Boxes (Part I of II)

It has been said that one of only a few universal shapes is a circle, or more correctly, a sphere. Planets, the remains of galactic collisions, the remnants of dying stars, assemble as spherical giants, like moons and other celestial satellites. The bodies form this way because the weight of these masses is forced by physics to distribute themselves evenly.

A spiral is the second of these universal shapes. It is seen in galaxy formations and nebulae. It is very possible that there are as many spiral galaxies as there are grains of sand on all the beaches on planet earth. Water going down a drain becomes a spiral. Like the sphere, a spiral is seen everywhere in the universe.

These shapes, pointlessly draped across the heavens, are not evidences of divine intelligence. They don't require intelligence to create, no more so than does a snow flake. You can't point to them and say: "Ah, see, there is God's handiwork." No, not if you live in this century and have average intelligence or better.

These shapes are not divine, and they give me no inspiration to live. They tell me nothing except that the godless universe of which I am a part, when contemplated, is an incredible scenic wonder as much as it is a prison and a death trap. There are scribblings that seem to mean something on every prison wall. The shapes we see in the cosmos from earth are not even on the level with those half-cognizant expressions of hopelessness and brokenness.

Looking at the stars means nothing to me. I've seen earth's stars for a long time, and so have all who have lived on earth going back over a million years. Before that, the stars appeared differently. I admit that if I could leap to another planet and get a view from a different solar system, I would take the opportunity in a flash. That would be something.

But it wouldn't change a thing. Those sights would get old and I would lose interest just as with our stars. There are shapes I see more often in my small, miserable, crowded world inside this blue dome of mud and death. They are much more common than the lofty and meaningless shapes in the vastness that abounds.

I see boxes everywhere I look.

Boxes we live in.
Our houses (if we're lucky enough to have a house) are boxes with a few odd corners. Many more of us are way too poor for a house. We who are poor live in apartments. Imagine a camera rolling from apartment to apartment as you get a quick view of neighbors doing different things; one is cooking, another is listening to music while doing homework, another is jerking off watching some amateur porn on Xtube. Someone else is watching Jerry Seinfeld before bed with a glass of water and medication nearby. We're all doing something, scurrying around in these boxes, like rats running close to each other in closed-off mazes.

We spend the bulk of our lives in these miserables boxes. Sometimes we can hear what goes on in the unhappy lives of other people in their boxes, above and around us. We hear them and they hear us. It's a challenge for so many just to live next to their neighbors.

We do important things in these boxes. We take off our clothes, we unwind from a hard day's work, we let our senses go free in a movie or a TV show. We unleash our outside-worthy animal passions. We sleep "spooned" with our mates in a tender sleep that builds bonds.

Boxes we use to store what we own. We move into and out of these bigger boxes known as houses with smaller boxes known as moving boxes, cardboard pieces of crap that were used and then cast aside as trash by big businesses that have no longer a need for them.

Boxes are always valuable to the common man. We store our most prized possessions in chests, and yes, old boxes...pissed on, peppered with rat pellets boxes, as they sit unused for years in our hot, dusty attics. "Huggies" and "Charmin" are printed on the sides, or maybe the boxes come from the store and held bananas. That never matters to us. The boxes are junk until we need them and after we use them.

In these boxes are valuable things, pictures of your great grandmother. Shit, has she been dead this long? And there are pictures of you in a more innocent phase of life. "I was so fucking dumb back then," you say to yourself, looking at those pics and those god-awful clothes styles. Some drawings you made as a baby are there too. Mom would just die if she lost them. So unused these possessions are, and yet so loved and so valuable.

Boxes we work in. We get up everyday to spend a huge portion of our lives in boxes some call cubicles, the boxes we work out of. We painstakingly labor, day in and day out, to take home money to enable us to have the ability to keep living in those bigger boxes we live out of, the ones we need to keep the rain off of our heads and that allow us to be able to spend yet more time in them, doing the things mentioned earlier.

Is having a beer in front of the TV while watching All in The Family or Seinfeld THAT fucking much of a cosmic purpose? Well, you would think it would be. The little things we do in our off-time are the highest valued things, the things we live for and work to be able to do. 

You spend your life laboring in these work boxes, taking Aspirin for headaches and lozenges for sore throats, being miserable for a paycheck. You get one or two days off, but sometimes you're really sick, and you have to call your boss and tell him you cannot come in. But don't stay out more than two days, because then you will need a doctor's note to come back to work.

That doctor works in a box too, and when you're sick, he gives you a small cylinder of pills to take to get you better. But when you get older, you'll have to take too many pills to manage, which means you'll need more help in the form of more boxes--little boxes to help manage taking your pills each day in your fucking painstricken (or soon-to-be painstricken) life.


Boxes we talk into and work from everywhere. We have boxes that contain metal, rubber, and wire. We call these computers. These computers have programs. They enable us to talk into them with the help of microphones so that we can socialize and keep in touch with everyone we know, far or near. More of us are spending more time with these boxes than with the real people we connect with.

Some live in a virtual world, and some only have confidence in themselves in this made-up world of perpetual lies of digital imagery. If they could, this type would permanently morph themselves into their online personas.


We carry around and talk into smaller boxes called cell phones. This means some of us are dicks and cause needless traffic accidents, not to mention provide poor customer service at work because some have these phones stuck in their ears and they don't give a good god-damn about anybody else. If you worked in the 80s, you drove a box to get to that store, and it looked like this.


Now, times have changed, and a kid works at that same store. The kid was born in 1994 and is a sissy. He's the one with that phone stuck in his ear.

Many boxes go to that store. Some look like this...


But some, they live in boxes and drive them too like this awesome guy...



We use boxes called cameras to house our most cherished memories. Cameras are good because they are useful, but they are also an insult. They are only an admission that our memories suck and need help. We'll forget the details in future years of everyone in our lives, even those we love the most. We'll need pictures to remind us why we haven't slit our wrists already. We forget the good things, the fine details that make us reflect back.

Boxes we sleep on.
Beds are boxes. They hold our fat asses and sagging breasts so that we can comfortably pass the one-third of our lives that we waste in unconsciousness. Sleep is the best of life because it gets our focus off of the misery, but sleep robs us of so many opportunities. This alone proves that no deity created us to live and get the most out of life. No deity would have created us to sleep. 

Sharks don't have to sleep. They don't get sick. They spend their lives eating and fucking, always moving. They have it good. If they try to sleep, they'll suffocate. We, we have to sleep. Why couldn't it have been that way with human beings? It'd be nice to have no fucking moochers living off of the government.

Boxes we give to each other. We give them as gifts around the holidays to add to our collection of boxed items we'll cease using as we continue to live, as we try to tell ourselves we're happy. The women have it right; shopping does make one happy, or at least puts us as close to it as we can be.

Boxes carry our food home warm. Our hunter-gatherer ancestors never had these. I always imagine, every single time I sit down to a hot meal from a drive-thru restaurant, what my thick-boned ancestors would do if they were sitting right next to me with this hot box of delicious food. They slept in trees. They had not these recipes. They chased their meals down when they got hungry. They had no boxes whatsoever.

Boxes are where we end up when we die. Most likely, we will lay in a pine box or an $8,000 cornflower blue casket with a pretty marble glaze if your loved ones can afford it, and if you have life insurance. The helpful folks at your local mortuary can hook you up with a casket. This box is where you will stay forever. You will dissolve there. You will turn to dust, and the box never dissolves until after you do.

(JH)

5 comments:

  1. I'm sure you knew this was coming but here goes. The wisest man in the Bible and maybe even ever(?) was Solomon. Solomon could have written this article you just did.

    Chuck Swindoll sums up the first 4 chapters of Ecclesiastes like this.
    "Behind everything Solomon wrote in this journal was one key question: Is life really worth living? As Solomon looked at his life and all the world around him, he saw a never ending cycle of monotonous boredom. Generations come and generations go... death is inevitable. The sun rises and then sets again. The wind blows across the face of the earth with apparent direction. The rivers and streams flow to the sea in a never ending pattern. As Solomon looked around, he was overcome by feelings of hopelessness, despair, emptiness and purposelessness".

    So you are either the smartest dude ever... or you need to get a hobby?

    Later, feeno

    ReplyDelete
  2. I'm sure you figured it out but it should read "The wind blows across the face of the earth with NO apparent direction".

    Peace

    ReplyDelete
  3. I agree that Solomon was the wisest man ever. Seriously. Ecclesiastes is a gold nugget, written by (I believe) a closet atheist. No atheist could have said it better.

    Me, I just came to his same conclusion. If that makes me awesome, so be it. :-)

    (JH)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Awesome is just one word that come to mind.

    ReplyDelete
  5. feeno said...

    "Awesome is just one word that come to mind."

    JH: Dudn't matta.

    You already said I agree with the wisest man ever. That makes me awesome...

    ...and I have a hobby. It's writing! Wouldn't trade it for anything!

    (JH)

    ReplyDelete

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