Grandma's Cookies (and other future works) (Full Version)

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cerebus141 -> Grandma's Cookies (and other future works) (10/4/2013 3:20:12)

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Grandma's Cookies

You ever wonder why Grandma bakes the best cookies?
Because let's face it, there's no flukes, and they sure aren't rookies.
I want to tell you why
but it comes down to one word
and it begins with the same letter of this rhyme.



If.



One of the deepest words in the human language.
Lending itself to an imaginary world of
theoretical hypotheticals that some might call heretical.

I suppose I say this as a piece of advice
From wise old eyes
Because you know,
"It's nice to be nice to the nice"

And I think everyone alive
has some grain of decency about them.
At least some small amount of humanity and generosity.

So if you feel inclined to stop
One day and not keep going
And give up


Don't.


And here's why.

It's because of Grandma's cookies.

Now I don't know about you
Who you are, or where you live, or what you eat for breakfast.
But I know one thing about your parents.
No matter who they are now, or who they have been,
At some point in time, you struck their hearts like a pin in skin.
There was one moment where they both thought, "I love this child,
because this child is me. This child is beautiful. This child is the future
This child is hope"


And don't forget that.


At some point in time, though invisible in the vast spectrum of space
there was a teacher, that reached out to you
Taught you to say 'taught' not 'teached',
And you know, they really fought for you
Because they thought of you.

And don't forget that.

Now with Grandma's age
comes an uncanny paradox.
I guess she's like a time machine.

See, grandmas can see, but only in certain ways.
I think they spend so much energy reminiscing of the past
and thinking of the future that they can't see now.

That's why they have such big glasses.

But they can see into the future in a way no one can.
They can see who you will be, which is why
They love you unconditionally
with no harbours of resentment, no stigma to your past or present
Grandma's love you not for who you are now but for who you will be.

And you don't want to disappoint them, do you?

Grandma's make cookies because they want to know you.
They want to love you.

I guarantee that every grandma wakes up
And before having their cup of tea
or singing with the bees
They'll think of you.

Every morning they'll think of the grandchild they wish they knew more
Because they love who you will be.

So they bake cookies.
They bake cookies and hope that you'll come by
Because any opportunity to see you is good enough for them.

It doesn't matter if you only visit to get a taste of
home-baked,
fresh-made,
love.
It doesn't matter if you never think of them.

Because in the future, you will.
And grandma's can see into the future.

So if you feel inclined to stop
One day and not keep going
And give up


Don't.

Because Grandma just made some cookies.



cerebus141 -> RE: Grandma's Cookies (and other future works) (10/14/2013 21:03:14)

Priorities

This isn't an epiphany, soliloquy or hyperbole.
And it's not an autobiography.
It's more like hypocrisy.

Disclaimer, I'm not perfect and I never claimed to be.

Youtube was running slow, or maybe it was my internet.
But while my video buffered, I wondered,
"When was the last time I told my mother I loved her?"

And that got me thinking about my priorities.
I spend so much effort staying up to date on pop-culture
which seems so vulgar like a vulture compared to purities.
I spend so much time following that Twitter feed,
and watching the latest TV series,
I forget about my priorities.

Sometimes our priorities pile so high
that with the weight on our backs
you might as well call us Atlas
but it's not to say anything is impossible.

Even Atlas shrugged.
So shrug off that weight and piece together the fragments of your life and focus on what's important.

The next time your favourite video stutters and buffers,
think about the last time you told your mother you loved her.



cerebus141 -> RE: Grandma's Cookies (and other future works) (10/18/2013 4:05:31)

Transatlantic Movements

Movement One: Two Meanings of Lost

Technology never ceases to amaze me.
Seven hours away on the coast of West Africa
In a country where kids rummage through
Piles of rubbish just to find a piece of junk
That will get them through another day.

Seven hours away, in the least developed country
I can talk to my parents over the phone.

The country that they're in is of no relevance,
But rather the conversation at hand.
See, here I am in the Mountain West of America
And I'm homesick.

Yes! I am a long way from home.
But it doesn't fill me with joyful melodic progressions
That take my mind to a beautiful soundscape.
Instead, it's like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel.
But the tunnel is a blanket, and it suffocates me before I can get home.

After a few moments of stuttered silence,
broken only by the sounds of me choking back tears,
The only thing I can manage to say is:

"I miss home"

Only I don't say home, because it doesn't matter where it is
Home is not a geographical location,
But rather an emotional connection, and I'm not connected here.

It's not that I don't know where I am,
I know that perfectly clear. The salty smell in the air,
With the dry crispness that comes from all four seasons
Of this mountainous desert,
Remind me every morning when I wake up of where I am.

That's not the type of lost I experience.
I'm at the exit of the labyrinth that I've been wandering
Through my whole life, but I just have a gut feeling.
Perhaps the gateway to heaven is an illusion.

See, the place I'm at now doesn't resemble the place I need to be.
It's like a badly drawn caricature I paid five dollars for.
Or was it pounds, or euros?
Although my body resides here,
My heart is elsewhere.

Movement Two: My Home is a Memory

Hindsight is a witch, not a dog, though female in both cases.
A witch that puts you under a spell
That traps you into a prison of regret
And clothes your emotions with self-loathing.

This is supposing that you've made a mistake.
I have.

My greatest sin is taking life for granted.
I haven't seen a friend die yet, and I hope,
I hope to God in Heaven I'm there in person when it happens.
But I've killed the person I could have been because I didn't care about who I was then.

I'm still amazed that I can talk to the future.
"I miss the parks"
My mum replied, "You never walked in them"
"I miss museums"
"You never visited them"
"I miss the food"
"You rarely ate out"

What do I miss then?

Hindsight's a that will bite you on the ankle.
I'm talking about dogs here, in case you didn't notice.
She keeps us trapped looking back, missing those opportunities we already lost,
As the ones we have now just fly past us, joining the collage of regrets.

Movement Three: A Perfect Circle Broken

Just turn around.
Look forward.
Listen harder.
Smiler larger.
Reach further.

One opportunity is rushing toward you
Like the fastest car in the world.
Blink, and it's gone.

Make sure to grab it,
And hold on for the ride of your life.

Edited to remove profanity. Please refrain from using profanity more severe than ass, damn, or crap in the future. Thank you! -Faerdin



cerebus141 -> RE: Grandma's Cookies (and other future works) (10/31/2013 2:24:25)

Post-Utopian


The lights went out.
No one ever told us why;
no official explanation on the television.
Radios became a hollow shell of hope
Devastating our mental barricades.

People broke down.
Moral codes became subjective
as our world was held captive.
I looked to the sky,
and I didn't see our stars.

Obviously life was different.
Cement skeletons with glass for skin
was a new skyline, as we looked on
in our state of the art slums.

The past holds no relevance,
the future holds no realism.
Yesterday is a dream,
while tomorrow is a nightmare.



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