Matt came home with a box of toys the other day. Throughout the house there are plastic guns, G.I. Joe dolls in various states of undress, and more plastic guns strewn about. I never thought I would ever have to get after one of my roommates to clean up his toys, but it seems I'm going to have to. The state of disarray our place is in is as irritating as it is humorous. Thinking about it right now, I'm leaning strongly towards irritating.
Seeing the toys brought back memories. It is absolutely fucked up that we give our children weapons to play with. I used to own a lot of toy guns and every action figure I owned came equipped with at least one weapon. Naturally, playtime was centered around violence, albeit imaginary. I remember prowling around the yard with a rifle, murdering all sorts of bad guys in my mind. My death count was high.
Ah, sweet, innocent youth. Where for art thou? I need a gun back in my hand; I want to feel alive again. I shiver at the thought of growing up with toys that promoted things like love and sex. Imagine if there was a Barbie with a hand job grip. No thanks, I'm happy with the G.I. Joe kung fu grip. And I'm also happy to have been exposed to a shit ton of violence on TV and in films. What a messed up childhood I would have had if rules weren't in place that forbade me from seeing people making love on screen. Yuck!
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I'm done with this post. Sorry for the brevity, but I'm not in a great mood, there is agitation within, and I don't want to spread the misery. I'll work on some music. I've got to get busy finding people to collaborate with. And not only that, but I've been proud of the stuff I've been writing and I want to share it. It took me a while, but I've finally gotten the hint the friends I asked are not interested.. It's ok, my stuff is not every one's cup of tea. So, yeah, time to get crackin'.
Peace, children.
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1 comment:
Thanks a lot Kevin; I really didn't need that particular image of Barbie in my head. :oP
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