Hey people. Toolsman here. So I’m still on the road and internet is really crapy so I’ll keep posting from my phone. As a result I can’t bring you a wedesday dialogue today but I’ll definitely make this up to you guys. Today I’ll be featuring a guest named Abdulkareem Fareeda. I think this piece…
Hey people. Toolsman here. So I’m still on the road and internet is really crapy so I’ll keep posting from my phone. As a result I can’t bring you a wedesday dialogue today but I’ll definitely make this up to you guys. Today I’ll be featuring a guest named Abdulkareem Fareeda. I think this piece is beautiful.. I’d like to know what y’all think. Enjoy.
An endless stretch of green. Could be grass could be people
You know? Those ones that constitute the word “generic”
Randomly drifting in and out of life, sometimes making impacts, but gone within seconds. Visible, unworthy of immense note.
I’m walking, my background color the same as these generic strangers.
The indigo boy passes and splatters me with just a touch of indifference. He passes by, unconcerned with the world and hateful of humanity. Despite that hate, indigo boy belongs. He has a smattering of indigo dotting the psychological landscape that is life. He passes by me and in that instant I’m unconcerned. I hate life and people and for a moment, we bond, but like the generic, green, he disappears into the wilderness.
The girl with the red lipstick dances across the fields. She is alluring. Her eyes pop with color and her skin glows with a healthy radiance. Her body is well shaped, and for the briefest of seconds I run across to dance with her. I almost get there, and I stop. For as alluring as the girl in the red lipstick is, she is a shallow concept. I take a few steps and kiss her on the lips. I envy her life, but I will never want it as badly as I crave other things. My faint red lips give me some measure of comfort. I walk away while she keeps dancing, attracting the green and indigo.
I’m headed towards the twins. Fair skinned wonders in violet jumpers, wearing purple-streaked sunglasses. They seem serious. The green stalks surrounding them are rigid and unflinching. They are the ones I crave to belong with. These are the kryptonite to the girl with the red-lipstick. In place of her beauty, they have intelligence. Life is nothing but a ball to pore over and analyze. Life is a big interesting puzzle for them. I walk past them scared to belong to such greatness. As I take my first step away, I am pulled back for the briefest of hugs. The front of me is coated in violet. I am welcome, but I will never truly belong. I will always be placed in the second or third position, never top dog.
I am a complication, coated in green, violet, indigo and red. Where do my people lie?
It comes to me, inner peace. The warm yellow glow of salvation and inner peace is what I need to balance my chaotic mental easel. The yellow people float above, their happy faces molded in almost permanent contentment. Their sinless existence makes them weightless, hovering above the dirt streaked ground where the sinners exist. I want to fly. I CAN fly. Perhaps I have found my niche. I am ascending and with each height, parts of my body become yellow. They begin with my eyes.
I drop back to earth with a jolt. Two large blue streaks have been painted on my back, but I still have my yellow eyes. This is the land of the almost sinful. Here, there a lines of red, yellow, indigo, violet, green and orange. The center is pained a deep blue that seems to seep out of the lines, but always retracts. We toe the line between saints and sinners. We sin enough to be rejected by saints, but are never bad enough to be worthy of the title sinner. It’s a confusing section. For a moment, I touch the faint red on my lips and crave to dance, but my yellow eyes burn and I’m back to reality. I cannot stay here, the pain of indecision is too much.
Orange perhaps? The orange haired boy. The lone wolf, the optimistic pessimist. His section is completely orange, untouched by any color. I want to join him, but the weight of the other colors make this very hard. I am incapable of being an outcast. Perhaps his neighbors, the indigo boys will accept me? No, I do not have enough indigo on me to fit in.
Alas I stand, even more confused. The rainbow splattered girl, plopped right in the middle of the field.
Where are my people?