Cory L. Hojka's Personal Home Page
Cory L. Hojka's Personal Home Page
Nowadays, with the web being such a new and exciting place, we forget about the things that really matter. We create a hyptertext world of images and text which allow us to escape from the world of reality into a dreamworld of useless and harmless information. So for those who prefer the darker side of life, here is a little story for you that I wrote.
All in all, it was another decadent day within my life. Waking out of my deep slumber, the desire to return to sleep nearly overwhelming, I looked and saw that the room was as I had left it the day before and the day before that. Somehow comforting this fact was to me, to look at my alarm clock with the blocky red LED letters, the blue paint, or the cheap wooden desk that would break with one good kick, and know that it will never change unless I make it so. I wanted the world to be the same way. Mine. All mine. But instead I was a cog in a machine that barely kept itself from grinding to a halt. Today, I looked out my window, and saw the same view I had seen for years. A typical suburban lawn, with one small evergreen neatly trimmed, bounded by an asphalt road and its cement borders. It was so perfect and that's why it disgusted me. Sometimes, when I was in a particularly rotten mood, which was always, I would look at my lawn, and just think of how I could make them all pay. Perhaps by taking road salt I could create a landscape that would rival the moon, or I could spell out what I thought of Republicans and Democrats, Coca-Cola and Pepsi, Burger King and McDonalds, IBM and Apple, AT&T and MCI in two simple words. "Piss Off". Just my little protest against the American Dream. I want to see children begging for their food, women using their bodies to make a living, and men having sunken to a level of sin beyond both combined, killing to get what they want. No dreams, no happy endings, no evening news at the end of the day. Just because we've locked it away doesn't mean it's not there. It wants out, we want to let it out, but we're afraid. Afraid to return to that world were we might not survive. A Darwinist hell where you or me might not be the fittest. So instead, we order our fries, we watch our TV, and we live our life, knowing that in the end we'll get a nice wooden coffin in a hole with its complimentary engraved limestone tombstone. And of course, a nicely mowed lawn with one small evergreen shrub, bounded perfectly by an asphalt road and its cement borders.
I hope you're feeling better now . . .