Me.

I have dreamt of becoming a movie director since I was 7, I finished watching the first of the Lord of the Rings series in complete ‘aw’. I knew from that day on I wanted to be a storyteller. I often get told to follow music; I am in a band, I am told I have a great voice and that I know how to play guitar. Music isn’t my dream though; it was my way of coping with being 13. It’s my way of releasing stress like a journal or a punching bag; it’s not a job, it’s not a lifestyle, it’s a hobby. It’s a friendly teacher, nothing more, nothing less.

Waiting On Superman

"A hero is someone who understands
 the responsibility that comes with his freedom."
~Bob Dylan

A Voice Column
by Richard Corso

Grim news: more or less what we human beings need to remind ourselves that we live in a realistic world of realistic problems. Grim news that we may or may not toss behind our shoulders and keep moving; grim news that we may or may not stay up nights staring at a ceiling trying to understand why.

Whether it impacts us or not, it doesn’t change the fact that it happens; that it happened. It doesn’t change the fact that evil will always reincarnate and dwell in times, times of darkness for both our minds and our bodies.

Over the summer grim news hit us hard very close to home.

          Bullets, something that belongs in the action sequences of big blockbusters, not in the theaters we go to break the barriers of that action, of that comedy, of that sorrow, and the seats we sit in.

          For those who have forgotten, or possibly and luckily, dodged all news of the horror that took place on July 21^st, at the midnight showing of the latest Batman film, a man by the name of James Holmes walked into an Aurora theater and started to shoot. The actions of this - at the time nameless - anarchist took the lives of 12 innocent people and injured 58.

We lost our friends; we lost our sons and daughters, husbands and wives, mothers and fathers. That morning smile from the unknown passerby on a sidewalk; we lost our cure for hatred in a few brief seconds of haunting effects to the hands of a terrorist.

How do you sum this up into a story? How is it that someone can say there are things we can and things we cannot control?

It’s called real life. How do we find who to blame? “Oh, Mr. Holmes is mentally ill”; Of course he is, no one in any correct state of mind would commit the crimes that man committed that day that imagination and creativity was displayed on a screen.

Who do we turn to? How is it even possible to look up at the clouds after times of darkness and ask “Why, why did the lives of the innocent people have to be put in the hands of this anarchist?” Who do we turn to? Maybe the answer is in the screen that the victims chose to watch in the last glimpses of their life.

 The connection between the Batman film and the shootings is a great one. In the film, much like it’s predecessors and fellow ‘super hero’ flicks, the story is about the hero (Bruce Wayne) becoming a symbol of hope (Batman) to stop the work of the one who stands in the way of true justice (Bane), through the actions of death, greed, and the torture of innocent.

In the movies the hero arrives just in time to save the day; he is the one on the horse who must battle the great dragon to save the damsel in distress. Other days he takes the form of the troubled scientist who transforms into the green beast who must be tamed into doing the right thing. The billionaire, the photographer, the playboy, the outcast, they hide behind these masks, until they put on their real faces, the symbol of greatness.

However, there are both sides to this great story. Inspiration doesn’t always come in words of hope, or symbol of peace and justice. In terms of some, this inspiration is delivered through a mask of hatred and greed. Inspiration many seem to follow in steps to.

In every battle there are two sides, there is a battle of good and evil. There is the story of the Cherokee who tells his grandson the tale of the two wolves, (two sides of the battle). The story says that an old Cherokee told his grandson of a battle between two wolves inside each of us. One wolf, [the villain], the one who symbolizes hatred, death and the work of evil; and the other wolf, [the hero], the one who symbolizes courage, peace, love and hope. The tale continues to say that the grandson asked his grandfather which wolf wins. The old Cherokee tells his grandson the wolf that wins is simply the wolf we feed, the idea we choose to fight for.

The ideas that Holmes fed and fought for were the ideas of hatred, the ideas that people like Hitler and the KKK supported; people who could have been great and brilliant minds, and threw it all away.

Now, we shouldn’t care about this James Holmes, he’s just a name, but if the actions of this man, if the ideas alone can cause others to act with this religion of madness then the only way to win this battle is to be our own fictional superheroes.

In times like these we find ourselves looking up, looking back, looking down, or anywhere we can for signs of a friend, a leader, a living object to hold us. Someone to tell us to keep going; we look in all places for that person to inspire the brave and fearless. We seem to look at these movies and TV figures, these comic book and novel heroes in the journey of their personal struggles. We are amazed by them, whether real or imaginary, we are inspired by these men and women, these people who hold us up, just so we can get over to the other side. How do they do it? What makes a man jump into those flames? Why can’t I do that? Maybe we can.

When we were children we would go make a cape out of bed sheets or a towel. We were a cowboy; we were the knights in shining armor made of plastic and cardboard. That’s all it took to save the day, the will to want to. When did that all change? As 7 year old boys we knew that when Batman’s cape came off he was still an emblem of courage.

Did we wake up in hell someway along the way? Things were always going to get worse before they got better, it doesn’t take a bullet or bible to prove otherwise.

The people who oppose peace will come like the early calmness to a storm, unexpected thunder and crash. We have, and will be taken off guard when the guns are pointed, and the greed is pushed, and hatred is spilling off the sides of the earth we will notice that it doesn’t take waiting on superman to save us from ourselves, it takes the will to want to be a hero that will prove successful.

So what is the point of a hero, or better yet, what is the point of a fictional hero like the ones in stories? They aren’t real-why do we celebrate them and hope for their presence when all hell breaks loose? Easy, inspiration.

If there was a fight between Batman and Spiderman, Batman would win but Spiderman 2 has one of the greatest quotes in terms of what the hell is the use of a hero: “I believe there’s a hero in all of us, someone who keeps us honest, gives us strength. Everybody loves a hero, people cherish them, gather around to hear stories about the one who told them to hold on a little longer”.

And that is the way it has to be, that is the curse of love, peace, justice, hope; the villains of men and the villains of society will continue to do their jobs, as they are inspired to. And now it is time for a calling, as you wait for your friendly neighborhood Spiderman to come and save us from this life of hatred, remember that we are coming to the day where we have to step up and make the choice, the same choice that Holmes, firefighters, teachers, police officers etc.

We have to put on our capes, our shining armor. We have to become our own symbol, whoever that is, good guy or bad, we are here to change the world. Now fly.

 

 

 

I AM A BEAST OF A BIG, BIG UNIVERSE

Seasoned Reunion

Snow falls

All is dead

Decorated walls

Post love pain in his head

Flowers bloom

His past is but a bore

Cleaning for room

Nature is but a whore

Summer heat

And phone calls sail

Hatred they have beat

Where’s the coffin and the nail

Fall leaves crumble

Shades of simple lying

Tempo has hit a fumble

As their beauty is found while dying

 

 

 

 

A Man In Motion

A man sits.

He doesn’t seem to notice this world

He doesn’t seem to mind these cameras in the mirrors

Or seem to care about the people in his head

To him, he is the protagonist

His simple life is dead

A man walks.

He doesn’t seem to notice the ground moving beneath his feet

He doesn’t seem to mind the faces staring at him

Or seem to care about the masks they are wearing

To him, he is the villain

His state of mind is tearing

A man runs.

He doesn’t seem to notice the world moving fast

He doesn’t seem to mind the worries in his life

Or seem to care about the family that is his

To him, he is the fool

His ignorance is bliss 

A man sleeps.

He notices the shape of the story around him

He seems to mind the storybook ending he is missing

Or is it the love that he seems to take

To him, he is the story

His reality is what awakes

Neverwhere.

                          (Listen to the song while reading for dramatic effect) 

   **Simple and never where I want to be**

Eyes on the stars and everything in between

Where is she I wonder? Where will she be seen?

I catch her like a storm, like whale on the shore,

Like a cold though my lungs, and her warmth fills my core.

She reminds me of leaves, red with autumn blood,

This girl I have caught keeps me trapped in this mud.

 

Eyes on the old worn notes

Past through so many times, wiped away the tears,

Washed away those fears.

Many times I wish myself dead, usually those days I find myself in bed,

With that similar ach in my head: reminding me of the days we left unwritten

Those days we never met.

Eyes on the drug like pictures,

So weathered with pain,

Laughter that always had, and always will, keep me sane.

I thank you one last time, but many more times will follow,

For the good times worth the pain,

Good times that get me through tomorrow.

Eyes on the memories and everywhere between

TO YOU!

                This is just a question for someone who used to read my blog: Hey! How are you? I don’t know if you still read my stuff anymore but I hope you still do, I read whatever you post, I am looking forward to seeing your book on display at some point. That sounded very kiss ass, and I did not mean for that to happen. How was your trip? How is work? How is life? Any new newspaper stuff? How is your Aunt? I don’t know if this is a really dumb idea or if this is a really good idea but if you would like you should email me, if you still remember my email. I know the whole “rule” but I figured we are allowed to break the rule every once and a while, I hope you agree, this doesn’t mean we have to come into each other’s life. I guess I was just wondering how you were doing.

Me

HIM

Him...

You are just like him,

She says, you really know how to hurt yourself.  I see the worn picture of him I grasp it tight in my hands, His brown messy hair battling itself to stay combed; His hazel oval shaped eyes and shady face from his lack of shaving. This small picture is like a mirror, I look into it: I find myself slowly turning into him: Every mistake is pierced into my heart like every sharp object that is much to cliché to bring into such context. You are just like him! Why does she say this, will I be just like him? I want to shake his hand, I want to look into his eyes and say ‘why’. Phone conversations later and I believe he is gone. Could he be just a shade in the back of my mind? The picture is over used; I memorize every corner, ever wrinkle and bend, every crease and corner of this freeze in time. Did he know? Did he know he was going to leave, get scared, did he know I would be sitting there 17 years later holding the only thought I have of him, hoping that somehow that slight belief in faith might bring him to save me? I want him, want him more than a lover, more than a friend, more than a new film from my favorite director, more than life itself I want a father. I don’t need him; I have a memory that tells me lies, that makes me believe he is still here. I want him; a great desire that builds up and on nights like tonight I can’t help but think what is he doing right now. Is this self-pity I wonder, is there any way to hold on and still let go? I want to know him and be proud of when she says

You are just like him.

MY FAVORITE 5 TEAR JERKING SCENES

*There are many many more, but I picked the first 5 that came to mind*

1. 'It's not so bad' - Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
http://youtu.be/zoa4lGKxbw4

2. 'The Captain's Mission Monologue' - Saving Private Ryan
http://youtu.be/LvAIBDGIYE0

3. 'The best love story ever told!' - UP
http://youtu.be/F2bk_9T482g

4. 'Subway Scene' - Pursuit of Happyness
http://youtu.be/dLwjEtY4uas

5. 'You're just a kid' - Good Will Hunting
http://youtu.be/qM-gZintWDc

My New Short!

Please enjoy this short film I made. Tell me what you think!

Fo those loved, hated, and the weather

I don't belive in best friends, I just know that there are people who know me better than others. Some of them 'friendly' and others not so 'friendly'; but overall it's just a matter of that stranger who I ave history with.

When In London

***Something made me feel like I should write a story with these characters...strange huh***    


     David waved at the dim visual of Sophie through the foggy window of the black train. The rain was starting to get through his clothes and he was starting to get a chill, that chill he had for most of his life. He was still gripping her number tight in his hands and he quickly tucked it into his jacket pocket, after doing so quickly walked in the direction she had pointed him to for him to reach his destination. He had so many things going through his mind: How did he look? She looked amazing; how is her book coming along? Is she still writing? Maybe she is a journalist; is she married? Children? They were only in their mid-twenties but she very well could have gotten engaged. Most of these questions were quickly pushed aside as he reached his destination.

     The lights were very dull, they didn’t enlighten the grass green walls or the horrid looking retro couches, retro floors, and pretty much retro design of the building. David though about this as h sat in the ugly purple chair, it reminded him of something Yoda would sit in in Star Wars. A woman’s voice flew across the waiting room:

“They are ready for you now Mr. Loroso”

     ‘LOROSO?’ why was his last name so hard to pronounce he said to himself. L-O-R-S-O, where is she getting the other O? David threw that in the back of his head and followed the chubby blonde up the already retro-stairs of the building. She guided him to a room and opened it…

“Sir, David Loroso is here”

“Ahhh thank you Sheryl, please please sit down Mr…Lo-rso?”

     David was happy the rain wasn’t as bad as it was when he went into the building. He looked at his list of things he needed to have completed:

1)      Buy a suit

2)      Get a haircut

3)      Call Jim Brudes about story

     He breathed in, did he really have to get a haircut? He reached his hotel and paid the taxi driver his last amount of wallet money and started walking towards the front door. Robert, the door man opened it up for him and showed his bright gold teeth. Brits and their teeth, David thought. And after thinking chuckling to himself in the elevator he remembered a joke…

Oh what was it, let’s see… oh yes: welcome to England next dentist 3 countries over!

     The elevator opened and he reached his floor, he was tired and ready for sleep. He opened his hotel door and instantly jumped right on his bed. He took off his jacket and his shirt and laid n his head on the head board. His mind was taken. He opened his eyes and jumped out of bed. He looked in his suitcase for his laptop and followed the steps for Wi-Fi. After the internet was up he quickly went on Facebook. A few notifications from Aaron and the guys from back home, nothing too important. Evan had sent him a message: “Check email” After reading David had opened up a new tab. Checking his email he saw his unread email  from Evan saying that they had finished mixing down their album from their band. He wanted David to do some last minute checks to make sure everything was good. After starting the album David went back to the Facebook tab to X-out, however, before he did he typed in a name: Sophia Coberts. He looked at her profile picture, she was smiling and she seemed very happy. Just as happy as she seemed when he ran into her that day. How strange, their memories seemed so long ago yet, he could play them in his head like a movie. Every event: first kiss in front of a blowup snow man singing obnoxious Christmas tunes, Valentine’s Day and the day they broke up, the day they stopped being friends, and the day they decided to move on. He must have been thinking very hard because the next thing he thought about was waking up.

     It had been almost a week since he had arrived in London and had gotten the job of screenplay writer for a chief executive producer. He just walked out of the barbers and was looking at his hair in a reflection of a small car when the Peanuts Theme rang through his coat. He quickly answered his phone.

“Ok listen I need the rough draft of this film DONE by Monday, you got that?”

     His boss then hung up the phone and David was standing still trying to comprehend what had just happened. His boss is what you call ‘AN ASSHOLE’ he couldn’t write, act, direct for shit, in fact David thought the only good thing he was good at what yelling. He kept walking towards the direction hat his hotel was when he noticed the suit shop on the other side of the busy road. He hesitated for a slight minute and figured he get it all done before his meeting on Monday.

     After saying high to Carl, the other doorman, he entered the elevator with a small chubby blond and his oversized mom. Every other second David would try to guess their weight and add it to the 1000lb that was allowed on an elevator. After reaching his floor he opened his room and through his suut, jacket, and shirt on his bed before turning to his laptop sitting on the desk next to the mini fridge. His neighbors were having sex in the next room, and he must have been equipped, either that or she was giving birth, every so often she would orgasm and David continued to type.

     The clock said it was 2am and David didn’t want to sleep, but he also didn’t want to keep typing. He tried listening for his neighbors for his own amusement but they were already in bed, he looked at the mini fridge but nothing good. Out of sheer boredom he looked at his new suits on the bed. He thought for a while and got up; he started folding the clothes and putting them in the drawers. He also grabbed his jacket from the floor, and as he did a white piece of paper fell out. H nelt over and grabbed it. He read: “Sophie’s number…” He thought about it for a while and then grabbed his phone. The last time he called her was in high school for some newspaper planning and scheduling due dates for issues. The phone rang a few times and then reached the answering machine:

-Hey this is Sophie, sorry I couldn’t get to the phone; leave me a message and I will get back to you as soon as I can, thanks…bye

“Hey Sophie, it’s me David, from the train station…well from school but we saw each other at the station. Sorry it’s taken me almost a week to get back to you. I have been really swamped lately and I just felt like calling. Not sure if you will get this but if you do give me a call, I can’t sleep and yeah…anyway bye!”

     He set the phone next to the laptop and continued to type. He felt good.

PALE BLUE DOT

I take a look at my problems, my stuggles...my complete trouble with caring what people think, looking for another struggle to over come, a new person to argue with. I think of our troubles as a nation. Our hatred of republicans, our hatred... of democrates, why? Why cant the spectrum in the middle be more and more common? I think of our past and why we as a nation had to see such hate, why whites had to make themselves better than other races, why christians jews and islamic people can't celebrate this thing called humanity....You see, when you think of it...that stuff doesn't matter, we are simply a pale blue dot on the map of our galaxy. From there is doesn't matter what type of rainforest we are distroying, or our obsession with nationalisim, dictators who planted their name, people who died for their beliefs, groups who rebelled against their rulers, from there everything is as simple as a small little dot...that all we need to think. my english teacher showed this to our class and i think everyone should see this!!

My mom sings about how stinky my dog is, and how she is going to give him away. She leaves her night shift nursing job to a day job which involves cleaning up after my dad, my brother, and my dog, not me because I am the purfect child. My mom likes to blast mexican, hiphop, and old funk music while she is cleaning, cooking, and driving. She changes the channels in my car to all the dumb stations a...nd she also fights the bad guys in movies where the bad guy is a jerk. "Oh I would kick that fuckers ass" or "kick him, punch him, kick him punch him!" Almost like she is giving the director advice. She got me obsessed with matching my clothes, cleaning my ears, and sticking up for the underdog. She has no idea what she is talking about when she talks about racial problems, history, the troubles with terrisim, the economy, political or heath, but she insist on lecturing me and my brother on those topics while on a long drive. Most important my mom has taught me to love every part of a person, to give the finger to that bully who just doesnt 'get it', she taught me how to treat a woman and how to be a man. She was there when no one else was. Every morning after coming home from work she tells me how handsome I look before leaving off to school. I get all my best looks from her, thank you mom, you drive be fucking insane...but I love you. Happy Mother's Day....

To her.

Thank you

          for being

you and I

                 apologize

 for being me

'Another fucking night of teenage curiosity'

http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL26DC83CCFB341135&feature=view_all

^listen to that while reading it!! OR ELSE!!!
    


     Up late. The long day of pain and suffering, if that was a good comparison, was over. He laid in his bed; masturbation, the closing of eyes, the thoughts of her, of him, of them. His mind changes, he sets the hormonal sex drive to the side and looks up at the ceiling. Insomnia. He had just spent the week putting 'her' and 'their' things in his trunk. It was a blue trunk, it was a cold trunk, and it was locked with a bronze key, a bronze key that locked away his pain, love, and her. He couldn't sleep. Had he made the right decisions? He knew he did, he met someone, it didn’t matter that she was in the same class or that she was running away just as he turned away; he was ready to run. he laid in bed. up late. Maybe he should go back to masturbation. the clock struck 2 am. Not a stuck, but a simple passing likes a death in the family, the alarm clock was the only light, and his dog was the only sound. He had nothing to expect he wanted to see her. Not the ‘her’ had been kissing and hugging, but the ‘her’ that made his pain, he was well. He was free. He was him.

     Time didn’t slow, time didn’t seem to run fast nor did it go by slow like slight Colorado breeze on those nice hot June days. Time was time. Time was just how it should be, average. his average night, his average thoughts, that is all his time ever was. Maybe he could think of his homework, maybe he could think of his writing, his film, his music, he couldn’t he mustn't. he couldn’t even think of the newspaper story he had just blown through or the constant thoughts of his attractive young English teacher. he got out his laptop and went through pictures, he shut them down and went to internet explorer, he opened up the first thing that popped in his head. Facebook. Up late.

     YouTube was one of the following sites following his favorite movie trailers, Chris Nolan and Kubrick fan videos and since it was on the topic of his penis, quick porn site didn’t stop him from getting that out of the way. His thoughts switched from his ex to his current love interest, he was scared, he was afraid of showing this amazing girl his life, he was afraid of letting yet another soul into his. Today they had spent their time in a tree slowly kissing each other and feeling every inch of each other’s body. Up late. He wanted to more he said to himself as he laid in his bed. he could hear his dog switching from the basement couch to the bed his uncle slept in, it was empty because of the girlfriend his uncle seemed to stay the night with.

     He got out of bed, took a piss and slowly went back to his room in the cellar of his cookie cutter house. he gave his dog a quick glance and smiled as his dog looked at him. he looked around and quickly found his head phones and re-opened his laptop and plugged them in. he went back on to YouTube, and started searching for Bon Iver, as he was in that kind of a mood, after 20 or 25 seconds of the song he noticed another thought drawing band/artist name. He clicked and started listening, feeling discuss of the shitty sound he looked at the side again. Eventually he would find something good and add it to his favorites. Song after song he found the strangest bands and artists he would have never been able to find in broad daylight. Alice in wonderland, he was Alice in a world of indie music, listening to the strange techno and folk mix. every song was even more 4/20 then the last, he started building a playlist and sat in the dark of his room sitting in his bed, listening to strange music, thinking of his pain (not feeling it), thinking of this strange new girl he had started letting into his life, his amazing English teacher, the memoir he had for homework, the band he was in, the time, and the fact he should write all this down.

     Were the monsters in his closet he will never know? lost lost lost lost lost...where is he going? Where does this road end? When does he start to feel the same, when is he the main character again? he sat listening to music and started writing it down...maybe he posted it, maybe he has a blog, maybe he s me. maybe I should finish my story. Bye.

New Short Film

The Power of dreams...This is based of a dream I had...I was young and I had woken up in a field, near train tracks...I was alone, until I woke up. Hope you Enjoy! Please comment, Rate, and Subscribe!

'Still (Goodbye)' A Synopsis on Love.

***Though I cannot put many emotions into writing, will you let me try***

I am standing still.

I don't know what is to come; all there is to do is keep walking down this road that seems right. I hope one day your path may cross mine, last time it did was the time of my life. I am afraid. Afraid that when that day comes you might not recognize me. Afraid I will get to the crossway; sit there with my legs crossed and my eyes on the silver pocket watch you gave me. I am afraid that I will sit there waiting for you to cross my path, and realize that once was enough. I am afraid that you will become another painting in my hall of memories. Another painting with a treasure map, too dim to read, too hard to follow. I guess in the end it's best to stand still and enjoy that last breath of your name. That last chill of you anger. That last joy in your laugh. That last glance at your path.

 I am standing still.

"At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet"

-Plato

A Story should have

A Beginning

A Middle

and

An End

....

But it doesnt always

need to be in that order.

A Beautiful Accident (short story)

***Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength***

     The light wet snow was hitting his wind shield as he drove down the black glass street in his plum colored ‘Saturn’. He grabbed his iPod and put on a song taking in all the aspects of Eddie Vedder’s vocals and the rest of Pearl Jam.  His mind was lost; so much stress had been taking hold of him. However, as he rode down the long street next to the mountains his mind became one with the road. He fixed his eyes on the dog park he was approaching, and as he entered the parking lot he lightly patted his friend on the back. Maybe not a human in form, but greater than a human in heart his dog Axel licked his ears as he eagerly noticed the location. He made his way up to the big friendly tree with Axel and got out his camera and notebook. Every so often Axel would have to leave behind a ‘property signature’ to large landmarks such as big plants, rocks, and trees.  Such things made him chuckle, he looked back to his notebook and began to write. He wrote about life and how the rude waves of the ocean must make way for the great wave, a tsunami. He wrote about hate and how the world was leading towards a war not of technology, but of hatred towards one another. He wrote about love, and how even he has been touched by the wickedness of a woman, the fear and lust that followed the dip into the unknown. Most of all he wrote about hope, about relationships. Such things, even if just fiction, found him dreaming of a world he chose to get lost in for a few precious minutes.

     The Charlie Brown theme started to echo around the baron dog park and he and Axel looked at one another before he answered it. With the blue phone to his ear he began to speak to his mother and was being sent on another ravaging quest to deliver the following ingredients to the house from the store down the long stretch of road. He had to force his dog back into the car treating him like a child who didn’t get the toy they wanted, and also ignoring Axel’s grumpy looking face squashed up on the dash board he made his way to the store for his mother.

     The parking lot was as crazy as usual, after a few minutes he parked the car and said goodbye to axel. As he made his way to the metal bars to grab the last cart another hand made its way to the cart. He looked up to see a blonde girl staring back at him with a confused smile. She laughed and let him take the cart until he offered it back. He made his way to the cash register when the Charlie Brown theme echoed amongst the frozen food section. He answered to hear the voice cracking of his brother. After a slight argument with his brother he made his way to the cereal section to get his brother’s desired ‘Cinnamon Toast Crunch’ when a familiar person grabbed the last.

                “Ok this is just weird!” He said with a smart ass voice.

                “Oh my god I know” she said “This is a sign!”

                “Of course” he said with a smile

      Slight warmth filled his heart as he walked away.  He turned around and watch the girl walk down the hall knocking down a couple boxes before turning around red cheeked and looking back to him.  What was apparent to him was that he had a choice; he had a few seconds to do what was going on in his head. Life is made on choices, it’s made on seconds, chances that few people can make but when they do they either fall, or rise. He grabbed the second best cereal he could find before rushing through the cashier which seemed to take hours. He barely caught the girl walking out of the store when he saw his whole future flash in front of him.

                “I was wondering, would you like to get a coffee or something?”  

     She looked down to her feet before looking up at him, her green blue eyes reflecting off the sun. She smiled and looked at her phone. With a quick debate in her head she nodded.  Something reached her mind, the same thing that reached his, it was the idea of destiny, about fate, and something that became very clear as they spend twenty five minutes at coffee shop down the block was that this world is made off of relationships. This world is made off of simple people entering other simple people’s lives. Yes, they are simple but they make amazing things. These relationships can be hard, they can be enemies, they can also be a simple hello on the sidewalk from a stranger. What makes it a relationship is the positive or negative difference you had walking away from it. And as he drove away from the coffee shop with her number in hand and tea in the other he smiled to himself. An accident, that’s all anything, really is.

               

    

Judge me you bitch.

Writting Challenge

Write a story based on what you think of when you hear this song. I have decided to go back and forth and next week you pick a song. One with the least words the better. Deal? This is a writting excersise I read about and I want to try....

Immortal Thought

     His fingers were shaking in the cold despite his red gloves, the grey maroon scarf kept trying to be taken by the wind and he had to keep pulling it closer to his corduroy jacket. The young man kept his eyes fixed on the people in front of him, not caring about the cold, or grades, or parents, or teenage girl gossip, he just kept his golden green eyes fixed on the scene in front of him, his scene, his own writing, his own mind bleeding through the lenses and into his camera. It was his own creation, his own baby, he was feeding it through the bosom of his mind, he fed it the milk of creativity and this idea, this small note on a algebra II note sheet turned into a weekend of imagination and possibilities. It didn’t matter that it would get the 3 views on YouTube or the 1 like from someone he didn’t know on Facebook and probably wouldn’t get him laid, but it didn’t matter, he knew that while everyone was getting smashed, high, dumped, and at a stupid dance he would be making history with his red camcorder and his buddies that shared his passion. The young man thought of the future, about his education. He thought about the people he looked up to. He thought of the emotion that went into the screenplay. As that thought came over him he checked the script, covered with dirt and a little wet from the damp ground. This obsession was something few can admire; years of people making fun of his knowledge of film and movie quotes he was going to show them what true creation can make, what true inspiration makes, what true originality can give birth to, and finally what being different can accomplish.

i

love

accidents.

period.

Boredom

is

my only

enemy.

To the one person who looks at my blog =]

You should listen to this before you do something hard. Even a penis :)

"What's wrong with death sir? What are we so mortally afraid of? Why can't we treat death with a certain amount of humanity and dignity, and decency, and God forbid, maybe even humor. Death is not the enemy gentlemen. If we're going to fight a disease, let's fight one of the most terrible diseases of all, indifference."

...

"i aM LOst iN a wORld OF creATivity,

AnD iNSanITY, yET i doN'T

waNt tO bE FOund."

~ME

(without sounding too cocky)

CHECK OUT MY NEW FILM!

A film about my views towards the virus known as love. A virus, I was happy to have gotten. 

A fool-proof method for sculpting an elephant: first, get a huge block of marble; then you chip away everything that doesn't look like an elephant.

Chapter 2

***Just me leaning up against a wall***

     It was a week since Cassy and Dan had broken up, in the past when a woman walked through his life it was hard for him to cope, but he didn’t feel the need. They only dated for a few months and even though he liked being around her there was always something, or someone to keep his mind off of their relationship. Dan looked around the subway as he rode it to Manhattan for school. He had already finished his four years of college but had started taking evening classes to improve his skill level in film. He also was working at the New York Times as a band review columnist, he liked the job but what really excited him most was working with film under his boss Mr. Peterson, who was a slowly rising director.    

     Dan had gotten a job working for him as a screenplay writer and on the story board team; he had seen Dan’s independent work and wanted him to work with him, besides money Dan was also learning the tricks that Mr. Peterson had to offer him. Dan liked Mr. Peterson, he had a very father like essence about him and maybe it was his salt and pepper hair or his loud voice, or maybe it was his the way he called Dan ‘Danny Boy’ he just felt comfortable with him. Mr. Peterson always thought of Dan as a son, during the gulf war Mr. Peterson lost his only son Frank and his daughter Talia never bothered to call him after she married out of high school. But Mr. Peterson thought Dan had a creative spark that few had.

     Dan started looking around the subway, which he always did to pass the time, he looked from the rich Manhattan folk to the young school folk like himself, he also looked at the ones who just road the subway to ride it. He heard a vibration in his bag and looked at his phone: ‘Guess Who!’ is all it said. Dan looked around hoping some sense could come into his mind as he looked out the windows into the cold tunnels of the station.

     The subway train arrived at the station and Dan quickly got out to avoid the confused tourists and old who liked to take as slow as possible to get out of the station; taking in as many sights as possible at 1 mile per hour walking speeds. He moved up the stairs and into the city, which was crowded with people, as usual. He made his way to the college after stopping by to get a pizza slice and started heading towards the brick school. The banner said ‘NEW YORK FILM ACADAMY’ and even though he had read it a hundred and one times he continued to read it.

     He walked into the chilly night after the class had ended and started making his way towards the subway tunnel. He went down and started hearing a man play guitar while a woman hit two trashcan lids together, Dan enjoyed the sound and wished it had been both warmer and not as late as he hoped; he boarded the subway. The ride home always seemed to go by like a second, a few people would go by and he would just sit and listen to his ipod. This time he was listening to ‘The White Stripes’ and he moved his foot to the beat of the kick drum. He closed his eyes and although he wasn’t sleeping he was taking in every element he could hear.

     He walked up to his apartment complex in west Brooklyn and noticed a girl sitting on the steps to the door; she had a grey coat on with a hood and all he could make out was her black hair, she had converse with band names written on them and had her jeans rolled up. Dan wanted to ignore her but for some reason something seemed just so familiar about her, he tried to see under her hood without making her insulted or creeped out. As he ignored his feeling and punched in the code to his apartment he felt arms around him as he opened the door.

                “’I am going to New York!’ He said this to me in high school, and of the people who actually went to their destination YOU did it!”

                “Laurie! Oh my god how the hell, I, WHAT ARE YOU, oh my god never mind come in!” Dan burst out with glee and amazement. Her name was Laurie; she had gone to the same high school as him and switched before his junior year but kept a great relationship despite the distance.

                “Well I missed you” Laurie said as she looked up as him with her eyes wide, even though her black hair covered most of them.  “I thought why not take a vacation to visit my buddy!”

Every Second Counts...

My YouTube Channel!

http://www.youtube.com/user/StreinjFilms?feature=mhee

Chaplin Speech w/ Inception Theme

"He said so much when he was silent, and made us silent when he spoke"

RIP Charlie Chaplin

'Tired Magician' Music Video

Check out my YouTube Channel!

Streinj INK Films

Judge not by the color of the flag, judge only by the way it is waved

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure

“I’m just a storyteller, and the cinema happens to be my medium. I like it because it re-creates life in movement, enlarges it, enhances it, distills it. For me, it’s far closer to the miraculous creation of life than, say, a painting or music or even literature. It’s not just an art form; it’s actually a new form of life, with its own rhythms, cadences, perspectives and transparencies. It’s my way of telling a story.”
~Federico Fellini

Don't Kill The Messenger: ANTI-MEDIA

“The media's the most powerful entity on earth. They have the power to make the innocent guilty and to make the guilty innocent, and that's power. Because they control the minds of the masses.”~Malcolm X

Take

my picture,

 not my

T-shirt.

Bitter Cold

***If you must love me, love my poor spelling and bad typing***

he looked back at his house as he walked down the street toward the park. the sky was grey and tips of grass were frosted with dead leaves trying to free themselves by the wind. step after step he tried to walk faster toward the spot the had agreed to meet at. but he couldnt, he felt the weight drag like chains grinding and crackling down the black pavement. he had reached the border of the park when he looked back at his house; I can easily just walk back and call her and just say my mom came home, sorry. ignoring this feeling he continued down the path that leads into the park. much more steap then before the path winded around 2 long dark trees who were reaching up towards the cold grey sky. it was at this point he saw her, sitting, alone on the bench under the gazembo. her bike was thrown down on to the stone steps as if she hurried to get under the wooden canvas and curl up to draw as much warmth as she could. And it was at this moment he felt the coldness of the dark outside world creap up my back. he quckly moved to zip up his jacket, only, he didnt bring it. h couldnt get out of the house fast enough. he had just rolled up his sleves and walk out the door like it was 70 degrees outside. his breathing was loud and visible turning into a cloud of smoke that a dragon would breathe. she hadnt noticed him yet even though he was only yards from her.
she smiled up at him as he hestedly nocked on the piller near her. what was he doing. before this time they always talked on the phone or over emails about our feelings toward each other but never face to face. he quickly sat down ignoring her "are you ok" comment. the truth was he wasnt ok. she could tell by my sad gaze that this boy wasnt liing when told her he was leaving her school. the truth was he never wanted to do this and his deadline was coming too fast. he only had a month before he had to deside if he wanted to transfer schools. after watching her show no emotion he quickly jolted up. he had more of a speech but she wouldnt be interested. im ganna go, i had more but it is just not important. he walked back around the dead trees and stopped. he just couldnt stop looking back. after he had come to his senses he ran back to her. STOP STOP he said calling her name out. she did stop and he could tell she didnt want to hear what was going to be coming from his mouth. every second seemed to feel like days he felt were being takin away. days he and her had the best days and the worst. he felt the hardship she was going through. he started to take slow steps back as he told her what he ment to say underneath the wooden canvas. she gave him her answer which would thrill anyother guy his age or in his situation. but htere was something about her answer that made him unconfortable. that sent a nasty shiver down his back slashing its way to his heart. after all he was the only one who could never tell when she lied.
and that long walk home was the longest he had ever taken to walk down one street back into his real life world. the world where he was a prankster and a douchebag, where he was the comedian and the smart ass. when he walked out of the door all he could think about was how much he hated the cold. but as he took hours to climb the four steps to his front door all he could think about was how much he would miss it. the biter cold.

Hollow, Wise, Foolish and Dumb

Who is the WISE man who never opens up because he knows it is dangerous? Who is the WISE man who never loves because he knows it is a trap? The FOOL who leaps without looking may end up where he has been wishing for all along, and the WISE man in the end is just the hollow-man.



Alone In My World

***Dreams are answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask***

And I waited, the sound of thunder from above the basement where I slept. Even though It was cold I didn't shiver or fight my covers for more warmth. I laid there without a sound. I didnt move, I didn't breath, I didn't blink. I watched the clock as it slowly moved through time. I could see my breath flow through the air of the celler that I called my bedroom. And then the distant roars of thunder shook my lamp and it blinked helplessly trying to get out as much light as it could before...I...slowley...fell... asleep...and away i flew.
The noise of bitter laughter in the cold city of my mind rang out through the screaching wind. Deeper I went ignoring the wispers to turn back. Step by step I continued to go deeper through the puzzle of my mind. Like clay the civilians stood perfectly still as they stood in stance before what ever froze them occured. Even though they were frozen in limbo the feeling that they were watching me continued to race through my mind. Suddenly the sharp stinging of rain bled through my jacket. Something wanted me to turn back, but I didn't. I needed to continue forward and as I moved closer to my goal the elements fought me back. Not physicly. Emotionly. Photographs flow through the wind with the dead leaves. Each photograph more painfull than the other. And as the thought of giving up went through my mind a wisper rang silently through my ears. A wisper of a nameless fear. A wisper from the beast within my mind saying "come and see" and as I moved through the graveyard of memories I was takin back to moments this had happend before.
Finally I reached my goal. Some how I knew this door was the key I was trying to find. This had been the farthest I had ever gotten. So out of curosity I opend the door. Stopped in motion the rain drops stretch around the garden. And as I hit each one the painfull icey stink followed. And there it laid. The king chess peice straight up on the chess board alone without any company. I stretch my finger towards it and QUICK was the rush of energy that followed. Through my veins it brought life in me again. Hours I spent looking at the peice untill light flowed through the branches of the tall hedges that sorrounded the garden. Without thinking, I grabbed the chess peice and held it hard against my chest as I was swept through icey fog from which I came. Motionless I opened my eyes.

The L Word

***There is really nothing to be said, and by this I was left for dead***

“A poet is someone who
stands outside in the rain
hoping to be struck by lightning.”

Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They don't ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' or 'how very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love. There were even times I thought I would forget her. But forgetting is not something you do, it happens to you. Only it didn't happen to me.

A Speech for Them 'I Will'

I am afraid to say that I break the rules; I do this because I must see my limit, then exceed it. There isn’t much to say in times of darkness and torment, in fact there isn’t much that you want me to say, then again, fuck you. For almost all of my life I have carried everyone’s problems, for years I have lied for other people, and when one spark of happiness left I looked for another. I have been to rock bottom and back again, I have looked my guardian angel in the eyes and said ‘do your worst’ I have told the devil himself to ‘do his best’ I am what I am. The saints shall know me as you know me now. Lies and lies is what I am made of, to this I must admit, to this I am afraid there are no lies capable to shield what I have done to you. I wish there was, I wish that I could unravel the mysteries in the world and see the dangers that fall to me, I wish that I myself could save you as you have saved me, but unfortunately I cannot. If I may be modest for a few short minutes I must tell you that I do break the rules, I do tell lies, I do jump into the unknown, I have fallen head over heels for women in the past, why must I do these? Well, because I am me, I do these things because when I face times of great terror and pain I must hurt the only life I have in me to keep the life I carry. I am afraid to say that I must wait here a while; in the cold, in the pain, in the darkness of darkness, I must slay the inner demon I have dwelling, I hope that this will be my last battle, but one can only hope. The better term to use in times like these is not I am afraid, or I hope, or I must; the only words to say in times like these, is I will.