el Bug

29 Feb

I need to travel. If someone doesn’t let me out of this USC bubble soon, I may explode.RIP, here lies Emily, the tragic victim of routine.

I just downed an ungodly amount of sugar and caffine and feel like I could Forrest Gump my way across the universe, on foot, with no particular destination.

Yet i remain seated–15 years of education has trained me well. I’m not that straight edge, I’m reclining. Reclining in a chair which looks luxerious and exudes the allusion of comfort but it’s just another mirage in this collegiate desert of nice looking shiney things that actually suck. For instance, this Mac computer I’m musing on. It’s a toy. iAnd as I am reading about early selective attention, I’m realizing that my attention is wafting up and away from my studies and floating amidst the strange concoction of smells that is oh-so characteristic of Commons.

Distracted–

Have you ever noticed how everything in commons is plastic? Most things are platsic imitations of what they should be ( example: plastic tables painted like wood and plastic plants) and everything else is prosessed chemicals made to be comsumed. Some have been picked, cooked, chemically modified and injected with an aroma and color, frozed, put into a vehicle or plane and flown with premium petrolum to a plant where it was packaged in more plastic. Then,it was boxed, taped, sealed in plastic, picked up driven even further before it was dropped of, unwrapped, put onto plastic shelves and either bought and noshed on before it was thrown away in a plastic garbage bin or ‘expired’ and thrown away into a plastic garbage bin, then taken to a dump and left to rot, which it never will. Plastic will never age. It is our fountain of youth. All hail plastic. Plastic is religous. Plastic is finite. What will happen first: the plastic apocolypse or the world actually being destroyed? Maybe the first will lead to the second. I don’t think the second would lead to the first…ew, gross. Only plastic, cockroaches and the chemosynthesis of the blacksteamers in the Ocean survive the apocolypse, imagine. Or don’t. Maybe turning a blind eye is the only way to get by today without letting the darkness of the world seep inside you and letting your mood become as black as the gurgeling petroleum being slurped out of the oil rigs. We rig our outlook to be sunny, they rig their oil, everyone wins.
win win win.

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