The Big Apple

[Event] Philips obsessed with sound (Photo credit: PitsLamp photography)

 

In this city, this congested, smoky city, one has two options.  One can either live with the rot, the filth, the pathogens and the deterioration or one can simply clean the rot. There is one clear option for me – CLEAN!

Cleaning could bring order to this grime-filled, rat infested, germ-crawling , fog-choking city – The Big Apple. The maggot-filled, gangrene coloured, worm-festering Apple.

Every time I look on the street on my way to work, it’s there, festering, growling, lurking, mocking and sticking onto every passerby. They are the germs, the pathogens, the dust, the mould, the rotting diaper and dog crap. All is there, sitting, hiding in the dumpsters of the streets. Everywhere one steps, it sticks. Sometimes I wish to stop and pick every bacterium off the bottom of my shoe, the hairs of my coat and my actual skin.

I loathe it – the germs, the bacteria, the dirt, the oil hanging loosely in the air being sucked into my clean lungs and my body. I loathe its trickery, it mocks me. I walk fast from work and I remove every item of clothing and wash it in disinfectant. I must! Allowing them to harvest eggs onto my clothes and my body sickens me, annoys me and makes me desire to regurgitate.  I dip into the bathtub and my mantra awakens: scrub and clean, scrub and clean, scrub and clean, clean and scrub! I know that when I’m fully cleansed, my skin will feel wonderfully sore. I must quickly remove myself from the bath for the germs will return, they always know their host!

I get dressed and scrub the entire apartment clean. Beauty is a price paid daily and cleaning the house is no exception. I clean the house till it’s spotless, then clean again in disinfectant. I must clean it or the germs will wreak havoc on my world!  They are disgusting and must be fully annihilated. Germs kill two million Americans a year. I cannot be killed. I cannot be killed. I cannot be a breeding ground for the parasites of the invisible world. I must fight, even though my husband had allowed himself to be taken over by the dust and the grime of The Apple, I cannot.

I am at war with the germs every day. I am at times fearful, cowardly, but I must always remember that cleaning brings a peaceful rest at night and that life is already too short to allow myself to be taken over by the two billion types of bacteria and scum. I must fight this good fight; buying and using all the Clorox, Lysol and Ajax I can get in. I must scrub the counters, the sinks, vacuum the carpet. I must clean the windows; wash the clothes, the sheets, the bedspreads until they are at peace because the germs have retreated.

I read the paper today, after covering my hands in gloves to avoid any new breed of bacteria from the print shop. I read that the human lips has at least one million strains of bacteria and the human skin for every cubic centimetre has at least four million bacteria and dust particles.  I was appalled, and my effort felt dejected. For all the powerful cleaning I have done, especially in the bodily area, were all in vain. Bacteria have festered and will fluster wherever humans live, wherever humans trample and sought to form a new variety in their gene pool. But what will I do now? Will I become another subject of the king virus or king dust-bunny?! Will I become like other humans who accept the germs as they are and sought to live with them, like them?!  Must I now stoop and live at their level of disorder and chaos?! I will certainly not! I will certainly not! I will certainly not! I will improve my efforts; man more of my battle stations with more disinfectants. Either that or die trying! And if I am forced to live in a bubble - a germ free bubble, I will do so with bells on my feet and a grin and taunt at the germs themselves. I will not be subject to new authority! I will certainly not!

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Half of it all.

Sibling! (Photo credit: Gus Dahlberg)

I’m overly logical.

I state the facts.

Facts and concrete evidence are comforting ideals.

The problem with facts is that not everyone appreciates the truth or the facts of a situation.

And this isn’t a criticism of what choose to accept or reject. Many truths are marred with malice, but not all.

Facts and truths are more than just that; they govern how I view situation or tackle a relationship.

I have many friends who share the same sentiment.

My one friend has several half-siblings, many who she’s met quite late in life. Many who she’s happily gotten along with and some she hasn’t. But in it all, she’s always introduced them and regarded them as her half-siblings.

Recently, one of her brothers had a heated argument. He hated how he’s viewed as the “half-brother” and decided to attack her for this. The argument lead to immature name calling.

We sat and discussed it. I agreed with her logic: he was her half-brother.  Yes they had the same father, but they didn’t share entire upbringings, morals etc. He was half of it all.

She even confessed to only mildly caring about him and his well-being.

I can’t dictate the extent to which you can care for a sibling. I just agree with the facts and I don’t find the fact repulsive or appalling. Judging someone on the extent they care for another isn’t in my interest.

If a sibling labelled me or introduced me as half, I honestly wouldn’t flinch. Why? Because it’s the truth. It’s not malicious intent.  Some people are different. Maybe the psychology of the brother wanted a whole family unit, something he lacked within his own childhood. Perhaps in the grand scheme of things, he refused to see or acknowledge half-truths or half-families.

Love and family unions run deeper than the mere 25% she happens to share with him. Bonding and caring about another person is what makes families so unique.

However, in the same breath, I could understand my friend’s predicament and her psychological need to state and acknowledge the facts. I can understand her candour, and I can understand his anger, but I don’t see the need for anger.

What say you?

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Thought II

No one ever mentions the whispers in the dark.

The codes lovers send to each other through the silences.

The emptiness that rides at midnight on the trains of thought.

No one ever seems to have a solution to the war, the greed, the paucity of my morality.

Not even death has meaning. Death has left me cold and unmoving.

Questions reign, questions which fill me with religious guilt.

Questions of destiny, love, purpose, choice, chance…life & resurrection.

No one has any answers, all are but assumptions.

You are what you philosophise to be.

Dark, looming, uncaring.

This world seems at peace when my dreams are undisturbed by the monsters which prey on my fears and insecurities.

No one understands the enormity of my hindsight and my regret.

Yet everyone knows of heartache and reminiscence.

Is my perception skewed?

This is not art, this is not release, this is inner tumult stabbing my sanity.

But I’ll empty this bottle and no one will suffer through my sobs.

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• Heart (rosemaryandpansies.wordpress.com)