Hauntings

The air bag was stained with blood.  Its starkness was startling on the white canvas.  The wood chips from the utility pole were still wedged between the shattered windshield and the frame.  I blinked uncomprehendingly at the wreckage.  The sister was standing nearby in a back brace.  Her movements  jerky.  Her posture rigid.  The brother remains in the Critical Care Unit.  The right side of his face torn away from bone.  His jaw wired shut.  The mother grabbed my waist and cried.

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Shane Koyczan's "making noise", resonates in the most cluttered and disorganized parts of myself. I am not swooping to extraordinary heights nor sinking to extraordinary lows.  Life inexplicably wakes me in the morning and leaves me tossed and tangled in the bedsheets at night.  I have the universe in my veins.  It pumps my heart and expands my lungs.  Yet I feel so all together ordinary.  Bound by routine and responsibility.  What do I want to MAKE NOISE about?  What do you?


"make noise for the son or daughter that lives inside you. maybe someday we’ll understand what our parents went through.

make noise for everything you think you thought you knew as if knowing was enough to tough off the hard times; noise for the mimes that won’t, for the people that don’t, for the children that can’t. make noise because the land of oz is crumbling and the tin man needs a heart transplant.

this is for each senseless rant that will one day make sense."
-Shane Koyczan