Walk Sign

So, first of all, I hate jaywalking. I do it occasionally, but in general, queen of the sidewalks. Additionally, I pay attention to traffic signs. (This is a void statement while running, but while walking, blink little buddy, and I’ll cross.)

This evening, while waiting for the friendly blinking “walk” sign (and the chirping that accompanies) two gentlemen crossed the street from the opposite direction. As they passed myself and my roommate, we heard them talk about “fucking lemmings, waiting to cross with the sign.” As Jessi aptly pointed out, the lemming action would actually be to cross in front of traffic. On a Thursday night, dressed in dark colors, I think I’ll wait for the go ahead before crossing. This isn’t mob mentality so much as preservation of body. I don’t feel like being taken out by a reckless college driver, a little buzzed, because I’m fighting The Man.

This feeds directly into a tangent. Recently, a fellow student brought in a book of poetry, and while talking about the author, passed out an interview. The fellow (author) talked for a bit about punctuation as a form of oppression. I don’t think I agree. I don’t think the comma is keeping me down, and the period is a tool of The Man. It’s all about communication, and punctuation helps communicate. Don’t get me wrong, I like unusual punctuation (have you read my poetry? Marks like :: abound.) But I don’t think, by varying punctuation, I’m fighting against repression.

But maybe I’m wrong. Punctuation and walk signs are all a means of keeping us down. Next time I jaywalk and get hit by a car, I’ll say I was making a political statement. That’ll fix my broken bones, right?

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