Why?
Because I'm not supposed to.
Why not?
Because you want me to.
Recommendations, suggestions, traditions, laws, customs, rules, regulations, requirements, dress codes, uniforms. At times I view traffic laws, traffic signals and lane markings like suggestions. I hear what you’re saying, but I‘m not feeling it right now, I mean it’s not really speaking to me. Like an overly doctored photo on a box of pasta with small print in the corner that reads SERVING SUGGESTION. Or the lines in a coloring book that are so predictable and vanilla it feels like a joke to actually take them seriously. When someone talks at me, as if I were in the principal’s office, using sentences that start with words like traditionally, the new policy is, you’re required to, the law states, the family has done it this way for generations…I get turned off, turned away, turned in, turned the other way. An eloquent poet in Rage Against the Machine said it best, when he said “Fuck You, I won’t do what you tell me!” then he said it 15 more times with feeling at the end of Killing in the Name.
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I like postcards , I like Bimbos, I like Bimbo's postcards and I wonder what my grandma thinks of Bimbo’s Burritos postcards. I wrote her one this afternoon and when I dropped it in the mailbox, for some reason I was reminded of a hand written note I saw, years ago, taped to the mailbox on 6th Avenue West at Crockett, across the street from Targy’s Tavern. It said something like “my son’s backpack was placed in this mailbox this afternoon, please call me at this number so I can recover it” That little note said so much. It brought an image of some kid getting his backpack taken away by a bully or even an asshole friend who then ran around with it for a little while, the owner in hot pursuit, then the chase ended at the mailbox as the backpack was stuffed in.
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