SCENE: The Bar

Rasham — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 22:27:29 +0000

A man and a woman are awkwardly entangled, their motion is slow and uniform, and as I sit all alone absorbing the pathetic energy of this late night-mare, she glances in my direction , as if to say ‘I have something you lack, and that makes my existence much more valuable’. The bar top is lined with poor-postured sapiens, nursing like children from the mother tit, sinking further into her arms with every sip, becoming less and less like themselves. We drink to forget the problems of the world, except we don’t even know the world: it is spoon fed to us in bite sized pieces from the comfort of our living rooms. We drink to forget the mediocrity of our own lives, except in drink our lives seem not as mediocre as we ramble and embellish and dream things that we forget the morning after. Anything to pass the time I suppose will do. We, being animals, must absorb ourselves into some modern form of pack behavior: a bar scene is this exactly, a safe social hub where men can practice assertive dominance and women can display their fertility. It is sad; it lacks ingenuity, this bar like the next, copies of behavioral patterns strewn around the world, so predictable, so depressing, simply a group of victims struggling to be heard over the music that is meant to silence them.

Rasham Writes » c

SCENE: The Bar