Only because I’m listening to time of the season by the zombies
perspective
don’t call it a flashback
I do as I can to avoid drugs
other than those readily
available to me but
tucked away in some sac
Or gland other hidden
wrinkle of the brain.
A perfectly measured dose
triggered by random
but accessible memories,
a passing fragrance
an old photo
a song on the radio
moms cooking
that one shirt.
let those gaps in the brain
be flooded with the
transcendental ambrosia
our flesh has prepared us.
Preserve the Patina
Within you it breathes,
Beaten but strengthened,
Bloodied but mending,
Tired but restless,
Hidden somewhere behind
Deep-tinted windows,
Basking in what
little light shines through.
What is shattered
is not broken,
But instead
sits in waiting to be built anew.
Open that window,
All ye battered souls,
And feel again
The warmth of the sun.
wanderlust
For so long I felt like I did not belong.
And then one day I realized I don’t belong anywhere.
That is, any one place.
For some of us will never settle.
Easily bored by the mundane, we constantly are left searching for those things in life that truly make us feel alive.
Flash Fiction: Spent Days
James sat down in his seat, preparing himself for the long day that lay ahead of him. He thought back to his childhood, and could not remember a time in which he was free from the prison that now bound him. He had spent too many days as a captive; it was now his life.
The walls were wet with fresh pitch, and the entire hull of the boat smelt of tar. It was only 8 in the morning, but already the sun beat down upon the ship enough to warm the interior of the hull to a degree just shy of that of an oven. James was now surrounded by dozens of other slaves, all taken as children and forced to work. The haze of restlessness and angst filled the room to the point where one could almost feel it on their skin like a heavy layer of humidity. Slowly the Captain emerged from his quarters. The Captain was old, weathered by battle and time. He was a monstrous figure, and slowly he began to speak. The words the Captain spoke, however, were foreign to the slaves, and James could not comprehend. James looked to the man to his right and they exchanged a puzzled glance. But, James did not need to understand what the Captain was saying; he knew the task that lay ahead of him. James knew that from now until midday, he would row. The thirty or so slaves all reached out and grabbed the oars in front of them to begin their long day’s work. As the slaves began to row, the Captain walked the length of the ship, stopping only to mutter words James could not understand to his fellow slaves. James kept his head down, and rowed.
Out of the corner of his eye, James could see the Captain slowly making his way down the aisle. James continued to row. He then saw a pair of worn brown boots stop at his feet. He looked up at the Captain, and could see his mouth moving but could not hear any words. James could not divert his attention away from the sound of the girl next to him tapping her foot. He tried to focus…
“James, do you have your homework?” the Teacher asked again.
“Not today,” James replied. He looked around and was back in a classroom
It was at this point in time that James realized he was exceedingly high to be at school.
Flash Fiction: Margaritas
A young man and his date are sitting together in a Mexican restaurant. This young man has recently lost some weight. When the waiter takes an order for the first round of drinks, the man eagerly hands over his ID, proclaiming, “That’s me! Just twenty pounds heavier!” This all being done in a lame attempt to somehow impress the girl sitting across from him.
The waiter studies the ID for 7 long, uncomfortable seconds. He hands the man his ID back, saying, “I’d say 10,” before turning a shoulder and walking away.
A little bit more…
One of the main reasons I created this blog would be to have a place to display my stories and projects. What projects you might ask?
This explanation requires some backtracking…
I love movies. In my eyes, film is the perfect art form. It combines all elements of art and produces masterpieces…some of the time. Unfortunately, those in control in Hollywood have become so befuddled by their own desire to make money, that much of what the average consumer can see in their local theater is only a small step above a heaping pile of shit. Thankfully, there still exists a group of people who are determined to continue sharing beautiful pieces of film with the world, independent filmmakers. This does not go to say that there are no longer any big shots in Hollywood that produce great films. Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, Quentin Tarantino, Peter Jackson, The Coen Brothers, Christopher Nolan…the list could go on for longer than I am willing to type. In fact, shitty movies are hardly ever the fault the artists at hand. The money hungry production seem to be the ones that have given rise to the endless sequels, receptive comedies, and flat-out boring melodramas that flood our theaters every week. I could rant for pages about what I call “Hollywood Bullshit”, but that would be moving away from the point of this post.
Back to my projects. I am currently finishing my first year at California State University, Long Beach, an institution I entered with the intention of pursuing a career in the sciences. It only took me one semester of strictly sciences classes to realize that the lack of creativity and passion involved in thermochemistry and the categorization of living organisms would soon drive me insane. It wasn’t the science of Biology I was interested in, it was aesthetics of Life. My mistake.
So I took the advice of every great man and woman before and began to study the thing I am most passionate about. Now I am enrolled in the College of Arts, with a goal of attaining a Bachelor’s degree in Film and Electronic Arts. The same degree held by Steven Spielberg. I guess my only issue is that I really have never explored making my own films, and quite frankly I really don’t know where to begin. Finally, this where my projects fall into place. This will be the home of the things I begin to film. So this blog is not only my perspective, but a beginning to what I hope will be the rest of my life, and that really is a terrifying thought.
” I dream for a living.”
-Steven Speilberg
Suburban Youth 