Chicken Feed

April 24, 2000 (3:03 am)


No one knows how anyone is feeling. Most of the time it’s hard to find someone who even cares. I have found myself thinking of tasks that need to be accomplished throughout the course of the day while a friend sits shoulder to shoulder spilling out their guts to me. To behold selfishness for what it truly is places this ugly trait in the possession of every single living soul, but we cannot deny ourselves all the time. Today was one of those me days, but after my scrimmages were won, that oh so familiar guilt wandered out of the woodwork. I love the times when there is nothing to feel. It is better to be happy than to feel happy, or to be alive rather than feel alive. Why must we complicate every little thing we come into contact with? It seems that society is obsessed with details, even if those details are a falsity created to please (or displease) the masses. On a good day none of this matters because the world seems to shine when seen through smiling eyes, but these same eyes have been hypnotized, and with the drop of a hat, like the sound of a snap, they will see precisely what they have been told to see.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist