Stories walk the earth. Tales exist in the air we breathe. They are hiding in the cracks of the sidewalks that stretch across suburbia. The moving truck, the cigarette butts that litter the ground of certain spots, a empty lot shadowed by a foreclosed building; all have a story to tell. Because that moving truck came from somewhere, driven by a man who once had a higher ambition, to move the belongings of a family who wanted to start over. The cigs weave a tale of a man who filled his lungs with smoke to have one simple pleasure; to cope with the stresses of his life. Even the empty lot once contained a bustling crowd of minivans and compact cars parked next to a supermarket that had long since went bankrupt. But stories are also hidden in the most secure mobile safe known to man; his own brain. A story probably just passed by you on your daily commute. Every person you've ever seen or met is a story in the making. The ballpoint pen moves slow on some days, but every once in awhile something amazing happens, and that memory will exist as part of your life story. If there's any goal to life, consider this one; if they had to turn your story into a novel long after the pen has stopped writing, make damn sure it was a good tale. Stories and tales are a rich part of life. If you watch television, inhale movies, read or write, then you know the power of a good story. But stories don't just exist in those mediums, they are hidden everywhere. All you really need is a good keen eye.
A not very timely note
This was a blog I once wrote during my high school and early college years. I keep it around for nostalgic purposes, but it is quite obviously no longer updated. I am looking to make a more professional blog presence in the future, but I still like to look at where I was mentally at certain points in time.
- G. Jan 2013
- G. Jan 2013