An open letter to the weather (Dramatic reading)

Yes, you. Stupid weather.

Dear Atmosphere,

My name is Luke and I have been a consumer of your products for the last twenty seven years. Although some of the points I raise in this correspondence may resonate with more of your customers than myself, I cannot claim to speak on behalf of anyone else. When I find myself having a problem with a service provider, I prefer to contact the provider before I speak ill of them. So this, Atmosphere, is a detailing of the issues I have been experiencing with your service recently and your chance to rectify or explain them for me.

My major concern — and this point probably encompasses all the problems that follow — is the inconsistency of your branding and product offering. I understand the need for subtle, some times even radical, changes to policy and services provided but it seems that whomever is running your Research & Development operation is pandering to more markets than you’re able to adequately handle.

Won't somebody think of the peanuts?

There’s a lot of things about peanuts that people know; like the fact that peanuts aren’t technically nuts at all even though they contain “nut” in the name — nuts right (but not really)? That’s because my mate Steve — the guy who invented the English language — and botanical scientists can’t agree on what is a nut and what is a legume. Peanuts are known as “Goober Peas” in other parts of the world and even that’s less nuts than calling something that’s not a nut, a nut.

Another thing that a lot of people know about peanuts is that they grow underground — if you are walking along and a peanut falls on your head from a tree, it was probably thrown at you by a monkey. This is where common knowledge of peanuts starts to fade and hide the real truth behind peanuts. This is where human ignorance takes over and stops most people from seeing what is right under their eyes. This is where cruelty becomes cold, emotionless murder. This is when the peanuts lose their rights and die without ceremony or remembrance, without any acknowledgement from those committing the genocide.

Cycles

I find that things usually go well until they don’t; it’s all good until it’s not and then it’s good again but that’s only until the next time that it’s not. I find that things usually go up until they come down; it’s all heading up and travelling well and then it’s all heading down and getting hard to catch but there are times when the up keeps going up and that’s good unless the up never stops and you lose it and that’s bad but that’s only bad until you find it and then it’s good again until it’s not.

I find that things go in cycles but sometimes reverse themselves to go in reverse cycles and then sometimes reverse themselves to go in reverse cycles of the reversed cycles. I find that things are quite unpredictable until they become predictable and then they become unpredictable the moment you try to predict the predictable unless you predict that the predictable will become unpredictable from your prediction, then they stay predictable unless you predicted that they would not.

Equal: A Speech

I am physical pacifist, a vocal activist, a man with a view of the world that is perhaps too simple; simple in theory, simple in strategy, complex in installation. I am one man who is a grain of salt beside humanity which is a grain of salt beside the universe and eternity. I am one man who holds no grudges even though I have been cut enough times to be nothing but scar tissue.

I see the man next door, the man next city, the man next state, the man next country, and I see a man. I see the woman from the city that beat my team, from the state that voted against my rights, from the country that warred against my homeland, and I see a woman. I see a CEO whose company put mine out of business, and I see a father, a brother, a son. I see a lawyer whose firm took my house through a loophole, and I see a wife, an aunty, a daughter.

I see common ground through breath and through heartbeat. I see common goals through my loneliness and their love. I see invisible walls between them and me because they do not see what I see.

I see peace, I see love, I see humanity.

I breathe, they breathe, I believe we are equal.

Renegade Commuter

I knew it was going to be her. I’m usually able to spot them and it’s easy once you know what you’re looking for. I was halfway back in the single file queue of about thirty people, she stood toward the front yet wasn’t in line. From the moment she had arrived and taken her position leaning against the bus stop wall like a brand name lamp post, she hadn’t looked up from her phone. To a casual observer, she looked like just another passenger waiting for the bus to arrive — albeit a passenger whose expression suggested the world disgusted her. But I saw her for what she was: A renegade commuter.

The tension in the line increased, someone had obviously spotted the bus approaching and started the redundant pushing from the back in the futile hope that this would somehow get them a seat. As is my usual way, I didn’t move forward and let the people behind me bunch up in a commuter concertina. She could see what was happening too, the movement in the queing masses had signalled that it was time for her campaign to begin. Whether she was dialling someone in actuality I cannot say but she raised the phone to her ear and she began to gossip.

The bus brakes squealed as it slowed down at the stop, it overshot the head of the queue as is often the case and the renegade commuter used this as her time to shine. With elbows held out like fleshy tripwires while speaking loud enough to not hear the polite “excuse me”s and sorrys coming from the queue behind her, she started toward the bus door about a step ahead of the person who held the line’s rightful number one position.