Arte IA: Four figurines assembled onto a cardboard square, going about their route at every roll of the dice. This odd conglomerate of pieces had begun to define and consume our night. As if basking in the sunset that beamed through the room's transparent glass walls, the small trinkets emitted a wicked reflection off of their tin skins. Although I had never been a fan of board games, especially this board game in particular, the easy-going nature of my companions and the beautiful yet familiar setting around me allowed me to feel a sense of ease and calm that had escaped me for years- maybe even since the last time we were all together on this Island. “Your turn,” Motioned Cesar as he handed me the dice. Snapping back into reality, I grabbed the dice from Cesar’s large leather-worn hands, briefly thinking about his hands and the two others as I studied their tired and worn faces. An interesting group as any, this ragtag group of intellectuals had found solace once more on the island of Saint Tropez. The feeling of calm settled deep into my stomach. Cesar takes a large rip out of his old vape mod and again out of the blunt being passed around the table. It was good to know that we had all kept up with our smoking habits even after all this time. Although Cesar had always been an avid nicotine user, the rest of us primarily chose to smoke marijuana. In a world full of agony, chaos, and destruction, the smell of a burning blunt and the smoke that filled our lungs with every puff had always exuded a timeless air of calm and nostalgia within all of us. This blunt was no different. Lost in thought, the dice slipped from my sweaty palms and thudded onto the game board, then onto Guzman’s lap. Guzman’s small wrinkled eyes moved from his typewriter to the transparent floor beneath us. A small semblance of annoyance etched itself on his olive features behind his bushy grey beard. Opposed to the thin hair on his head that he constantly shaved. His facial hair was thick, long, coarse, and sprinkled with grey wisdom amongst its brown color. In a grunt, Guzman reached out his hand towards the floor, struggling to find the dice in the rays of vibrant aqua and pristine white sand, permeating through the glass. The dice nestled against the glass like a chameleon, blending with its surroundings and escaping Guzman’s grasp. In the time that Guzman searched for the runaway dice, Cesar turned his large frame towards me and squinted through his thick glasses as the smoke trailed upwards from the blunt, “Guzman is always carrying around that typewriter with him, huh?” I laughed, “I’ve known Guzman for half of my life and it’s a rare sight when that typewriter leaves his side. My man’s is dedicated to his craft, to say the least.” Ending his long search for the dice, Guzman’s bald head popped up from underneath the table. “Found these hoes!” he exclaimed as he lugged his wiry frame back onto the wooden chair. I laughed to myself, Guzman had always had such an eloquent way with words, both orally and in scripture. Unlike my other two companions, I had known Guzman before my initial arrival to St. Tropez. Although it seemed like a lifetime ago, the deep friendship we shared before the world collapsed still rang true. As Guzman handed me back the dice, the wooden door to the den clanged open from a kick of a size nine Nike Cortez. Wobbling in, as if struggling with the weight of his head and his overly large baseball cap, Jonathan strutted in from the other room into our den made entirely of transparent glass. His familiar blue sports jersey clashing with the orange hue of the setting sun beaming through the transparent walls. I guess even after twenty years and a whole lot of life some people’s style never changes. “Alright I’m back and I finished rolling the next blunt!” He beamed as he joined us around the game board and held the new blunt aloft, “Whose turn is it?” “Apollo’s” replied Cesar as he ashed and disposed of the roach we were smoking prior, “but he is taking forever to roll the dice like usual.” Hoping to instigate one of our classic verbal bouts for the sole purpose of entertainment, I hurled a quick jab into the crowd, “Look, my bad. It’s just so easy to get distracted by Jonathan’s big ol head. It’s so big it even managed to block out the sun and one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. ” Jonathan, one to never miss an opportunity to clap back, responds, “Shut-up chicken legs. At least I’m not a 42-year-old that still looks like they haven’t hit puberty yet. Now hit this shit ”as he sparked the new blunt. “My charm is timeless.” I quipped as I grasped the blunt and brought it to my lips to take a large draw. He isn’t entirely wrong. I inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to overtake my mouth and lungs. It had been twenty-two years since the last time we were all at St. Tropez together and throughout twenty-two years my perennial babyface had stayed more or less cherubic. Lacking a rugged jawline, significant wrinkles and the ability to grow a full beard, the only indicator of my middle age was apparent through my long strands of thick grey hair. Strands of hair that in my youth always groomed short, combed, and above all else, pitch black, now rested in long gray waves cascading past my ears. I released the smoke from my lungs as I rolled the dice from my hands in the same motion. They thud once again on the gameboard, tumbling to a stop, showing thefaces of two sixes. “Fuck 12”,all muttered in unison as if natural instinct. . A burst of rare hearty laughter escaped us all as we realized that after all these years some customs never change. The emergence of our old phrase that we used to mock and belittle the oppressive law enforcement that helped destroy our world made me realize that we were, in some ways, the same eighteen-year-olds that arrived on this island long ago. The same twenty-year-old’s that embarked into the world with eyes full of optimism and drive. Leaving this island for the last time. But as we sat here again in St. Tropez exactly twenty years after our departure, our eyes were dulled by something even beneath our laughter. A distinct aura of lonely remembrance clung around our eyes at all times, like a cloak that we could never take off. Our laughter faded into the sadness that constantly surrounded us. Betrayed, battered, and broken just like the world around us, we sat around this table as four old men. Four lonely men that had lost all of the people they loved. Four broken old men that had lost their will to live. Four desperate old men that saw the world crumble before their eyes. All that remained of the world we knew was this Island and the memories we carried. The island of St. Tropez. An island that started as our palace of freedom and solace as the realm of adulthood opened to us, was now our prison of regret in which we faced the failures of the world and ourselves. Yet, in the face of everlasting despair and the end of humanity, we continued along with our lives like the four pieces of the Monopoly game board that adorned our wooden table. The game itself, a cruel reminder of the evils that destroyed countless lives and civilization as we knew it. In the wake of the destructive spread of capitalism and expansion of a global economy based on war after the COVID-19 pandemic, it wasn’t long after we left St. Tropez in the year 2020 that the world around the Island began to destroy itself. Now with the world and our souls destroyed we sit here every day trying to forget. Trying to forget the pain that coursed through our hearts as we buried our first loved one on this island. Trying to forget the carelessness of world leaders and dirty capitalists with the lives of innocent people as they sent everyone back to work despite the warnings of countless medical researchers and experts. Trying to forget the spread of war and fear by white supremacists as they hit the streets in masses and armed themselves in order to combat a virus. Trying to forget the anger as we saw our black and brown brothers and sisters be slaughtered in the streets by the same law enforcement that was “sworn to protect”. It was impossible to forget. With every roll of the dice, We were reminded with every movement of the four pieces that the money and greed of the 1%’ ers destroyed the world. Yet there was nothing we could do. Then or now. There was never anything we could do to save this world no matter how optimistic, driven, and talented we were when we left this island. We left this island with a purpose. Having discovered the only known cure for COVID-19 during our four years here, we embarked from the island of St. Tropez as free men, attempting to save the world from its own demise. We returned as failures and prisoners. It turned out that those who really ruled the world did not want a cure. They wanted the virus to spread and kill as many black and brown bodies through disproportionately low-income neighborhoods across the world. We held the key to saving billions– no trillions of lives. Yet, they refused. Why? To continue their iron grasp on the world through money and greed. To continue to drain the world and its people from its life and resources. To continue to systematically and violently oppress our people. It wasn’t COVID-19 that destroyed our world but Capitalism. And we as humanity allowed it to happen as we let the rich spread the sinister specter of capitalism throughout the world under the guise of “freedom” and “democracy”. Laying the groundwork for humanity’s destruction with the spread of the modern capitalistic system that blinded us with the commercialization and consumption of everything. We were never meant to survive this system. Onlythe rich were meant to survive. Our captors never fail to remind us of this every day. We left this island together as four optimistic men ready to take down the virus that was destroying the world. Heading in four different directions, with four different copies of the cure that would save the world We went to the remaining leaders of the crumbling world with our cure and proposal but were ridiculed and mocked for refusing to monetize it. We were returned by the world leaders as four old men, broken and in chains to the island of St.Tropez. Forced to play Monopoly as a cruel reminder of our failures. Reminding us constantly that we are defeated husks of younger selves. Defeated not by COVID-19 and the destruction brought by the disease, but by the disease of corporate and capitalist greed. The evil, disgusting, and cruel virus known as capitalism. Guzman rolled the dice next. Betrayed, battered, and broken just like the world around us, we sat around this table as four old men. Four figurines assembled around a wooden square, going about their daily routine at every roll of the dice. Four lonely men that had lost all of the people they loved. Four broken old men that had lost their will to live. Four desperate old men that saw the world crumble before their eyes. Four prisoners that failed the world. Or had the world failed us? All that remains of the world we know is this Island and the memories we carry. The beautiful island prison of St. Tropez.
Creado por snuggly panda
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snuggly panda
snuggly panda
Four figurines assembled onto a cardboard square, going about their route at every roll of the dice. This odd conglomerate of pieces had begun to define and consume our night. As if basking in the sunset that beamed through the room's transparent glass walls, the small trinkets emitted a wicked reflection off of their tin skins. Although I had never been a fan of board games, especially this board game in particular, the easy-going nature of my companions and the beautiful yet familiar setting around me allowed me to feel a sense of ease and calm that had escaped me for years- maybe even since the last time we were all together on this Island. “Your turn,” Motioned Cesar as he handed me the dice. Snapping back into reality, I grabbed the dice from Cesar’s large leather-worn hands, briefly thinking about his hands and the two others as I studied their tired and worn faces. An interesting group as any, this ragtag group of intellectuals had found solace once more on the island of Saint Tropez. The feeling of calm settled deep into my stomach. Cesar takes a large rip out of his old vape mod and again out of the blunt being passed around the table. It was good to know that we had all kept up with our smoking habits even after all this time. Although Cesar had always been an avid nicotine user, the rest of us primarily chose to smoke marijuana. In a world full of agony, chaos, and destruction, the smell of a burning blunt and the smoke that filled our lungs with every puff had always exuded a timeless air of calm and nostalgia within all of us. This blunt was no different. Lost in thought, the dice slipped from my sweaty palms and thudded onto the game board, then onto Guzman’s lap. Guzman’s small wrinkled eyes moved from his typewriter to the transparent floor beneath us. A small semblance of annoyance etched itself on his olive features behind his bushy grey beard. Opposed to the thin hair on his head that he constantly shaved. His facial hair was thick, long, coarse, and sprinkled with grey wisdom amongst its brown color. In a grunt, Guzman reached out his hand towards the floor, struggling to find the dice in the rays of vibrant aqua and pristine white sand, permeating through the glass. The dice nestled against the glass like a chameleon, blending with its surroundings and escaping Guzman’s grasp. In the time that Guzman searched for the runaway dice, Cesar turned his large frame towards me and squinted through his thick glasses as the smoke trailed upwards from the blunt, “Guzman is always carrying around that typewriter with him, huh?” I laughed, “I’ve known Guzman for half of my life and it’s a rare sight when that typewriter leaves his side. My man’s is dedicated to his craft, to say the least.” Ending his long search for the dice, Guzman’s bald head popped up from underneath the table. “Found these hoes!” he exclaimed as he lugged his wiry frame back onto the wooden chair. I laughed to myself, Guzman had always had such an eloquent way with words, both orally and in scripture. Unlike my other two companions, I had known Guzman before my initial arrival to St. Tropez. Although it seemed like a lifetime ago, the deep friendship we shared before the world collapsed still rang true. As Guzman handed me back the dice, the wooden door to the den clanged open from a kick of a size nine Nike Cortez. Wobbling in, as if struggling with the weight of his head and his overly large baseball cap, Jonathan strutted in from the other room into our den made entirely of transparent glass. His familiar blue sports jersey clashing with the orange hue of the setting sun beaming through the transparent walls. I guess even after twenty years and a whole lot of life some people’s style never changes. “Alright I’m back and I finished rolling the next blunt!” He beamed as he joined us around the game board and held the new blunt aloft, “Whose turn is it?” “Apollo’s” replied Cesar as he ashed and disposed of the roach we were smoking prior, “but he is taking forever to roll the dice like usual.” Hoping to instigate one of our classic verbal bouts for the sole purpose of entertainment, I hurled a quick jab into the crowd, “Look, my bad. It’s just so easy to get distracted by Jonathan’s big ol head. It’s so big it even managed to block out the sun and one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. ” Jonathan, one to never miss an opportunity to clap back, responds, “Shut-up chicken legs. At least I’m not a 42-year-old that still looks like they haven’t hit puberty yet. Now hit this shit ”as he sparked the new blunt. “My charm is timeless.” I quipped as I grasped the blunt and brought it to my lips to take a large draw. He isn’t entirely wrong. I inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to overtake my mouth and lungs. It had been twenty-two years since the last time we were all at St. Tropez together and throughout twenty-two years my perennial babyface had stayed more or less cherubic. Lacking a rugged jawline, significant wrinkles and the ability to grow a full beard, the only indicator of my middle age was apparent through my long strands of thick grey hair. Strands of hair that in my youth always groomed short, combed, and above all else, pitch black, now rested in long gray waves cascading past my ears. I released the smoke from my lungs as I rolled the dice from my hands in the same motion. They thud once again on the gameboard, tumbling to a stop, showing thefaces of two sixes. “Fuck 12”,all muttered in unison as if natural instinct. . A burst of rare hearty laughter escaped us all as we realized that after all these years some customs never change. The emergence of our old phrase that we used to mock and belittle the oppressive law enforcement that helped destroy our world made me realize that we were, in some ways, the same eighteen-year-olds that arrived on this island long ago. The same twenty-year-old’s that embarked into the world with eyes full of optimism and drive. Leaving this island for the last time. But as we sat here again in St. Tropez exactly twenty years after our departure, our eyes were dulled by something even beneath our laughter. A distinct aura of lonely remembrance clung around our eyes at all times, like a cloak that we could never take off. Our laughter faded into the sadness that constantly surrounded us. Betrayed, battered, and broken just like the world around us, we sat around this table as four old men. Four lonely men that had lost all of the people they loved. Four broken old men that had lost their will to live. Four desperate old men that saw the world crumble before their eyes. All that remained of the world we knew was this Island and the memories we carried. The island of St. Tropez. An island that started as our palace of freedom and solace as the realm of adulthood opened to us, was now our prison of regret in which we faced the failures of the world and ourselves. Yet, in the face of everlasting despair and the end of humanity, we continued along with our lives like the four pieces of the Monopoly game board that adorned our wooden table. The game itself, a cruel reminder of the evils that destroyed countless lives and civilization as we knew it. In the wake of the destructive spread of capitalism and expansion of a global economy based on war after the COVID-19 pandemic, it wasn’t long after we left St. Tropez in the year 2020 that the world around the Island began to destroy itself. Now with the world and our souls destroyed we sit here every day trying to forget. Trying to forget the pain that coursed through our hearts as we buried our first loved one on this island. Trying to forget the carelessness of world leaders and dirty capitalists with the lives of innocent people as they sent everyone back to work despite the warnings of countless medical researchers and experts. Trying to forget the spread of war and fear by white supremacists as they hit the streets in masses and armed themselves in order to combat a virus. Trying to forget the anger as we saw our black and brown brothers and sisters be slaughtered in the streets by the same law enforcement that was “sworn to protect”. It was impossible to forget. With every roll of the dice, We were reminded with every movement of the four pieces that the money and greed of the 1%’ ers destroyed the world. Yet there was nothing we could do. Then or now. There was never anything we could do to save this world no matter how optimistic, driven, and talented we were when we left this island. We left this island with a purpose. Having discovered the only known cure for COVID-19 during our four years here, we embarked from the island of St. Tropez as free men, attempting to save the world from its own demise. We returned as failures and prisoners. It turned out that those who really ruled the world did not want a cure. They wanted the virus to spread and kill as many black and brown bodies through disproportionately low-income neighborhoods across the world. We held the key to saving billions– no trillions of lives. Yet, they refused. Why? To continue their iron grasp on the world through money and greed. To continue to drain the world and its people from its life and resources. To continue to systematically and violently oppress our people. It wasn’t COVID-19 that destroyed our world but Capitalism. And we as humanity allowed it to happen as we let the rich spread the sinister specter of capitalism throughout the world under the guise of “freedom” and “democracy”. Laying the groundwork for humanity’s destruction with the spread of the modern capitalistic system that blinded us with the commercialization and consumption of everything. We were never meant to survive this system. Onlythe rich were meant to survive. Our captors never fail to remind us of this every day. We left this island together as four optimistic men ready to take down the virus that was destroying the world. Heading in four different directions, with four different copies of the cure that would save the world We went to the remaining leaders of the crumbling world with our cure and proposal but were ridiculed and mocked for refusing to monetize it. We were returned by the world leaders as four old men, broken and in chains to the island of St.Tropez. Forced to play Monopoly as a cruel reminder of our failures. Reminding us constantly that we are defeated husks of younger selves. Defeated not by COVID-19 and the destruction brought by the disease, but by the disease of corporate and capitalist greed. The evil, disgusting, and cruel virus known as capitalism. Guzman rolled the dice next. Betrayed, battered, and broken just like the world around us, we sat around this table as four old men. Four figurines assembled around a wooden square, going about their daily routine at every roll of the dice. Four lonely men that had lost all of the people they loved. Four broken old men that had lost their will to live. Four desperate old men that saw the world crumble before their eyes. Four prisoners that failed the world. Or had the world failed us? All that remains of the world we know is this Island and the memories we carry. The beautiful island prison of St. Tropez.
about 1 year ago