So much better than real life.

On Fireworks

(Apologies for the following as it may sound like the ramblings of a second grader on pixie stick kick. I wrote it the middle of the night when awoken--exhausted and recovering from a head cold--by f**king fireworks. And some white girl wearing one of those obnoxious pastel hippy turbans like she just got out of Bikram screaming, "Yeah! Yes! Yes!" from across the street. I live in a strange neighborhood, don't ask. And yes, I keep a journal at my bedside. When you have more than one dream involving creepy Dr. Moreau characters that like to give animals snow globe heads, it's time to put the pencil to the paper and seek therapy.)

Why does everyone get so excited about fireworks. Painted or drawn or even imagined, interpretations of them appear far more spectacular than in real life, unlike natural phenomena like falling stars and jellyfish and waterfalls that stretch several stories high. If you ever close your eyes in the presence of fireworks, your ears will feel assaulted. If you did not know you were in the presence of the fireworks, all the more terrifying. The sounds they make are like gun blasts or fallen buildings or pure destruction in general. In the aftermath of the fireworks, you are left with smoke and herds of loitering hooligans hollering like lunatics. All the while animals shake and quiver from an intrinsic fear of impending doom. Fireworks are best when used symbolically by poets and the love struck. If only fireworks were outlawed they would swiftly be launched into the realm of nostalgia and urban myth for future generations of thinking caps. The old photographs, drawings, paintings and poems would finally reach a level of profundity not yet actualized as the current use of fireworks prohibits this. DEATH TO FIREWORKS. PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN.