Days Are Trivial

They sat there on the porch, Clark, head between knees trying to exterminate that last of the alcohol in his system. The other still in a state of unequivocal melancholy.

He saw her when he walked in, and he was relieved to not feel at all. Its an odd state when numbness is more welcoming. It feels like only seconds when he wanted to feel something. But the pain was to engulfing, there was no escape. Hiding in a dark room led to no answers, filling his days with company of friends or strangers left a larger void. The numbness was a welcomed feeling.

She sat next to him, trying to be a friend, but that had the opposite effect. It hurt, it cut deep. He still had no understanding as to why, as to how it could change so drastically. Regrettably it was made clear to him. His fascination of having any chance quickly diminished.

He began to realize how unfortunate his mood effected those around him. He just wanted a channel, someone to talk to, she left, so who'd he have?

Unequivocal Melancholy

Have you ever felt alone in a crowded room? An ocean of faces, unintelligible arms and legs moving about. There's a familial connection whilst maintaining an odd disconnect. Conversations occur all around, there's a constant search for that which connects us, but it's the same words regurgitated time and time again.

Where's the excitement? Where's the spontaneity? It shouldn't be forced, yet in its purest essence it's a glorious fortune which one falls into. I'm falling down, deeper and deeper, waiting for that unknown, but at the same time it feels like something I want to venture for.

I Get A Kick Out Of You

The needle runs over the vinyl ever so carelessly. A myriad of sound rings out, the notes, the melody it drives the love of the two.

He grabs her by the small of her back and goes to bring her closer. Straining to kiss the nape of her neck she pulls away every so coyly, however he's persistent. He rubs his fingers all along the sides of her body, sending with it a deluge of euphoria she had never experienced. She shutters, and pulls away, only relinquishing her hand to him, and a lone smile.

This was one of those moments, whether they were in each others arms a day from now, a week from now, a hundred years from now, they would never be far from that moment evocative of all that was purity and innocence.

The Prayer

Time is beyond an objective point of view at this exigency. She can't tell the difference between hours, or days. She lays on her bed caressing the soft silk of her covers, retracing the patterns that her lover's body made. This had become her favorite pass time; she recognized the danger in not breaking from this mindset, but she hadn't cared.

His smell still lives deep within the threads which bind together so intimately... Intimacy, it was an abandoned thought at this point. She closed her eyes tight. As if a sudden warmth came over her, she hears this voice whisper to her ever so sweetly.

"With grace, and dancing feet, you can out shine the moon."

This was a drastic change of thought. It was revitalizing, it was hopeful... Hope. She hadn't recognized this aspect of humanity for quite some time. But is it right? Is it so wrong, to crave that sense of exaltation, to feel like something more than second-best?

She was convinced, she repeated it to herself, "you can out shine the moon."

Entry 2: Takk Small Time Shot Away

There's always an anticipation. A build up. To the next moment, the next event. Need to settle a bit, need to let what happens, happen.

Talking to people is a very surreal adventure sometimes. I don't know if it's a sign of maturity, or some odd sense of vanity. Passing along advice still seems like something I shouldn't be necessarily doing.

Entry 1: Paolo Mojo - La Ritournelle

An ambiance of sound and movements dance in the peripherals, a euphoria that can only be kept at bay by a smile. There's an odd anxiety and build-up with every word, as if the next carries with it more importance than it's predecessor.

That's not anyway to live, that's just simply too much pressure.

Richest Man In Babylon

He sat in a cliche bar overlooking the ebbing tides. Only in his dreams had he ever fantasized about being on an exotic beach like this, money, power, he had it all. But at what cost? He had a mansion off the cliff, it was larger than the state's capitol building, but he was the only one to call it home.

His life now is just a blur, and his life fom long ago seems like stories which have been lost in translation. He had loved, and he had lost, over and over again. He lived a prideful life, he didn't know why or with whom, but he was always competing, always trying to prove himself better than everyone else.

He had only been with her for a few months, and that was a lifetime ago, but the pain of that still clung with him. He'd heard whispers of her, she was a mother of three married in some suburb... happy.

He would trade it all in just for her, he always had and always will.

You'll Have Time

They were separated by inches, but it had begun to feel like miles. He longed to go back to that that familiar feeling, he prayed desperately for her to feel the same way and reach for his hand... alas no such luck.

The realization of a complacent lonely solitude fell over him. There was going to be time. She's so enticing with no need for actual effort.

-She has my number, and she knows exactly how to read me. I can see it in her eyes, there's something there but I've done all I can do to pull it out any further. Oh just a bit further.

His thoughts had consumed him, they would not fleet at any instance, it was a shameful misfortune.

Company Calls

Anika wakes up from a mid-morning nap; she rolls over and sees that it's half pass eleven. The pressures and responsibilities of her world came flooding, pushing at the forefront of her mind--her list of "to do's," and miscellaneous errands. She fights back that feeling of sadness which seems to be consuming her being now. It's too lovely a day and she yearns to go and frolic in the park, just as a young sprite would do.

A young sprite? Who is she kidding, this isn't a fairytale. There's no mystical wooded area, she's a city girl, but the sun streaming through the shades is still very enticing and captivating.

What Do You Go Home To

It was going on to the 27th hour of straight driving, his eyes were getting heavier, she was sitting in the seat right next to him, growing restless with every second. The clouds opened up and the rain came falling, torrential wasn't enough to describe it. The tires tread worn down practically to the rim, he should've pulled over hours ago but he was on a mission. Who knew if they were going to make it in time. David was growing weak each minute, they had to make it. There had never been a point in history where time was of the essence to them.

The interstate was dark, they hadn't seen another car in hours, were they even on the road anymore? Her restlessness had begun to grow into fury, she begged him to pull over so she could drive. He insisted he had it under control, yet reluctantly he pulled off the road.

Frustrations flared and he got out of the car. He just needed a break, he needed a change, fresh air would do him some good. They had an exchange of words, and she sped off, leaving him there.

The Piece

Grace and Steve sat out on the trampoline; it was warm out with a cool breeze bringing in that sweet summer smell. They stared up at the stary sky watching the firefly's enact a beautiful ballet. Steve reached over for Grace's hand and clasped it so tight, she turned to him and smiled. They turned their eyes back to the sky.

Steve sat there feeling a sense of contentment that felt so elusive for so long. What he imagined, had never lived up to this.

Walking Down The Stairs (Liar)

Mike slams through the bottom floor door; the sky's grey, the sun's hanging low, and there's a gloom that rests over the cityscape. He flips up the lapelle's on his jacket, trying to catch a little warmth, he lets out a cold exhale, and thrusts his hands into his pocket.

All he could think of was her limp body laying across the bed, dead to the world, dead to him... dead in general. It pained him to see her like that every time. He couldn't think about it, he just couldn't -- he shook his head. No luck. He did it again... there was just no use, anytime he closed his eyes her image was ingrained on his eyelids.

Into The Galaxy

It was Vick's 9:30 class, it just so happened to be a Wednesday. He loathed every morning; going to it meant leaving a warm bed and the body next to him. He would walk down the stairs and start the pot for his coffee, meander over to the sofa and take that extra 5 minutes to zone out. He'd slam his drink as he read the news and hurry into his clothes. He'd toss the ipod on and biked to class.

The journey wasn't long, only about a song's length, often there was some discontent with its briefness. He slid into the bike racks as he skidded over the melting ice -- an inaudible mumble is all that left his lips, as he hit the frame next to him. He locked his bike up, rubbing his bruised thigh and trudged into his class.

He took his seat up front, not that it would matter in a lecture hall of 400. It was his morning Religions class, and they were beginning Christianity, it just so happened to be Ash Wednesday. Vick had never spoke much in class, one's voice in a sea of faces seemed redundant; he'd pay attention, but often times he would just write and listen to his music... On this of all days his professor began to speak with such ignorance, that a quiet studious individual such as Vick, couldn't take it anymore.

Evil Ways

Clark had always been bullied, from kindergarten to high school. He was quite frankly the communal punching bag, a role he played to his fullest, and shockingly with very little complaint. I never really saw much anger or pain in him, and though it never felt like we were incredibly close we were all each other had.

We sat in front of the school every morning, we didn't want to be late, what can I say? Never prone to making eye contact let alone any other communicative out-reach we would sit there condescendingly speaking on Voltaire and Kafka, childish interpretations of literature I know even less about.

Your Bruise

The streets were crowded, and the rain was falling down in biblical proportions. Cal trekked 42nd, no umbrella, no jacket; just the veil of discomfort and regret covering him. Blood trickled from his brow and warmed his cheek as it made it's way down. His body, sore, battered and bruised.

-You bum!

A man yelled out as he ran into Cal. This didn't really effect him, not anymore. The bum looked how Cal always felt, a beaten piece of shit, garbage that could be tossed aside, and forgotten. At the same time it was freeing. He could now be able to act as he felt. Never in his wildest dreams did "get your ass kicked," equal positive life-change. Well sometimes we just need to get sense beaten into us.

American Mary

She looks out over the field of corn, the sun dances and shimmers in a brilliant pool of gold. She grabs the window looking out, holding the edges as tight as she can, his voice still ringing in her ears... the thought brings tears to her eyes, and she begins to choke up. It had been months since they had danced in the broken light, it had felt like years since she been held; his smell still hung in the air.

Chuck was a kind man, a friendly man, refused to do anything but live and love. He was a young man, late twenties. The two had been engaged for two years, and was only months away from tying the knot. He loved Mary there was never a question of that, he had always lover her and the day he died would be a testament to that feat.

Magik

And with a breath Ezra's world changes... The walls disappear behind, diverging into a whirlwind of colors. His eyes widen to take in the scene; a bottomless feeling consumes his senses. He's hooked, he's out of control and he's loving the uninhibited freedom. The exhilaration of an adrenaline pumping synthetic existence. Falling deeper and deeper into the void he looks around for some semblance of reality to bring him back... Sarah. Standing next to him, an innocent bystander found in the cross hairs of an over consumed soul. Grasping at her hands hoping for her to respond back he pulls her deeper down.

The two of them travel further and further into a scene of colors a world of ecstasy. A flood of warmth washes over their bodies; they collapse into each others arms. Holding within their grasp their temporal lover, a euphoric magic.

Love In The Ruins

I apologize for the video, but it's the only way I could get the song...



He leaves her house, defeated, beaten, broken down. Like a child he throws his hands into his jacket and hides behind the lapel's. The walk to his car couldn't have felt any longer, he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't be watching, but he couldn't shake the thought that there were eyes on him somewhere, hell it could've been some deity finding amusment in the circumstances.

How can he deny the feelings that have changed him so drastically, the light that has been let in and felt like it was quickly burning out? Defying in essence innate senses, and prescribed emotion; it's a hard pill to swallow. Years of work, a future dissolved, all within a few short words. He reaches the door of his car, shaking from head to toe, he manages to get the key in the door.

He begins to drive off, grasping the wheel with all force. Bare-knuckled and white fisted he lets out a loud cry. It's over and he knows it. As the realization eats his hope of any possibility, he realizes he'll rise from his ruined love.

Calendar Remix

A silence falls between them. Each one standing on edge waiting for a response. Minutes pass, feeling like days to each. He reaches to brush the hair from her brow, she turns her head away--forcing him to pull his hand back. At his defeat he stands, puts on his scarf and jacket; he slowly reaches for the door quietly hoping to hear one last plea from her. She turns to her side, his heart jumps... but it's for nothing. She gathers herself and steps out of the room, leaving him with a deafening silence, as he walks out.

She sits at the edge of her bed, afraid to look over her shoulder in fear of catching his glare from the pictures fixed on the wall behind her.

Each day after, she seems to fall deeper and deeper into a consuming darkness. Second guesses and "what-if's" plague her thoughts, as they're the last company she has.

The Land Beyond

He's driving down the interstate, an unknown stretch of road that has a familial sense to it. Still shook up from the exchange of words, he's determined on leaving and never coming back.

-There's a simple loss of faith... It's a lost cause, we're a lost cause and there's hardly anything which would keep us together. There's no tragedy in its end, merely in prolonging this feeling any further.

Perfect Crime

His body falls limp, a cold look is engraved in his eyes; his lips pursed as if trying to call for help, but the only sound made is the "thud" as his body falls limp on the ground.

BANG!!! Another shot rings out. Gunshots fired off by the bay as the work whistle blows, letting off the lowly night shift. The deafening cry of the whistle is loud enough to cover up the sounds of the gunfire, both send subtle waves through the harbor. The ambient glow of the city lights dance off the rain cascading around the pier. This time of year there was hardly any work that could be found, but the shipping season had been unusually strong this year.

Our Life Is Not a Movie, Or Maybe

James gets up dusting off his clothes. He checks his face feeling where Evelyn just slapped. It's a shock bringing with it a cold rush of realization. He's been her whipping boy for long enough. He's as flawed as she, but not in his wildest fantasies could he think to physically show that. The thought had never dawned on him and even in this particular moment it's still a thought absent. One action is all it took, one brash moment of over-amped anger to cancel out any remaining good faith. He should be upset, he should be angry, but all there is, is just disappointment.

James: You wanna know the truth?
Evelyn: Can you bring yourself to fulfill a statement like that?

James looks at her, his eyes fixed on her; she may of just hit him, but he doesn't work like that not here, not now... never with her. He goes off and tells her, how she's suffocated his spirit; it's tossed to the side forgotten and abandoned by her own selfish and manipulative motives. Each word cutting deeper than the last.

James: Our lives have become a bad movie, and though I've felt this coming, I thought it would change for the better. It's clear now you're a joke with no punchline, there's no salvation for your character, until you can get pass your skeletons.

How it Ends

Throughout you can hear the shriek and pierce of Joan's cries ring louder and louder.

Ezra: Joan, hold on tight! (He grabs her and brings her closer into his chest, the two leave the room.)

As Ezra runs with Joan in his arms, her grasping for dear life; all that can be seen is the violent flight of bullets grazing by their bodies. Each bullet flies pass and hits the wall creating tiny holes, light begins to squeeze through these spots. Ezra reaches a solid old desk, fortified like a tank, he kicks it over and jumps with Joan dancing over the bodies of the fallen to the other side.

Ezra: Ok darlin, you'll be safe here. (He smiles at her as the desk begins to take fire. Flinching only slightly, his face begins to go from a caring smile, to a stoic look. ) Don't move for anything, ok?!?

Joan blankly stares at him, she's left in a state of shock, she can't respond. Another bullet hits the desk on the other side.

Ezra: OK!?!?

Joan looks up at him waking up a little, and she nods her head.

Ezra stands up, bullets still flying by, but they all miss him. He relaxes his shoulder back, dropping his heavy coat to the ground. He's carrying two holsters at his side, and two shotgun straps on his back; he has knives strapped to his boots running up his leg. He raises his hands to the gun holders at his side, and reaches for his sidearms. He pulls them out of the holster and holds them, aimed at his flanks. He looks down at Joan, she's clenching her bear as tight, as tight can be, Ezra smiles and lets out a roar unheard by anyone before.

2080

I can't sleep when I think about the times that I'm living in... I can't sleep when I think about the future I was born into; we walk through our daily routines with blinders on, going through the causalities and prescribed niceties, that consume our lives. And for what? I don't like you anymore than you like me... It's ok, I know the truth, as should you. Civility is not anything organized within the human spirit, it's a facade that we subscribe too, shamelessly hanging on to an antiquated notion that has no more real world basis than the easter bunny.