Starbucks & Thoughts

My time in starbucks and what i was thinking.

 

       She sat in the Starbucks coffee shop with her eyes upon the screen just trying so badly to keep focused, she had been having focus problems for what seemed like forever, the prescriptions for ADD her drug, yet today she hadn’t taken it because of a conversation she had had the night before with a person that had the same problems like her. She was tired of being medicated, tired of holding such a position in the world of medicated people. She knew she wanted to stop but she couldn’t, she could only have days of rebellion when she didn’t take her prescription jelly beans in the morning, so she could stand tall and feel good about herself because she still has the rebellion within her. Right now she imagined the white day by day medicine box that held the jellybeans of the morning harassment. She smiled thinking of that cold chamber still filled with the pills that she so honestly hated. Yet she hates when someone comes into Starbucks and disturbs her focus, when the overhead heater comes on for the incoming or leaving costumer, just so they don’t have to be punctured by the cold for the last few seconds before they come into the coffee shop, oh what a great invention, yet such an annoying noise it becomes. Soon enough her concentration is on the coffee cup that holds her delicious Mocha Latte that she adores so; an orgasm of flavor always bursts into her mouth when she drinks it. Yet before she takes the next sip she reads the entertaining yet distracting quote they always put on the side of the cups with the heading of: “The Way I See It #” then the number, today’s number on the Huge Venti cup says 134 and under the heading she reads:

 

When Einstein explained his theory of relativity, he couldn’t express it in the precise, scientific writing of physics. He had to use poetry. Poetry: that connection of words, images and the relationships that gives them meaning. Quantum physics changed the world. No longer can we view the world in separate, mechanical ways, but we must accept the reality of interconnection, unity and togetherness. Life is poetry.

--David Seel

English teacher from Annapolis, Maryland.

 

        As she reads the quote she is pushed away from reading as the annoying sound of the heater coming on when the incoming costumers stray inside looking at the Welcome poster with the advertisement of the lovely drink, Cinnamon Dolce Latte. Yet she knows that she will never actually try it because the thought of change in flavor scares her, the thought of not getting Mocha Latte demands her attention to the thought that she might pay for something she absolutely hates. Yet would it be so bad to try a new thing as the later on achievement might be that she actually likes it, but all in all that is to much detail to think about when it comes to coffee. And it’s not like the Quotes will not keep straying into the sight and focus of her eyes as she drinks sip by sip the flavor she knows, and adores, so why change? In life she has said that change is good, like at the moment her ears hear the sound of a jazz band on the overhead speakers, never had she thought she would like the sound of a trumpet, or sax playing together in a harmony of lovely music, but as she hears it she doesn’t want it to stop, she imagines herself in a smoky café in an unknown location…maybe France, Paris the Café right near the iphfull  tower, the Café is dark and even with the blues, the color blue seems to be emphasized more then ever when a dark man puffs up his cheeks as he plays the trumpet, his dark skin in the darkness of the Café looks almost blue, like a midnight with the tiny stars only winking slightly through the thought of the night sky. His eyes are closed as he plays and he shakes his head as he plays, his fingers slightly slender with just a little plump to them push down on the button top of the trumpet, then letting them go to make music, his music, music for the people. For she would watch him with sparkling eyes and a shy smile, just to have the feeling of the music under her skin. She would have her mocha latte in front of her, letting it go cold as she can’t let her focus go away from this beautiful man with his beautiful music, with his beautiful blue like skin, no she would just let the steam of the coffee go through the top of the cup and let the whip cream that is such a treat that she feels like a child when she asks for it as she orders, to melt and leave it a invisible luxury. She would only let her focus go onto the smells of the room as she watched and listened to the jazz music. She would smell the cigarettes, of the French women that entrails the Café, with cigarette holders so slim and beautiful between their fingers they look like antique posters that produce an elegant that portrays the essence of seduction. They tap their fingers on the edge of the stem so to let the soot of the burned out edge to let go and be buried into the crowded grave of the ashtray. Then they put the stem to their mouth and surround it with their blood red lipstick lips, and suck in the deadly smoke that seems to emphasize their addiction. An addiction of a deadly virus, yet these women makes cancer seem like a dance of seduction and sexuality. Their eyes looking seductively drowsy and flirtatious as they suck in smoke, of tar and (ingredients of cigs) and then blowing it out into the air, jealousy could surround those that wish they could either be the stem or the air that is trances into the lives of the lips and even attention of these women. These women that hold such a trance of seduction of the blood red forbidden lips of these French lovelies. And when they laugh they laugh with an elegance that the disgusted thought of their kiss of soot and tar within their mouth and breath soon disappears because all you want is to be the one to hold the secret in how to make them laugh and show stars within their eyes and watch as they hold their stem in delicate fingers and some put their heads back in laughter stretching their necks, like that of a vampires request, so as they can take the thrill and thirst of biting down in a seduction of pain and death, to only taste the blood of the beautiful elegant seductress.

            Yet even with those thoughts, she still smells on to smell the coffee’s that roast and blend to make coffee that make eyes close with such pleasure from just a taste. The warmth of this taste on a cold snowing day can warm the body as well as it seems the soul, for a sense of retreat and happiness can settle into the mind and heart of the sipper, that takes in the taste with an open mind of welcoming the taste that they either are familiar with, that they have known since the beginning, or the open mind of a new taste that will fill their mouths so suddenly it will feel like a tiny Christmas of taste’s just like the first taste of the familiar, when it was all new to the taste buds of the welcoming mind and body. The taste buds grab at the senses so dominantly that the taste of someone’s mouth can be the positive to the next date or the break down to the never again seeing each other decision.

            So when she thinks of the taste buds she knows that the senses of her smell can almost go to her taste buds completely because of the thought that she knows some of the smells that fill her knows because once the taste buds touch the transition of new foods or drinks there is a memory that stays within the mind that it will memorize and always remember it with just a slight whisper that when a smell comes to the senses that is known as a whisper it becomes louder and goes to the brain and that is why the mind knows what the smell is by name or by ingredient, or just by seeing it in the mind, or a memory of when the smell and taste became one together. Magic is how the mind and body push and grab at the little vessels of knowledge that we let ourselves overcome slowly so as to not overpower ourselves. For if the knowledge of the smell and taste were not whispers we would be soon screaming from the overpower knowledge, our minds are like children, we bring small details within ourselves but soon after knowing something, we go off and play and let it lay a whisper a new live neuron that grows within the layers of brain matter that gives us the pleasure of knowing yet another, yet we shall never be the Einstein because he spoke his mind completely even when it didn’t make sense, but because our society promotes knowing what one is talking about, before saying anything and if not, embarrassment will soon lead to the effectiveness of not knowing completely how to explain what one is talking of or answering then those who have an answer yet not so exquisite it might seem like an answer where another says “good job” yet a little hesitantly and paused that the one who spoke will soon go into the shell of embarrassment as they blush and tell themselves to never answer a question again as long as they are in a class or seminar or anything that involves answering questions. So they will soon let their no so exquisite undefined answers lay inside them to die. Our society has damned and betrayed the essence and familiarly of the Einstein’s of today so we lay with the unmiracled intelligents of the over thinkers. Who will be the Skinner, Freud of the twenty-first century? Will we always go by the Freud theory, by books that have been written in the 50 or 60’s, that soon are going to fall apart so innocently as to tell us to get another theory by someone who has lived through the changes of life, for now a days we lay undefined within our searching’s or knowledge of the over thinker, because of the society of embarrassing those who are different, in mind, power, sexuality, religion, or race. We judge too much, it seems more then when the world before this time was in a fog of confusion when something different did cross their paths. So why is it when they were in a misunderstanding of the possibilities of the different outcomes of the effects of all the difference that was coming to the surface, and now when it is all over the surface we judge harder and more effectively then those before us that we actually make people hide within themselves so damningly that when the surprise of them ever coming out grabs at the ones that are introduced with the knowledge that the surprise makes them say the key phrases: “Wow I never would have guessed” or “You totally don’t look like one” and “I would have never known that about you in a million years,” yes and then when it is all out, the next step of judgment is in the process of coming out to the world. So those that are the less likely to come out are the ones that find their lives have not been the fulfilled essence of how they want to live, because judgment of others scares the s**t out of them. So when the people of the future read on to what our society is all about they are going to think of coward, judgmental, begets or bigots that had no respect to encourage slight change, and were to scared to achieve the respect to actually promote it within everyday life, tomorrow’s world will look at our society as a waste that ruined parts of the society of their today. Because what happens before another, can affect them in either a small way or a big way. We are away from England because of wanting our independence and wanting to be away from a land that is thousands of miles away from us, so in our society we have learned that the thought of independence is a good thing, a mature thing, so when people move out of their parents house they lay as independent and have the encouraged thought that they can become like the united states, by becoming rich and prosperous. Independence is a seductive way to making love to a new life. Because you can have your one night stands with independent life when you are away from home, or you can have and on standing relationship with life once you are fully away from the depths and fingers of your beloved parents grips, they can advice you, but even with advice from those about your relationship you have the independent decision to take the advice to hand or let it stand as nothing but an inconvenient   thought that will either be a whisper for later or soon forgotten as you go on like a child and go and play some more.

            Just like she, she takes the independence to either focus at hand what she is doing, as she thinks and types at this moment. As she lays independent when she decides to either take her jellybean pills, or to leave them in cold lonely white day by day chambers, and her independence to either try the Cinnamon Dolce Latte or stay with her familiar taste of the orgasmic taste of Mocha Latte in the Vinti Cup with the Quote number 134 with the end sentence “Life is poetry.” For her life is poetry within what she does, through her words that she writes and types down slowly as to not let them go so suddenly like she has so independently before, she has her many whispers remembering or letting go. She has her one night stands independents in life, and is now waiting for her seduction of making love to an independent life day by day. Yet she doesn’t want to become rich and prosperous. She wants to have the ability to be happy within her life, to be out to the world who she is. And even with the judgment of the world she can still sit in a Starbucks drinking coffee and typing on her laptop without a care in the world, without the understanding that she might be different, because she knows she is different, she knows that she will always be different, and she doesn’t care, she doesn’t let it both her, because she lays that as an independent matter of facts, that if the world judges her, she will be the one to try and not judge others because she lives in the ruined society of to much judgment and to much embarrassment. She is not Einstein, she is not Freud she is just a good with exquisite thoughts, that some might judge and say are scattered and undefined, but they still read what she wrote here of her scattered thoughts and imagination at hand. She hasn’t thought to spell check or even look over she said, she might later, she might read through her words but for now her fingers keep going through the process of typing more and more because she likes the idea of being independent on not having to care about the judgment of misspellings or undefined sentences. Her focus goes onto anything she wants, the incoming women she thinks is pretty, or seductive in a slight way. Or on the smells of the roasting coffees that fill the Starbucks shop. And she thinks and imagines the man with the puffed up cheeks, and slender plump fingers, pushing up and down on the buttons of the trumpet that is his pleasure at hand, that makes her just not want to let go of her focus on watching him play his blue jazz, and she doesn’t let go of the thought and sight of his blue colored skin. Tomorrow she might dream of him, and maybe he will be a her, that is her independences on her mind, for America on the war to independence has not actually totally ruined today’s society, and our society is not all bad, only parts. So now she think and watch the blue man being surrounded by others with the pleasure of playing their independent music to the people in the smoky dark café in France Paris, in the imagination of a girl with little focus, a taste of independence sitting in a Starbucks café on a winter day, with an empty cold white Venti Cup that use to be filled with the orgasmic familiar mocha latte that now only holds the focus of the same quote of number 134, the independent thoughts of –David Seel an English teacher from Annapolis, Maryland.