who designed this place, i wonder? with its curving, dropped ceiling and its rows of uniform lights dangling over a counter stretching the length of the building? neatly painted pictures on canvas, that arent really painted at all. prints that look the same in every starbucks from here to seattle.
who designed shelf after shelf of beautiful ceramic, unique except for the mass quantity. row after row of syrups, organized by type, and bags of coffee categorized likewise. neat rows, neat processes, neat stacks of napkins and muffins in a straight line, parallel to pastries of a different flavor.
why do i want to bypass the barista to move the irish cream in with the hazelnut, and let the muffin types mingle? nothing inside me feels orderly. it's a mess of things, wave after wave of emotion undulating my reason and mixing up the silt so that nothing lies the same when it's calm again.
what do i want to be? this perfect, purposeful composition. not scattered, but grouped and lined up and facing the same way. am i saying that i dont want free will? the panic of the choice, the pain of the decision, the reality that there are too many variables out of my control for my decision to matter in the end? perhaps i am.
1 year ago
1 comment:
i like this post. and yet when given a choice, i always opt for a non-starbucks. a green bean, a tate street, etc. for disorder and real art and less-than-impeccable cleanliness standards. i hope i can learn to appreciate life in the same way i appreciate my coffee shops and the degenerating beauty of downtown city districts...
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