Broken Glass is multimedia art project analyzing the phenomenon of broken glass on city streets and the affect it has on the community, the individual and animals.
Warm beer dribbled down his lip, slowing on his facial hair and stopping before reaching the bottom of his chin. He leaned his head back and took one last swig. He spit to get the bad taste out of his mouth while his body was going numb. Numb and alone. The darkness surrounded him like a warm blanket. He knew he was the most vicious creature there. There was no one else to be afraid of, just him.
His fingers were stained red with spray paint. They were rough and torn and tired. His hair was greasy and sour from a long three days of restlessness. Sleep only came when he felt at peace, peace only came when he felt strong, he only felt strong when he no longer cared, and he was only carefree when he was careless and numb. His fear and pain numbed with beer.
A wave of anger came over him so quickly at the memory of his eyes, his rage filled expression. His whole body boiled despite the alcohol. He closed his eyes and took a breath, this was how he fought with himself, fighting his desire to fight, to punch his dad so hard and over and over till blood splattered all over their dinner. He imagined breaking the dishware his grandmother had sent across countries as a gift over his father’s head. He could see the blood and sharp ceramic pieces flying into his nephew’s crib. That thought is why he closed his eyes, that thought is why he took a breath, and that feeling of being stuck, cornered in a place that should be called home is why he stood up, killed the last drops of beer before slamming the bottle on the filthy concrete next to dried dog poo, discarded candy wrappers and dead grass. The sound was quick and dirty just like his father’s fist hitting his mother’s face. The sound gave him a tiny satisfaction that he felt in his chest and finger tips. He used this tinge of rebellion, this ripple of adrenaline that comes from defiance to create a wave of energy, which he used to cleanse himself as best he could of the darkness that surrounds him. He immediately felt vibrations on his outer thigh, he reached deep into his pocket and grabbed his miniature monolith made of plastic and metal, he pushed the button and said, “Hello?” An animated voice responded through the thin block, “Where you at? I got the car let’s go…”
He walked away from the broken glass pieces with composure. His hostility numbed by the influence of the fermented liquid. His vexation dulled, for now, by the rancorous shards left like mines to afflict the blameless…
Are there any blameless? Are we all not somehow deserving of rancorous broken glass to be put in our pathway? What can be done to change these explosive behaviors to help the innocent? Should we even try, is there a valuable lesson in encountering ruins of pain or aggression?