Has February Been Fraudulent?

It's the last day of February. Be it the same day in a different month, we would not be in such a predicament. I am intrigued by how the calendar was designed and assembled eons ago, by lesser (and at the same time, greater) scientists and philosophers, with such an imbalance. The second month of the year falls short two to three days in contract to it's brethren! Although every four years (and why do we have leap years anyways? Which reminds me, why do we still have daylight savings time when it has become redundant with today's technology?) it only falls short one or two days.

February leaves me a feeling of incompleteness, like I've been robbed. Two days which I could have utilized in a productive manner to prepare for a bustling month of March. A domino effect ensues and BAM it's June. I'm graduating, switching jobs and the world comes rushing in my face. That lost 48 hours could change the entire course of my supposed "destiny", or coincidences based upon resulting choices and actions.

It leaves me with one of those hypothetical trains of thoughts. What if I had an extra day of work? Make more money and that extra bit of cash then could have saved me later when finances became tight. Or, what if I had an extra day to finish that project? Perhaps then I would have finished it on time and my mark would've been salvaged (not saying that I procrastinate to ever end up in that situation, merely hypothetical possibilities we're talking here). Now what I really would like those extra few days for is gaming! Finally beating Assassin's Creed or Little Big Planet, or completing Okami (my favorite all-time game) again.

Alas I say that dear February, you fall short.

Romping off to play video games,
~Chiko!

Cogito, Ergo Sum

If I could decipher the entities outside my mind,
Then I would not need to sort fact from fiction.
If I could determine the fallibility of my senses,
Then I would not question your validity.
If I had not discovered Descartes’ theory,
Then I would not think these thoughts.
If what I imagined was figments and fractions,
Then surely therefore I could not think I am.
If I could deceive myself of my fears,
Then I would live my dream for eternity.

Pondering if anything besides myself is real,
~Chiko<3

The Psychosomatic Nature of Man

The chorus of a song written by Prodigy played back through his head, “I’m a fire starter, twisted fire starter.” He walked casually amongst the mighty trees, his scratched brass-colored Zippo twirling in his hand as he hummed the tune. He clicked open the lid to his trusty sidekick and knelt down to hold it against the parched undergrowth of a dieing tree. The aroma of naphtha swirled in his flared nostrils. Unable to resist his urge any further, he flicked the flint wheel and watched intently as the orange flame licked over the arid leaves. A crackling noise began and grew increasingly louder as the fire spread. He stepped back to admire his latest masterpiece. The vicious flames engulfed the foliage, emitting an ominous amber glow from between the trees. The intense heat pulsed from the raging fire, warming his pale skin. Grey smoke plumed up from the forest as if it were the spirits of the trees writhing in agony. White and black ash escaped the flames who reached infinitely upwards, floating down in a pathetic attempt to blanket the charred timber carcasses. Fading embers lay scattered on the ground, the blood stain of nature. Chuckling, the man strolled away from his malicious deed.

Are you a fire starter?
~Chiko!

Do You See What I See?

To see the world from another person’s height would be similar to walking the world in another person’s shoes. I am closer to the ground. I stop to smell the flowers on a late afternoon stroll. I notice the ants scurrying along an invisible line, the beetles amongst tall blades of grass and caterpillars that nibble on leaves. I amuse myself with foot prints left in the mud as I walk through remnants of yesterday’s rain shower. The pebble bouncing with a tick-clack as I kick it down the sidewalk. I relish in my surroundings that only I could see. I beam up at my companion, his warm hand intertwined with my own, delighted with what I see around me. He is closer to the sky. He sees the wind tossing locks of my golden-red hair in swirls. He watches the sparrows performing pirouettes through the air. He notices the obscurely shaped clouds floating across the bright blue sky. He stops to pick vividly colored fruit from a tree for us to share. The subtle jump in my step creates a smirk which tugs at the corner of his mouth as he tries not to laugh at my joyous antics. I want to see the world through his eyes but cannot take for granted what I see with my own.

Enjoying life,
~Chiko<3.

Roses Are Red, Bananas Are Yellow

Fruit and Flowers

The afternoon sun dances across the metal sink as it bursts through the white trimmed window. A curved glass vase sits perched upon the window sill. Nine candy-red roses soak their feet in day old tap water. Their pale green stalks cut short on crooked angles three days prior. Dew collects on the interior of the crystal vase and casting beams of shimmering light around the kitchenette. Upon closer observation, the delicate silk petals are flecked with off-white and pastel yellow markings. The traditional romantic flower symbolizes the fresh and everlasting passion between the two occupants of the modern apartment. Contained in a silver basin to the left of the picture-perfect roses, a variety of fruit lay waiting to be chosen as a mid-day snack. From delectable bananas to mouth-watering apples to succulent oranges. The taxi-yellow bananas are ripe with hints of lime green resting on ridges that run the length of the fruit. The Macintosh apples gleam bright red, dripping with flavor. Fluorescent green patterns marking the peaks of them. The sporadic glimpses of the over-sized oranges reveal days in age, faint tan creases scar the tangerine-oranges' hide. Despite the slight aging, the oranges pop out as the fruit of choice, victim to the next consumer who enters the scene.

Craving fresh sliced oranges,
~Chiko.