Contemplation of a Yo-Yo
Have you ever held this gadget of two disks and a string, feeling an irresistable urge to slip your finger into the little loop, and let the yo-yo fall - knowing that it, in its undying loyalty, will come back to you no matter how hard you throw? Of course you have - noone on this planet has bypassed that desire. After all, the loyalty of a yoyo may be the only loyalty one ever gets. And it's a fun game too.
Yoyos, on the other hand, think quite differently. Taken for brainless little gadgets, they flock in droves to novelty stands - only to be taken to a place where for a warm shelter they offer all they ever have to give - loyalty facilitated by a string wound around your waist. Imagine what it feels like, to be cradled in the loving hand of a human as the string loop slips on his finger, knowing of the plunge to follow, the bungee-jump-in-a-tailspin, the mad dizziness of rotation, the jerk of the string, the climb up - only to plunge again after the climax. No stopping, no lunch-breaks, no trade-unions - just keep spinning, plunge-spin-jerk-climb-plunge, rollercoaster of emotions, adrenaline, exhaustion, UP, down, spiiiiiin, firm ground under feet just for a second, fleeting thought of freedom chased away by another jerk, he is learning new tricks.
Now for the string. She doesn't mind being wound around a yoyo's waist. In fact, she likes it this way, protected from all sides by the disks of painted wood. The little loop with the knot sticks out but it's OK, she's warm anyway. As her yoyo lies patiently in the hand of the human, waiting for a plunge, she might tense up, maybe cry a little, to no avail for the fat finger is already poking through the tender loop on the end - and down she goes, no adrenaline, no dizzy spinning, not even a contemplation of freedom - just a mind-bending pain in each joint flexing as she unwinds to let her yoyo experience what she is not to see, the firm ground. And then, on her master's order, she jerks, taking this precious feeling away. Yoyo hates her. Maybe, just maybe if for a moment she let go of him, let him drink it all in as he rolls across the floor away from her, as she writhes in pain of a torn fiber, pain unknown to the master rolling her back in, pitching into a garbage can.
And the yoyo, free at last, lies on the floor overwhelmed to paralisys
from his dash for life, unable to even imagine the world around him,
waiting for the master to find a new string in the desk drawer
and pick him up so the cycle can begin again.
I am a gyroscope. (Reflecting your unbelieving glare, I ponder that phrase too) No, serious. This is the Internet, I can be anyone I want to be. And no, I have not forgotten to take my medications, and if fact I was never prescribed anything of that sort.
I am a gyroscope. My body is a disk of shiny aluminum, with a stalk of steel though my center, sitting on a pin in my red plastic suit. Not much of a suit, I have to say - it leaves most of me bare and open to the winds and prying eyes of humans. I don't mind - for I'm more than just a toy. I'm a symbol of their sacred stability, the house-in-the-suburbs-three-kids-in-a-minivan achieved through endless spinning.
Psst! Here comes the master's kid. Johnny. How original. Here, let me teach him a lesson!
I lie patiently on my side as Johnny rummages through the drawer to find a piece of string. Strings, let me tell you, are so conformist! They let themselves be wound on spools and just sit there - or lay on the floor in an amorphous pile. No willpower whatsoever. There was one string I knew - she fell on the floor as the kid was watching me spin, and just lay there. She knew there was a vacuum cleaner coming, that she'll spend the rest of her life sneezing in a dust bag - and didn't even try to crawl away! If I were her, I would be spinning out of my mind by then!
Anyway, looks like he found a string and he's about to pick me up. Hey, Johnny-kid! Mmm. Your hands are so warm - I never get enough heat in this birthday suit of mine.
Hi, String! What's new in the drawer? Theeere we go - wind her up tight kid! Spin me! Yessssssss... I just love the rush, the adrenaline, the dizziness of 1500 revolutions per minute, all my surroundings a blur, nothing but a needle under my feet, but I don't fall for I'm Stability iteself.
Now listen kid. You're all mesmerized watching me anyway. Think about
your life. You're gonna be just like your father, right? Every day,
every moment of your life you will spin, just like me, on a needle-
point, and when you slow down, they will wind a string around you and
spin you up again - for you have to have stability in your life.
Spin, Spin - the mortgage payment is due next week
Spin, Spin - your wife is pregnant again
Spin, Spin - Johnny Junior needs a new soccer uniform
Spin! Never stop, never think, never even ponder what's around you.
Spin! Don't you ever stop, for if you stop you fall and if you fall
you have to wait for the string to get you spinning again and when you
are tired of spinning...
Prayer (Save Me)
Save me from your love
The crazy affection,
the molten lead of your lips touching mine
the deadly embrace of your arms
Save me from this romance
the instant futility
the undying thirst for what's not to come
the "I need to talk about our relationship"
Save me from the probability
the safety of law of averages
the 2.3 kids in a minivan and a hairy dog
the endless commitment to the mortgage
Save me from my fear
rescue me from
the well of predetermined future
and Dilberts on a cubicle wall
Save me from delusion and vision
from pride and humility
from explosions on CNN not in my backyard
from explosions in my soul, unknown to the world
Save me...
Among the clutter, among the scatter of Legos and Matchbox cars and all the plastic joy of a forgotten toy drawer, my hands cautiously uncover an impossible contraption from long ago.
At me stares a cherry-red lipsticked smile of Barbie, her plastic brainless femininity deflowered - for the nylon-blonde head is attached to the body of a T-Rex, his front paws clutching a machine gun.
In her? his? its? improbability, it smiles and winks at me as it reloads the gun. She seduces me with a smile only captured in a child's toy or on the page of Playboy - for the truth dies as it touches either of them.
But it's armed-to-the-teeth ferocity is for naught - a childish innocence removed the T-Rex's hind legs. One touch of a finger, and it topples, now a useless piece of cheap plastic and dismembered ideals.