I Want to Live Outside the Box

compound complex

I want to live outside the box.

I live in a box, or series of boxes strung together into what humans call rooms. It is nice but sometimes gets too warm. I want to get out of my boxes. I get to where I am going in a box. It has four wheels. It costs lots of money to keep it running. When I was a kid the box (it wasn't really a box, but I was taught in a box called "school" never to mix metaphors.) had two wheels and was called a bike. That was much simpler, but I was a klutz and fell off a lot. When I get hungry I go inside a giant box that we call a supermarket. It dazzles the eye, tempts the stomach and empties the wallet. I have no choice. What is inside this humungous box keeps me alive. I live to eat. I used to go into a moderate size box where everyone listened and did as they were told. I believed it was for my own good, though there was a lot I did not get. I don't think I was being deliberately naughty, but I ran out of there one day because it got too "hot." I still want to live outside all the boxes I've been forced into. It's just not always a comfortable fit. Maybe one day I'll make my home under the stars and pick fruit off trees and live happily with all the animals. No more boxes - Paradise.

creativhoney

maybe you should visit the roundhouse, or maybe you could go and see cricket at the oval, or watch snooker at the octagon. have you considered a trip to the pentagon? you could go to the circle club in manchester, or if you are feeling adventurous, go and see the pyramids..

I hope these are useful suggestions to you xxx

Elsewhere

Little Boxes

Notes: words and music by Malvina Reynolds; copyright 1962 Schroder Music Company, renewed 1990. Malvina and her husband were on their way from where they lived in Berkeley, through San Francisco and down the peninsula to La Honda where she was to sing at a meeting of the Friends’ Committee on Legislation (not the PTA, as Pete Seeger says in the documentary about Malvina, “Love It Like a Fool”). As she drove through Daly City, she said “Bud, take the wheel. I feel a song coming on.”

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky, 1
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,
And there's doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry,
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

snowbird

I used to go into a moderate size box where everyone listened and did as they were told. I believed it was for my own good, though there was a lot I did not get. I don't think I was being deliberately naughty, but I ran out of there one day because it got too "hot."

Once, I was your fellow inside that box.

I had to compress my intellect to remain inside, but my darned irritating mind simply wouldn't behave itself.

For the sake of sanity, I had to leave that box.

I is free!

Sylvia

ninja

you probably saw this before cokey...but it's worth a repeat showing

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWDacPz65mw&feature=fvw

compound complex

Thanks, guys and gals! Great thoughts, remembrances [I lived in San Francisco in one of those ticky tackies!] and suggestions.

My box really is too hot [furnace on]. I'm running out into the frosty morn!

Love,

CoCo

Finally-Free

Personally, I enjoy being in a box.

W

undercover

Selected lyrics from The Last Resort from the Eagles Hotel California album:

Some rich men came and raped the land,
Nobody caught 'em
Put up a bunch of ugly boxes, and Jesus,
people bought 'em
And they called it paradise
The place to be
They watched the hazy sun, sinking in the sea

...

And you can see them there,
On Sunday morning
They stand up and sing about
what it's like up there
They call it paradise
I don't know why
You call someplace paradise,
kiss it goodbye

parakeet

Maybe one day I'll make my home under the stars and pick fruit off trees and live happily with all the animals.

Be careful what you wish for. "Nature [is] red in tooth and claw." (Tennyson)

Even poor John Denver found that to be true.

parakeet

On the other hand, living part-time in a box of your own making may work out just fine. Subscribe to "Mother Earth News" and read "Living the Good Life" by Scott and Helen Nearing.

I would suggest "Walden" if you haven't already read it, but remember, Thoreau lived on Emerson's land and often went to dinner at the Emersons' when he got tired of eating his much-celebrated beans. And, after two years in the forest, he chose to go back to one of the worst "boxes" of all -- a factory.

I Want to Live Outside the Box

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