave

Holding onto that nothing, what little there is left to save

Pretty pictures soon to shatter and crumble to the ground

Words all too familiar and meaningless
Nothing but the sound

The resonating voice of that once forgiving God, now gone..

We weren’t meant to live this way

And we weren’t meant to last this long

And not even the holiest among us
Could pretend to be that strong

But the time is coming to tear down every institution

And show the body of lies it was built upon

A culture that rapes the world that’s given us life

Feeding like parasites
Sucking up even the Sun’s rays of light

A race that burns the ears of those who hear truth

And live to break them, making them just like you

Religions of fear
Marketing the promise in some far off heaven of bliss

Justifying our excuses and freedoms
In exchange for the lives we live

The sins of our ancestors, their shame
Its still our name

Our religions that feed us blind faith

The opiate of the masses, the links to our chains…

An inkling to something somehow pre-known

The body shakes as its revealed to the soul

Awakening, ripening, blistering, ready to overflow

As this day draws near, we’ll begin to see

Each of us, the ones who will bleed

When that smoke envelops us, and our blood soaks us

Eventually dismembered by our own beliefs…

Realizing that all of this faith in something great

No longer means anything on this prophesized day

And no imagination, nor quiet moments of desperation

Could have seen this coming…

No ounce of hope left in being left alive

No more promises of doing it right this time

Cursed, derived from our loss of faith

Knowing now that not even in dirt could we be saved

The little things which once mattered the most

The little words that long ago comforted the soul

Forced finally into letting go of all we believe we know…

And all will stare into a sky so black

Questioning what could possibly be given back

And our eyes will glaze as we gaze

With all who once believed
They would be the ones saved

Watching every ambition crumble

Now hollow in their embrace
Leaving no one to escape…

And those who look up to the sky

Will watch in awe as it burns their eyes

This animal will accept nothing less

Than hers, mine, and your own flesh

Fall we will and bleed our worth

Wasted once and for all into the earth

Bleeding the ground beneath us red

Feeding the worms all that’s in our heads

Drowning in the damage and suffocation

Through hopeless words that grasp the throat

Seeking the deep and bleeding to see

Now reaping all that we have sown…

And as it whispers in our ears

Festering the darkest manifestation of our fears

Finally facing this world we’ve denied

All the truths that have crept out in our lies

No refuge, no wrong, no right…
Nothing left, not even the light

Now abandoned in our own arrogance

For lack of understanding the basic elements of balance

Regret now a poison, sitting bitter upon our tongues

Knowing only now that what’s done is truly done

And the oceans turn to sand and the sand then to dust

All these gifts taken for granted, now meaningless…

Slowly we forget and drown in our greed

The circle is complete and evolution now agrees

At that time some will say they knew this then

This too will be meaningless once again

And everything will end that once began…

A little intro… I took this ‘course’ like 4+ years ago… a couple friends had already taken it… I resisted in my own way for a while, then eventually gave in… It was definitely worth experiencing… I was, however, in a very interesting place in life enough as it was… BUT… everything in this life, in my opinion at least, is a double-edged sword… I have no regrets and I have turned many people I truly care for onto the experience in the years since I’ve taken it… Anyway, this is basically a journal entry… something in me just decided to post it… thought some of you might get something out of it…

“And I don’t understand anything…” ~EBTG …Yes, and we teach what we need to learn… Just had dinner with my fiend xxxxx. We talked about the futility of life, her Saturn’s ascent, and the post ‘forum’ realizations… She barely connects to her world… Everything in her life seems futile, devastated, yet unaffected… She feels this lack of passion, due probably from the forum’s whole “Life is empty and meaningless, and it’s empty and meaningless that it’s empty and meaningless” concept… Which, of course, is true… (well, probably…) But it’s also one of the major fallbacks of partaking in the whole ‘landmark forum’ thingy… It takes and tears down all of our little life stories and shows them for exactly what they are… stories… Nothing more, nothing less… But what isn’t a story? Nothing… And they leave you with exactly that… Nothing… To then make up a ‘better’ story to create for your life with any and all possibilities, possible… The problem, however, is that you know it’s all a story. It’s obviously hard to believe in it and if you do, you know it’s only a lie you are lying to yourself, or, at the very least, nothing more than a game… And this is where most people have trouble with their ‘passions’.

How can you be passionate about something meaningless, especially if you are the one who made it up, and also know it was you who made it up? So above and beyond everything in your life now having developed meaninglessness, what is there to believe in? Nothing… You sure as hell (hahah..: oxymoron) aren’t going to get any answers on anything in your life, like choices perhaps, having been right or even wrong, much less the more important questions that plague us, like “Does God exist?” or “Is there life after death?” or “Is my penis big enough…?” So like before your ‘empty and meaningless’ experience, or your near death experience, or your kick ass hallucinogenic experience, or your near-suicidal loss-of-faith period, it is, again, up to you and you alone. And what exactly, is it that is up to you? “What do I believe in?” …That is big question, isn’t it? What do I believe in? What can I actually be passionate about? What can I give? What can I give away (because I really don’t want it in me anymore…lol)? What can I fill this incredible void of meaningless emptiness that I am swimming through in this brief period of conscious consciousness I call my life, that of being aware of being aware of being alive? What is it that is to keep me getting out of bed in the morning and not of killing myself the night prior? What is it?

It’s PASSION! Its faith! It’s love! It’s that of living every moment for the beautiful blessing it is… It sure isn’t the hopes and dreams I have of some far or not so far off future where I have every DVD, CD or Book I ever wanted. It’s not writing some best seller. It’s not having some big house, getting married, having kids, or going to work every day. It’s not some kick ass career either. It’s not even my family and friends, (although they all make this insane little roller coaster ride that is called life that much more enjoyable, and comfortable for me.) ..Because in the end, no matter how much comfort these endearing souls deliver to the hope of this heart, it’s me, alone, at the end, and in every moment and space between the moments that has to make this life count… And by the grace of God, I pray that I always remember, recall, relive, and remind myself, that this, this right here, right now, is all there is… And I swear by this in me that is able to perceive it, that I will let it be, let it live within me, and let this passion breathe… and burn… This… is what it means to be… Alive!

2006 Soundtrack

The American Writer

There is a restlessness in us

A violence so deeply engrained

So nearly impossible to separate

So difficult to see through

It's this need to be great

We have to get ahead

We have to tower the competition

We have no other choice

But to embrace each and every ambition

The gentleness isn’t enough

And the curiosity isn’t enough

And if there is a spark of greatness

Some light shown through the crack

Here in this city, in this country

It is not enough

Because here

We naively believe we can change the world

And in order to do that

We must first give into the fold

Because what will all this evidence piling up portray?

What will my words mean to the readers

At the end of their distracted days

Style of soul is often not even a thought

It’s become overshadowed

By the ever important image we project

And so the thought then burrows

And soon takes over the craft

It snuffs out any silence

And becomes the popular cynical laugh

The American writer, the poet, the artist

Sells his face, his words, his image

And becomes himself, the product

And the poets of other cities

Other countries remain free

Searching for a state of grace

In the moments in between

On the images in the screen

Developing a style for the life they live

A style that could only create

The writer within

And they search for a woman’s skin

And they search for a lover’s scent

And they search for a teacher’s gift

And they search for the line within

Seeing poetry in everything around

Blending into the voices aloud

Ignoring thoughts of their image’s pride

Laughing besides themselves

As their words are wowed

As for me, born into this country

Where not so many, so great

Not even Bukowski

Because at least on some level

All have fallen victim to this same mistake

It’s so deeply engrained

The challenge so great

No poet has ever directly changed the world

As no single warrior has ever won the war

The miracle comes in giving up

In embracing the style

And sharing generously the love

And in those moments

So full of hate, so full of rage

To sit down and write it

To give it away

And the fear and restlessness,

This need to get ahead

To leave it in the background

To, if you can, leave it for dead…

The truth, so simple

It hides in everything

Even if the words don’t come

To try and explain the scene

To give up the miracle

In exchange for the everything

ⓒ 2006 Shawn Michael Quinn

It's The Little Things

So I'm sitting on the train, gazing out the window into the overcast sky, letting my mind wander & fly... as I often do…
My concentration breaks, I feel like someone is staring intently at me, from the corner of their eye.
I shake my head, as if shaking off the last thought, and look to my left.
I see her sitting there, blending into the rest.
We have eye contact.
"Yeap, she's still angry" I hear my mind identify, immediately I know…
She gets up, walks over to me and stands in front of me for a moment.
I stay quiet, (I'm not quite that brave…) but I am having trouble holding in my infamous evil smirk… I feel her temperature rising.
BANG, right across my face.
I open my eyes, calmly, look at her again, then raise my left hand to my face and touch my cheek where she's just slapped me. Then I raise my hand further to my nose.
"Jesus, you smell good!"
"Eugh" She huffs, her jaw twisting, but still she says nothing, she doesn't need to…
Then some righteous meathead, wannabe knight & shining armor, stands up, with the generic repose, and says "Is this guy bothering you miss?"
I laugh… and turn my head towards him, smiling.
She looks back at me, then back to him again, but still she stays silent.
I break the silence… I might as well… right?
"I think she's doing just fine on her own buddy…”
I still have trouble hiding the smirk… what else is new…
Mr. Meathead gets in my face, with pointed finger, "Was I talkin’ to you?"
I sniff the air, towards his finger, still smirking, and reply,
"Now you, no, you don't smell so good… her on the other hand… hmm, that’s…"
I'm interrupted...
"I'm fine, thank you, really, its ok..."
Meathead peers at me again, as if to reiterate his mask of impotence…
I sniff the air again, then turn my head in disgust.
She looks to me, and for once, her thoughts and mine, seem the same…
Funny how it all works out…
I'll call her tomorrow.
This is my stop, and yes, life is good.

It’s the little things…

ⓒ 2006 Shawn Michael Quinn

Flabberghasted

Unbelievable… What the fuck is so hard about being honest? Can somebody tell me? Especially to those people who ask for it, demand it even? I just don’t fucking get it. It makes me sick… the weakness, the fear, the GREED, the Ego Maniacal Self Importance of it… Jesus, I mean really, what the fuck is so hard about it? I need to know? I do. I guess most monkeys sailing around on this fucking rock just simply can’t get past the 2 inches in front of their face even to see the mirror image they form, let alone what’s inside of it or in the background, much less what it all really means, how it translates to their life … I guess that’s what it really comes down to, plain and simple. Fucking monkeys, street dogs… people sitting, high and mighty, judging themselves on their intentions, the best from the ocean of thoughts in their minds, or hearts, or where ever… instead of what they actually DO in their lives… how they live… the choices they make … I’m just completely fucking FLABBERGHASTED… truly… Jesus… hahahaha… ahh, man… I really don’t get it… I mean even the people closest to me, in my inner circle can’t seem to absorb it half the time… hahah… ~sigh~ but who am I, right? Fuck… whatever… Hibernation time again…

Wish Me Luck..

Naïve Enough

I remember back when love was all that mattered

I was young then

And I’d never experienced it

I guess that was why..

I didn’t understand what it meant to love

Or be loved

And I’d long for it

Dream of it

Search every set of pretty eyes in the hope for it

I remember falling in love

And being fallen in love with

How it felt like anything was possible

How the world seemed to melt away

In those moments…

Between sheets, between eyes

But that was a long time ago

I watch that version of me

This child with bright eyes

And although I recognize him

I know that it just isn’t me

I don’t love like that anymore

And I don’t know why

Maybe I’ve seen too many dreams die

Or maybe there’s only so much

In each of us

To give

And when it’s given, it’s gone

Or maybe I’ve just become too aware

Too accustomed to the reflection in the mirror

But that passion has died away

And I remember this boy

That once lived in my heart

Dreaming of a life full of love

Never quite naïve enough…

And I wonder what he would think of me

The perfect imposter of all that a man should be

Strong, honorable, sincere, honest and PC

And not a drop of blood left

Of any passion in me

Chopper

Tall And Proud

Your weakness is viral, an addiction

But you are blind to it

And so each time it rears its ugly head

It consumes you

You walk tall & proud

Claiming your righteousness so loud

Pointing out every weakness in those around you

But this aura is a façade

And the stench of it so foul

It’s these people who have their way with you

And you give into their demands

Bending over every stand

That they’ll use to control you

And you’ll sit here in tears

Facing that world you deny

All those truths in your lies

How your needs aren’t met

How I lack in giving

What you find ways to get

And your Gods smile down

Issuing you your crowns

You find your keys to blame

And all the loopholes for your game

But this admiration that creeps

Is worth more to you than the love you keep

And you keep safe in your disassociation

Minding the ways of your own flattering

All those who’ll fall at your feet

Even in the midst of your love’s defeat

And in the end, what’s it worth?

Always the denial, then the hurt

And you see the sun your God sent down

And it rests upon your face

Oblivious, once again, you drown

And you wonder why

It happens each time

And again, you deny

Crying, trying to understand why

These bricks tied to your feet

Sink you again into this familiar deep

When will you learn?

One would think after each burn

Life would feed that need

A little different of a seed

And maybe this tide would turn

But you clutch it like these stones

Claiming righteousness in the choices you’ve owned

But it brings you here each time

Devastated, crumbled, weak and alone

When are you gonna learn the meaning of life?

When are you gonna realize its not alright?

Each choice is yours

And the life you lead is here

Waiting for you

To live with heart, true…

Understanding H.

Hell

Heaven

and Home

Breathe Me

Sitting In Time

For more than 20 years

This ghost haunts me

In my dreams

And my tasteless fantasies

…But she’s gone

And has been

For so long

Without a trace

Aged

And so now without a face

And as I shower

Or as I drive to work

As I eat my breakfast

And as I reflect quietly, alone

On relationships, or simply life

Her name floats

Across my minds contemplations

My curiosities

And after all these years

My biggest question remains:

What could I possibly be holding on to?

And more importantly, why?

What is in this attachment that I can’t even identify?

I remember the very first moment

We made eye contact

Walking home from school

On her first day

She was so shy

Is that what caught my eye?

It’s been over 20 years

And I don’t even know if she’s alive

But why?

Why is it that I hold on?

Why is this memory, this connection, different from all the rest?

Is it that I can’t let go?

Is it that I never had closure

When she moved away?

Would I, were I to see her again

Even like her today?

Why has she never reached out to me?

Because here I am

Sitting in time

And as I've always built myself

Face & Embrace

Picture a life, unlived...

Closets full of dreams, mirrors of weight

And any passion disappeared

From self denial to hate

It doesn't matter what comes between

The following of your heart

Is the voice that screams

It's simply the sound

As it resonates, it bleeds

Urging you, the water

To embrace its seed

Betrayal, guilt, the blame, and pain

These are the after effects

Of this, the subconscious game

It's not within your realm

To truly understand it

And it's not within your ability

To withstand the urging of it

Someone will always be hurt

And someone will always blame

And someday it will be you

In their shoes, the same

There is a vampire

In your heart, in your soul

Starved and lurking

Waiting for you to let go

It's you

It's a part of you

Make No Mistake!

Your divine nature

And oceans within

Will always cause you to break

Spare me your guilt

Or spare me your blame

We both got what we wanted

And will suffer, the same

You're a dreamer, a creature

Of comfort, asleep

A parasite, a demon

A viper, and weak

You're not exempt from this

And you're far from above it

Stop pretending!

And your sudden case of conscience

Is a lie, and pitiful

Embrace this beast you deny of sleep

Stare into the face of your image's defeat

You're not holy

You're not a good fucking person

You're not even honest with yourself..

And you disgust the rest of us

Wake up... And be alive

Witness this beauty

Witness your heart, only pure

Witness your spirit, in its unfathomable-ness

Witness your body, as the animal it is

And witness your mind, for its function only

Now, witness the whole..

There is blood in your veins

And it's dripping from your tongue

Bittered by the salt of these 'unforgivable' lies

Like all the previous ones

Don't torture me with confessions

Let's not pretend I'm that naïve

I'd just play the bitter and broken

And again pretend we both believe

Our hearts simply scream

For dreams yet unseen

And the nature of this parasitical comfort

1F

If you could read my mind love
What a tale my thoughts could tell
Just like an old time movie
About a ghost from a wishing well
In a castle dark or a fortress strong
With chains upon my feet
You know that ghost is me
And I will never be set free
As long as I'm a ghost you can see

If I could read your mind love
What a tale your thoughts could tell
Just like a paperback novel
The kind the drugstores sell
When you reach the part where the heartaches come
The hero would be me
But heroes often fail..
You won't read that book again
Because the ending's just to hard to take
I walk away like a movie star
Who gets burned in a three way script
Enter number two..
A movie queen to play the scene
Of bringing all the good things out in me
But for now love let's be real
I never knew I feel this way
And I've got to say that I just don't get it
I don't know where we went wrong
But the feeling's gone
And I just can't get it back

If you could read my mind love
What a tale my thoughts could tell
Just like an old time movie
About a ghost from a wishing well
In a castle dark or a fortress strong
With chains upon my feet
The story always ends
And if you read between the lines
You'll know that I'm just trying to understand
The feeling that you lack
I never thought I could feel this way
And I've got to say that I just don't get it
I don't know where we went wrong
But the feeling's gone
And I just can't get it back

On The Lips & Hearts Of All

So I’ve finally watched this movie, a movie a friend suggested I should watch long ago, after having told him a story or two about my mother, who happened to have been an alcoholic, “The Divine Secrets of The Ya-Ya Sisterhood.” It hit me pretty hard, emotionally, especially throughout the second half of the film, I guess because of how strangely close the movie hit to home, which shouldn’t have surprised me, considering that was why I was told to check it out… I think it hit so close to home mostly just because of missing my mother, but also thinking about her life, feeling sad for her, for her guilt, her mistakes, her passion, and mainly, her weaknesses. I suppose we’re slated to always be this affected by our parents, and their lives, no matter how old we get, no matter if they’ve passed on yet or not. I suppose as long as I live, I’ll always long for my mother’s love.

Cradled like a baby

In the arms of a ghost

And although nothing can take that away

Nothing really ever comes close

My mama, a human

Being human, a parent

Sins of confusion

This god's flaws, apparent

So often I struggle to try and understand what it must have been like to be her, to have lived her life, to have seen her life through her eyes, to have known what it was like for her to grow up when and how she did, to have gotten married at the age she did, to have had children as young as she did, to see all the possibilities and dreams and potential in herself, only for it to be washed away by daily life, responsibilities and her choices. I think the drinking was an escape, like it almost always is, like her mother’s was. I now know why she sometimes resented us. She resented me, and my sisters, for the same reasons I sometimes resent my dog. We’re all human. I’m human. I’ve seen visions of myself, in greatness, I know my own potential, its the potential all people see in themselves… But we make choices, and with each of those choices come responsibilities, and with the responsibilities of those choices, we give up other things, hopefully less important things, but not always… I think in more cases than not, we simply think we want things we see, but we don’t fully comprehend the day-to-day gravity of the responsibilities that will accompany the acquiring of those things. Take me for example. I wanted a dog. But I’m also a writer and therefore require a lot of solitude time. Well, puppies require discipline, training, and care, a lot of care. Yes, they give unconditional love, but that isn’t free either. What is in this life? My mother wanted children and even as I’m sure she understood, on some level, that children required care, and come with many deep-rooted responsibilities, I doubt most really understand how much, exactly, until they actually have children. At least, that’s what I always seem to be told by people who have them… But basically, we all feel strong and invincible when we’re young. We feel that we’ll always have enough time for all we want to do in our lives. Time though, as everyone realizes in their own way at some point, has a way of catching up with us. So when you’re 22 with one child in your arms and another on the way, you’d probably tend not to notice, while the time is slipping by you, that you’re not in nursing school or doing most of the other things that you’d once dreamed of doing, other than working to pay the bills and put food on the table, a table that is surrounded by 3 sets of eyes staring back at you for attention. And in those moments, after these children’s needs are met, your attention is divided, and they are put to bed, you realize how little time there is left, at best, before you’ll need to be bed yourself otherwise you’ll be more exhausted the next day. And so, often enough, the quickest way to relax or attain some sort of small personal gratification, is to have a drink…

Then one day, years later, you wake up realizing you’d never made it to nursing school, and you most likely never will make it there. Because, now, instead of the sun shining in your eyes coming over the top of the hill ahead of you as you climb, as it once did, the hill is now on its down slope and for the first time, you can see the end of the road, off in the distance. There it is, your entire life ending and there’s nothing you can do to stop your feet from continuing walking in that direction towards it. So maybe you have a drink, and as you do, you start to resent your seemingly pathetic, pitiful, un-glorious existence and most of what’s in it; your job, your house, your car, your husband, all of your responsibilities, and especially your children, even though they too have souls of their own, because without them, you could, like you once did, get up and go without worry… And all the while, they sit, staring back at you, their God. Only now, you’re an angry and resentful God, but still a God nonetheless, because that’s all they can see from where they sit. But all you’re able to see is your life, now from the outside in. A series of potentials, and dreams you once held, but those potentials and dreams have since transformed, and now they list like wasted potentials and failures. Upon having realized you yourself would never see these dreams manifest for yourself, any glory that could ever have come, is now gone, and the most there could be to hope for is what your children may, one day, give back to you. Say possibly, the day of your oldest daughter graduating from nursing school… Your dreams are now lived vicariously through their lives, while your life coasts continuously closer to its path’s end. But even in these proudest, most precious moments with your children, like a graduation, hides further resentment, and another, more devastating failure, also hiding, along side the memories of these oldest resentments… First, it’s the pinch, the mildest resentment in the memories of the dreams you once held so close, of living your life and your dreams, as your children now can. That once foreseen failure is now complete and is staring back at you, smiling with a child’s eyes in your face, looking, needing, begging for your love and approval. So, if you can, if you’re able, you push that last resentment away and simultaneously pull forward the pride in their accomplishment, and show them the love and approval they so desperately have longed for, and then you can wear the pride in having raised this child to fulfill their dreams. But in taking that pride, and in again thinking back to raising them, another set of memories surface, painful memories of long ago, memories that cannot be ignored, memories of these then children’s faces, staring back at you and seeing only an angered, resentful, and often drunk, God, their parent. In that moment, and in that reflection, the face of your final failure reveals itself, failure in the one thing you did actually accomplish in your life, that of bearing children, being a parent. And witnessing these memories again, now seeing what became future scars actually forming in your children, in these exact moments, knowing that you inflicted deep seeded wounds, to this child, these children, also your life’s only measurable accomplishment, the truth torments you. You remember the days spent trying to make it up to them, trying to balance it out by piling upon them the passionate good deeds, the making moments special to try to burry all the moments you destroyed, the moments that have and forever will haunt you in your sleep, the moments where they witnessed what you felt, even if for moments only, the dark waters, the deep and selfish resentment… And you try to balance it out, to make up for it, forever, and simultaneously, to try and drink it away…

Until, at best, maybe one day, maybe this day, you learn humility. You dare not ask forgiveness, but hope only that one day, your children will realize, will understand that you were human, that you were not perfect, that you were not, God.

The Princess Diaries

When I was a little brat, I mean boy, I used to love the super heroes, their cartoons, the television shows, and of course, the toys. I loved Batman & Robin, Spider-man and especially Superman. I have pictures of myself in my Superman Underoos, with a red kitchen table napkin safety-pinned around my neck, with my hands on my hips, and a super power look of pride on my four year old face. My Aunt still gets the biggest giggle laughing at me every time someone brings up the stories of me in that outfit, bitch.. haha..

It’s strange to me though, how female children are geared more towards the fairy tales. Yeah, boys end up knowing them all too, but it’s not quite the same. My precious little niece, Hannah, turns three in a few weeks and for over the past year, I’ve watched her interest wane from most of her other toys and DVD’s over to her princess stories, Cinderella of course, being her favorite. Snow White holds a place close to the top, as does Sleeping Beauty… You know, all the ones where there’s some evil other woman trying to hurt her because she’s beautiful, and of course there’s the prince, or the knight in shining armor, upon a white horse, that is due to come to their glorious rescue. You know, all the stuff dreams are made of… It’s funny too, for Christmas, my sister, her mother, bought her the Cinderella Castle that goes along with the Barbie sized Cinderella and the prince dolls. I watch her play, half understanding every third word she says, speaking as if she were Cinderella to her prince, and Cinderella yells at him for not sitting on the horse just right or not doing what it is he’s supposed to be doing. I hear her say, “No, you do it this way prince...” whatever his name is. But of course, the most obvious thing is that it’s her making him do everything he’s doing. He is a doll.. remember? She has every move of his, every action of his, and even every one of her own arguments, grievances, and disappointments already completely pre-planned out for her play, even if only on some subconscious level…

She also walks around the house singing Cinderella songs that my sister tells me are the songs to the prince, and sure enough, there she is holding the Cinderella doll right there with the prince doll. I laugh thinking, “she’s not even three, what kind of idea could she possibly have about romance?’ But then, quickly, I realize it’s not the romance she’s fascinated with, it’s the glory. It’s the glimmer of the attention that this princess is on the receiving end of, attention that through the eyes of this story, is also, long overdue. It’s the victory over those who underappreciated her, even if all she had to offer was her undeniable beauty.. It’s the prince, the one who all the other women admire and wish was their own, that through her unjustified difficulties, she has obtained, as if that alone gave her the quality of presence enough to deserve this knight, with his unbending integrity. It’s this moment in the light, in the glorious gown, with all eyes upon her, the center of the world as its known through those within her field of vision. It’s that moment that she is led to believe is all she’ll ever need to be truly happy, the moment she expects will be the moment she’ll define her life by, and the rest, all those moments from that one on until her light goes out, is nothing more than a photograph of insignificance, off, into the sunset, as they say, ironically…

I could sit here and say it’s sad or wrong, as young boys and girls, for us to be built up this way, knowing that this isn’t the way life really works, nor is it what really matters, at least when it comes to trying to be truly happy, but that’s just the way things work, so I wont bother. It’s no one’s fault, there are no victims in this pretty picture. It comes down to every person in the world, in our culture at least, at some point, upon really stepping out into the world, on their own, when trying to figure out what it is they want for their life, for their happiness, to stop and take a good look inside themselves, at all they think they truly want out of this crazy little bleep in time called their life, and how much of what they still think they want was implanted long before the choice was really their own. I don’t think the day will ever come where I’ll be able to fly, and I also doubt that I’ll at any point in the near future be able to shoot webs from my wrists, but even if the day did come, and I was able to, I can admit that as cool as that may sound to me, I can easily say that wouldn’t be what I really care about in life, and it wouldn’t be something that would define me, much less bring me any real happiness. There will never be one single moment in my life that will define my being. My life, all the little moments pieced together, that I spend striving for all that is aligned with what’s in my heart will, if lucky enough, define my life, my happiness.

If anything sad is derived from these little fairy tales, I think it’s the fact that too many people go through most of their lives never realizing that that’s all they are, fairy tales. And I don’t want to imagine what this sort of outlook really does to a person. I know how much disappointment life breeds on its own accord, and seeing it from this perspective, I can’t fathom how painful it must be for the people who never question what it is they think they want out of life, to experience such utter disappointments after disappointments, only to realize, down the line, that it was never really what they wanted anyhow, and maybe worse, never realize what they actually did want. To somehow miss the point, and still have no idea what they really want, they just keep going, on, and on again to the next disappointment… I suppose its these type realizations that lead people to mid life crises..

Shawn Michael Quinn

Ceano "Sleep"