Sunday, November 29, 2009

Saturday, November 7, 2009


Feel free to... you know... tell me what you think. You don't have to bottle your opinions or emotions up inside. After all, how can I get better with no feedback?

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Next Project involves...

Chopin: Prelude in E minor, Op. 28 No. 4

Garry Schyman: Cohen's Masterpiece

Saint-Saëns: Carnival Of The Animals - Aquarium

List to grow possibly. Not saying what the project is yet... Discuss if you wish.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

3 Words

Death asked for Love.
She wasn't home.
Her beauty went out for the evening
To bathe in the adoration of another.
Death sits on her front steps,
Twiddling thumbs and gnawing gums.
Death will wait for her.
Her gorgeous gaze
His waning ways

Pale pink and peeling,
Love's painted porch
Houses Death's fading breath
So help his heavy head,
May not even Death die alone.

Friday, October 16, 2009

The Boy Who Couldn't Go To Sleep

There was a boy; A shepherd who lived and tended to his flock on the hills outside of the city of Sleep. Each night, he'd sit and stare into the town and wish he was there. He never wanted to be a shepherd, He only wished to participate in the festivals that occured in the Dream district. From his grassy knoll, He could see the masquerade take flight throughout the night with all the attendants leaping onto the clouds and back. Games were played where the each guest would see who could reach the furthest star or who could concoct the queerest creature. But, the boy was left to shear the sheep whose fleece composed the clouds on which they partook. He always fantasized of leaving the green for the city, but the Night Mare roamed outside of Sleep, scaring all unwelcomed visitors off. the Night Mare was a large white horse, whose mane burned bright like the sun's reflection off the sea and whose hooves caused typhoons to shudder... and the boy feared her.
The city of Sleep rested on a sea, bobbing up and down as the party continued throughout the night. The boy always wished to go their, but the Night Mare wandered on top of the sea as a guardian, protecting it from harm. The shepherd boy once took his boat across the gap to enter Sleep. But soon after setting sail, the ocean began to roll as the Night Mare came, charging at the boat and roaring into existence a tsunami that went to meet the boy. He tried to row to shore, but the wave threw him back to the hills outside of the city where he still sits. As the boy watched on, his absence from the masquerade caught her eye. She saw him sitting on the hills outside and was curious as to why he would not join. She asked her friend, a flying puffer fish as large and pale blue as the moon, if she may meet the boy. "Of course you may, child," She said to the girl, "I will take you to him." So, the puffer fish moon fashioned for the girl a basket and invited her in. The shepherd boy witnessed all of this and gazed into the sky in awe as the Moon brought the girl from across the sea, undisturbed by the Night Mare below, a beautiful girl who blurred the city lights and glistened brighter than any star in sight. The Moon gently landed the basket on the grass next to him and she stepped out to meet him. Her speech was soft and comforting like the fleece of his flock, and she spoke to him.
That one word from the star in a basket enchanted the boy, and all he could stutter was something similar to "hello".
"What's your name?" the girl asked.
He paused for a moment and replied, "I don't know. I've never been called anything but a shepherd and a foolish boy. I have no name."
"What?" she exclaimed, "How can you have no name?" The girl looked into the boy's eyes, searching for something. The boy has only felt the Night Mare's gaze enter that deep before, but it didn't seem to bother him that she was looking so intently. He felt her close the door to his soul as she spoke quite directly to him, "Peter. Your name is Peter."
He loved the name. "How do you know?" Peter asked.
The girl smiled and said, "Everyone has a name. I just took the time to find it."
Peter couldn't help but blush at the friendly nature of the girl and he asked her, "What's your name?"
"My name is Sariah."
"What a beautiful name."
Sariah smiled, "Thank you." She looked to the sky as the night began to fade and turned to Peter. "I must be going now," she said, "I must be in Sleep before day breaks." She turned to the Moon and entered the basket.
As the Moon began to float away to the city, Peter shouted to her, "Will I speak with you again?"
She smiled.
During the day, Peter dreamed of the night time, where Sariah would come from across the ocean and speak with him about everything from the carnivals of Sleep to all the games the shepherd boy played with his sheep. Sleep had only it's festivities to enjoy and each night was much like the last, but Peter found it fascinating. and Peter's games mostly involved different forms of counting the flock or shapes of clouds Peter would shave from their wool, but Sariah found it fascinating. Every night, she came with the Moon as her guide. The Night Mare still wandered the gap between the hills and Sleep, but never bothered Sariah's voyage. It was after weeks of them meeting, each one starting minutes sooner than the previous, that the Night Mare began to question whether the Moon was allowed to bring the beautiful girl to the foolish boy. The Night Mare grew more and more jealous of the boy and the love he had found until she, alone on the sea, couldn't bear it anymore.

Peter and Sariah had fallen in love. They would rather die than deny it, and that was their downfall. Every night, Sariah had the Moon bring her to him in a basket held by a string and every night was more of a fantasy than the previous. But, this upset the Night Mare. She was a guardian, a keeper of the sea and destined to strike fear into all that she encountered. She was alone, and the foolish boy was not. She grew bitter of his companionship and she could not stand it anymore. So, one night, just the same as the others, Sariah was led by the Moon to the boy, and Peter could not wait to see the girl. As she crossed the sea, the Night Mare took extra interest her journey. She would not let the girl see Peter tonight. The Night Mare cried in anguish, and the sky cried with her, too. The rain began to pour and the wind began to howl. The Moon struggled through the storm to bring her friend to her love, but the Night Mare's spite was too strong for the string that held the basket and the girl. The thread snapped, the basket fell, and Sariah came too. She landed in the ocean and the basket kept her a float, but Sariah was afraid that she would be condemned to death for troubling the Night Mare, and the Night Mare was planning that very act. It was one thing for happiness to exist in Sleep, but the Night Mare couldn't bear to be tormented with love outside of it's walls. The Night Mare approached Sariah, and Peter saw all this from his hill. He was overcome with anger as he watched the one he feared capture the one he loved. He ran to his boat on the shore, and the Night Mare watched as Peter went out to meet her.
He paddled feverishly toward the basket on the sea. Peter had been alone all his life left to dream in a land deserted of visions. The girl that found his name within his soul sat within her basket in fear, surrounded by water and a white horse. Peter neared the Night Mare, who stood strong between the lovers, watching the foolish boy. Peter rowed until he had gotten close enough that he could hear Sariah shouting, "Save me..." The Night Mare glared at Sariah in jealous hate, then returned her gaze to the shepherd boy. She reared her legs into the air, roaring with a passion she'd never felt before. It made the clouds tremble and the party stutter. Guests began to look on as the Night Mare, their guardian, grew ravenous and malicious toward the boy. Her legs landed on the surface of the sea, and it's impact caused waves to form.
Peter kept rowing.
This insolence upset the Night Mare, and she charged the boy. Peter stopped rowing and this helped the Night Mare believe that she had bested him. But, as she went to finish him, Peter lept out of the boat and mounted the horse, holding tightly to her mane. The Night Mare ran across the sea, bucking and rearing, trying to shake the boy off, but he wouldn't let go. In a desperate attempt, she dove into the sea, gliding so gracefully through the clear blue water. She filled her dive with twists and turns that even dolphins found daunting, but as she turned back, the boy remained. Peter would not let go. The Night Mare could not take it anymore. She lunged out of the ocean's surface, flying briefly through the air, and landed on the top of the sea. The boy was exhausted, but continued to grip her mane tightly. The Night Mare spoke and her words reverberated off the clouds above.
"You Foolish Boy! Will you not fear me?"
Peter gasped for air and with what little strength he had replied to the Night Mare, "In the name of Love, I will not fear you..."
The Night Mare had been defeated. She could do nothing to keep the two lovers apart. She said nothing in response. The beautiful white horse merely trotted to the basket and beckoned Sariah onto her back. Sariah respectfully joined Peter on the horse's back, and the Night Mare walked the lovers to the city gates of Sleep, where they joined in festivities. Peter had to take care of his flocks, so he could not live in Sleep like the rest of it's occupants, but he participated in the masquerade that took place in the Dream District. As the night ended, Peter and Sariah thanked everyone for the grand evening, boarded the boat and rowed back to the hills on the opposite side of the sea. They rowed past the Night Mare, who laid on the waters surface and did not bother the boy and girl. And from that day on, Peter and Sariah lived in each other's company, day and night. And whether they went to the city of Sleep by Moon or by sea, the Night Mare did not haunt them, for Love had defeated Fear that night.

The End

Sunday, September 6, 2009

The Boy Who Wanted To Be King Arthur

Once in the town of Canterbury, there was a boy name William. William always wanted to be like the great King Arthur for he heard many tales of his courage and strength throughout the town. His home was mere steps away from where the king would help his foster-brother, Kay, train for the tournaments. William would pretend that he was destined for such greatness, pretending to pull sticks from the stone where the sword used to sit. But all of the other children mocked him, saying things such as, “There can only be one king, and that is King Arthur.” and “You have a better chance becoming a forest fairy!” After much abuse, the young boy left Canterbury and headed for the forests, seeking solitude from his the reproach of his peers.
It was at about this time that the jester of the fairies was banished from the kingdom for he was a mischievous fairy and the Fairy King could no longer tolerate his foolishness. It was as this fairy was leaving that he heard the William crying. The fairy headed towards the tears and saw the boy curled up, hiding under a tree. “What is wrong boy?” the fairy asked.
“I will never be as great as King Arthur.” William replied, trying to dry his eyes. It was in that moment that fairy knew exactly what he would do as an impish grin spread across his face.
“Ah, but my dear boy,” the fairy exclaimed, “That is why I am here! I heard your tears in the wood and came to grant you a wish on behalf of the Fairy King, who took pity on you.” This news excited the boy as he had never met a fairy before and that his fantasies were finally to come true.
“Really?” William asked. He stood up and faced the fairy eagerly and asked “What must I do in order to be granted my request?”
The fairy hopped around as he was thrilled to have a naïve and foolish boy to play games with. “Come follow me! We must make haste for the lake!” he shouted as he dashed away from William. He quickly followed behind him. The jester was much more nimble than William, but he was able to keep up with the fairy. The fairy stopped right before the clearing that was near the lake. When William reached the fairy, He saw an old man and a strong, young knight standing before the lake. A beautiful maiden was in the water, beckoning the knight into the water. Most confusing to William was an arm extended above the water out in the middle of the lake. In its grasp was a glistening blade. William turned the fairy and asked, “So, how can I become King Arthur?”
The fairy replied rather agitatedly, “Watch carefully!” William looked back to see the knight in a barge heading toward the arm. The knight reached out to the blade and as soon as it was in his grasp, the arm disappeared. That is when the fairy whispered to William, “You must go to the arm in the lake and fetch from it one of those swords, and then you will be as renown as King Arthur.” William was frightened by this proposal, but he felt courage overcome him. He thought this is how King Arthur must feel as he embarks on quests. After all the people had disappeared from the lake, the boy walked toward the barge that remained banked on the shore. As he stepped in the boat, he turned to the fairy and asked, “Why will you not come with me?”
“I wish I could, my boy,” the jester moaned deceptively, “But this is a quest appointed to you, and I must not go for the sake of your request.” As William made his way to the center of the lake, the jester of fairies giggled maliciously at the misfortune that was about to unfold.
William was in the middle of the lake, but no sword would appear, nor would the hand that held it before. He called to the fairy at the shore, “What must I do to summon the sword?”
The fairy shouted back to the boy, “Call to the Wench of the Water and demand for the sword, Excalibur.” The fairy could very faintly be heard laughing at the naivety of the boy in the barge.
William leaned over the barge, not believing what he was about to call the fair maiden, and shouted, “Wench of the Water! I demand for th…”
The arm shot out of the water, grabbed the back of Williams head, and retracted back to the depths, thrusting William out of the barge and into the lake. The Jester was hysterically euphoric at the mischief he caused and retreated back to the woods to find other foolish children to trick.
William sank to the bottom of the lake, held tightly by the arm that seemed to have no end. As William floated in the water, the Lady of the Lake flew at the boy like a banshee of the night and shouted in a rage rarely seen, “You foolish child! How dare you enter my domain in such a manner? I am the Lady of the Lake, ruler of these waters, and you call my name in such an insolent tongue nothing better than a whore? And you command me to do your biding, pleading for the sword Excalibur that is mine and mine alone? I do not even have it in my possession, for King Arthur, a brave and favorable knight, asked graciously for it. You deserve nothing but death, you wicked boy!”
“I’m sorry, my lady!” William cried. “I did not know what I was doing, I only wished for the sword Excalibur for I pray to be as renown as that same great knight, King Arthur.”
The Lady of the Lake sat in silence, searching for the proper judgment for the boy, and then spoke softly saying, “You shall have the sword Excalibur when King Arthur returns it to me. But do not think yourself so easily excused of your folly. For someone must keep the sword safe.” She then spoke to the hand and said “John, I grant you leave of your position. Finish your life fruitfully.” The grip on William lessened as he turned around to find an old man floating behind him. He swam to the surface escaping the prison he was held in. the Lady of the Lake turned back to William saying, “Now, you shall be granted the role as the bearer of the sword Excalibur.”
It was in that lake that William stayed, waiting for the return of what he longed for, the renown of King Arthur and the sword, Excalibur. He is forever a prisoner and servant of the Lady of the Lake, but was the happiest in his lifetime the day Sir Bedivere threw the sword into the prison cell.

The End

*Writer's Note- I apologize for not sharing much lately. I've been working on music and stageplays more so lately. I wrote this a bit ago for my history class. I picked a hole within the lore and filled it. Call it fan fiction. I didn't intend to share it, but you deserve better care for your attention. Forgive me.*

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Don't Let Me Forget...


Consequently, don't you forget either. You will see each other again, trust me...

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

I'll ellaborate and explain later...

A metal kite with steel cable string
Can fly from a hurricane breeze.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

The Chrysler New Yorker Society (LIVE)

In case you didn't want to read it. I didn't direct it, I only wrote it.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Arthur Jacob Reynolds

An age he will never commemerate.
An epitaph wasn't made for the son whose
Mother was an unfortunate one and whose
Father was a rapist

Curled in the corner of his cell.
A burden to some and a blessing by others.
Plugged into a wall socket by a cord barely holding on.
He prayed every moment that his mother would
Deliver him
From the bloodly walls that held him in,
Hoping for her embrace moment by moment.

But, Mother wanted
To do with him.

She was able to authorize his execution.
It was close enough to legal.
Mother was saddened to do it, but she couldn't
Live with the memory of the Accident
In her son's eyes.

The Doctor came
The Serum injected

That was the Doctor's order.

Inside the prison walls,
He was contemplating what sights he'd see
Once he'd open his eyes.
Then he felt it.
He tasted his burning flesh.
Clawing to crawl out,
Gums gnaw at the feeling
Of holocaustal success.
Still connected to a wall socket,
He could't kick anymore.

Mother knew it was finished.
That's all she could do.

The sun set twice.

Scissors sat next to the bathroom sink.
As sharp as they are, Not even they
Could forsee what they'd do tonight.
Mother had to urinate.
Before she knew it, He came.
A prisoner released attached
To a wall socket inside.
Mother couldn't bear the sight.
He coudn't see anything.
Not the color of his seared skin
Or the terror in Mother's eyes.

That's all the scissors remember.

Cut from his noose
"A free man"
Mother buried him in the bowl
Where she laid her waste to rest.


Sunday, July 12, 2009


A flame fell over the horizon,
Followed by livid lilac smiles
And the sun's salmon-shaded shadows.

A new king's coming.
The blue above bows,
bending to a darker hue.

Creatures concede his supremecy,
Closing their eyes
In reverence to his reign.

Lowered heads lie on sunset beds
And cool air claims the atmosphere.

This is the Night.
A diamond-crested crown on his brow
And Moon-jeweled septor across his lap.

He sits upon his throne an emperor,
Submitting only to God and a sunlit sky.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Abnormal Workouts

I like to think of myself as an artist, and I'm expanding into 2 new mediums, film and comedy. My attempt to be simply funny and a tribute to the pinnacle of what was silly to me as a child.. workout videos.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

The Lamentable Tale of the Button Buccaneer

If you look upon the blue
With fresh eyes, a fresh new view
Forget what you know 
Forget what you knew

You'll learn a tale you'll beg to hear
Of a man who loved his dear
And something else too
The Button Buccaneer

He sailed the seas and sang of sins
Like taking candy from some twins
But more than those
He'd steal and sing of buttons

Small, square, shaped like a chair
Big, round, ones that make sound
As long as it fastened
He found it fascinating

He stopped a ship that held the Queen
Sneering and jeering so obscene
He came for the clasps
She should have thought him so mean

Taking buttons oh so pleasant
He saw a so lovely servant
And her rhinestone squares
She gave one as a present

He meant to take her with him, though
Once he grabbed her, "Let me go"
She asked so nicely
Buttons never responded so

Felt bad, he stormed off so sad
Shoved off, the Queen simply scoffed
Calling him a mouse
But she held her blouse

Now her button's on his arm
He prays he never caused her harm
Wants to meet again
Once again with a tad more charm

He'd remove it from his sleeve
If she'd take it and believe
"I'm so so sorry.
Will you come with me when I leave?"

He'd never find her and never quit
But he has what he wanted to get
Buttons and buttons
In buckets, buckets, and buckets

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

About Cats

"A Cat contended crawling across Kansas..."
Can cats crawl?
Cats can climb...
Can't recall a case of crawling cats.
A cast of cats climbed in the concert "Cats".
A couple crawled.
A cat called Cassandra climbed in Cats.
Could've crawled...
Clemente's character was Coricopat "Cats"
...on Broadway.
Alliterations are annoying, eh? Anyway...
The question's "Can cats crawl"...
Can cats crawl?
...Of course cats can crawl!
Cats crawled in "Cats"!
Can cats crawl across Kansas?
I couldn't conceive Cassadra crawling across Kansas.
Or Coricopat.
Could Clemente, commonly called Coricopat, climb across Kansas?
Sorry for sounding silly.
As I was reciting, "A Cat contended crawling across Kansas...
but couldn't."

Wednesday, June 24, 2009


Let folly fall from your kettle.
Hastened reproach poured, searing throats.
Boiled water burns and departs forsaken.
For wise words steep in meditation,
Leaving fools to drown in their potency.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

The Chrysler New Yorker Society

By: Evan Adent

ALICE- The driver and owner of the car.

BEATRICE-Alice’s Friend

CAROLINE- Beatrice’s Friend

DEBRA-Caroline’s Friend

ELIZA- No one’s Friend


It’s mid-spring’s day in a quiet suburban neighborhood. No one is outside as all the adults are at work and all the children are in school. The only activity beyond the occasional dog bark is a New Yorker parked across the street from a nice, well taken care of home. In the car are 5 old women, ALICE, BEATRICE, CAROLINE, DEBRA, and ELIZA. They sit in the car staring at the house, with nothing better to do. The closest thing to activity is ELIZA smoking a cigarette deep in thought with the windows barely opened, allowing a small cloud of smoke to collect on the ceiling of the car before escaping outside. The following conversation starts.

BEATRICE: My… Don’t the Thompson’s daisies look lovely this year?

CAROLINE: Osteospermum


CAROLINE: They aren’t Daisies… they are Osteospermums. They look like daisies, but they aren’t daisies.

ALICE: And this is the Richard’s house. Where are these petunias you speak of?

BEATRICE: Alice, you are looking at the Richard’s house…

ALICE: I know. where are they?

BEATRICE: …I’m talking about the Thompson’s that are to the right of them.

ALICE: Whose right?

BEATRICE: Our right… Who else’s right?

DEBRA: Maybe she meant their right.

ALICE: (turns to DEBRA) oh, have we met? I’m Alice.

DEBRA: Nice to meet you. I’m Mary.



CAROLINE: Your name is Debra.

DEBRA: I know it is.

CAROLINE: You told Alice differently.

ALICE: (looks at CAROLINE) I don’t know you.

DEBRA: What did I say?

CAROLINE: You said your name was Mary.

DEBRA: My word… I apologize. Mary is my middle name, I’ve always…


BEATRICE: Who’s Jane?

CAROLINE: …Your mother’s name is Mary, Debra. Your middle name is Jane.

DEBRA: By the way, Caroline... Osteospermum is a type of Daisy.

CAROLINE: How is that “by the way”?

ALICE: I still can’t see these petunias you are talking about, Beatrice…

DEBRA: What do you mean?

CAROLINE: What relevancy is there in that you could accurately say “Your middle name is Jane” is by the way of generic flower types?

BEATRICE: You’re still looking at the Richard’s house…

ALICE: I know!

BEATRICE: Besides, Petunia’s only bloom in the summer.

DEBRA: That’s not true. They bloom from spring until frost.

CAROLINE: Don’t change the subject, Debra…

DEBRA: I didn’t!

CAROLINE: Where do your middle name and Daisies correlate?

DEBRA: (PAUSE) they are both names. We could even say that both topics involve technicalities.

CAROLINE: (PAUSE) Whatever… And how do you know more about flowers than you do your own name?

DEBRA: I know my name!

CAROLINE: Not a moment ago…

DEBRA: And, I got a degree in Horticulture, remember?

CAROLINE: In 1962… from a community college… by correspondence! How am I supposed to believe the legitimacy of that diploma?

DEBRA: You can’t deny knowledge…

BEATRICE: And Alice, we weren’t talking about Petunia’s, we were talking about the Daisies.

ALICE: Didn’t someone say something about Petunia’s?

CAROLINE: You did.

ALICE: I’m serious… I don’t think I know you.

CAROLINE: I’m Caroline.

DEBRA: No you aren’t.

CAROLINE: Yes, I am. You don’t know what you are talking about.

DEBRA: Isn’t your name Dia?

CAROLINE: No! That’s my aunt’s name…

BEATRICE: I knew a Dia once…

CAROLINE: …She passed 17 years ago…

BEATRICE: No, she didn’t…

CAROLINE: …See, Debra, this is what I don’t understand… You learned nearly 60 years ago the scientific name of flowers and what seasons they bloom…

ALICE: That’s actually 50 years…

DEBRA: You said the scientific name.

ALICE: …I can still subtract!

CAROLINE: …but you can’t remember my name or your name for that fact. And we’ve been around each other for the past 5 years! How am I supposed to believe the information you are telling me is true.

DEBRA: You can’t deny knowledge… and you said the scientific name.


DEBRA: You said the scientific name.

BEATRICE: What time is it?

CAROLINE: what does that have to do with anything?

ALICE: It’s a quarter ‘til 1.

DEBRA: are you talking about me or her?

CAROLINE: You mean Beatrice?

DEBRA: Who’s Beatrice?

CAROLINE: (points to BEATRICE) She is.

BEATRICE: (same time as CAROLINE) I am.

ALICE: Why did you want to know the time?

CAROLINE: Are you going to answer my question?


CAROLINE: (to DEBRA) You. I was talking to you.

BEATRICE: I need to be at the Thompson’s when the kids get home. Rachel asked me to watch over them until she gets home.

DEBRA: I forgot the question.

ALICE: Oh, I love Rachel. She’s a dear…

CAROLINE: I asked what that has anything to do with anything?

DEBRA: What are you talking about?

ALICE: Doesn’t little Derek look like that one actor?

BEATRICE: What actor?

ALICE: I can’t remember… He was in “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”…

CAROLINE: I was asking about why me saying “Osteospermum” means anything?

DEBRA: I don’t care… Are you talking about Robert Redford?

ALICE: No, the other one…

DEBRA: Wasn’t Robert Redford in “A River Runs Through It”? He’s so handsome in that movie…

BEATRICE: No, he directed it. You must be thinking of Brad Pitt.

ALICE: What else was Brad Pitt in?

DEBRA: Brad Pitt wasn’t in “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”.

BEATRICE: I never said that…

CAROLINE: He was in “Legends of the Fall” and “Meet Joe Black”

ALICE: That’s right…

CAROLINE: …Are you talking about the blue one?

ALICE: From “Butch Cassidy”?


ALICE: No, he was a white man.

CAROLINE: You mean Paul Newman?

ALICE: That’s it!

DEBRA: What about Paul Newman?

CAROLINE: Rachel’s son, Derek, looks like Paul Newman.

DEBRA: Wasn’t he in that movie about cars?

ALICE: Derek or Paul Newman?

BEATRICE: You mean “Cars”?

DEBRA: Yeah, wasn’t he in that?

ALICE: Brad Pitt?

CAROLINE: No, Paul Newman.

BEATRICE: Yeah, he was Doc Hudson.

ALICE: I didn’t see Paul Newman in that... Isn’t that an animated movie about talking cars?


ALICE: How can Paul Newman be Doc Hudson? Doc Hudson is a car and looks nothing like Paul Newman…

DEBRA: He did the voice of the car.

ALICE: Oh… (PAUSE, then burst of excitement) I found the Petunia’s! They are lovely… that’s not the Richard’s house, that’s the MacDonald’s!

CAROLINE: When do the kids come home?

BEATRICE: Two-thirty.

ELIZA: They look loaded.

CAROLINE: They are…

ALICE: Who’s loaded?

CAROLINE: The Thompsons. (PAUSE, looks at ELIZA, then looks away) Did anyone invite her?

(Everyone looks ELIZA as the rest as she remains smoking her cigarette staring outside, everyone turns away muttering how they don’t know her.)

CAROLINE: She’s on to something though, ladies.


CAROLINE: The smoking one… The Thompsons have some nice things.

DEBRA: I do like her shampoo. She always smells so good.

ALICE: I like her sign in the backyard garden about “Bee-ing” careful with the flowers.

CAROLINE: That broad has my Billy Graham VHS.

BEATRICE: (PAUSE) I got the key.

ALICE: Can you hand me my purse, Beatrice? (BEATRICE hands her the purse and ALICE begins to rummage through it) Do you think the ski masks are necessary for this one?

BEATRICE: No, that’s just for the Webb’s.

CAROLINE: Oh, we should go there, too. I want their TV remote. I lost mine and they have the same TV as me.

DEBRA: Yeah, can we get the Webb’s afterwards? I heard she made the most amazing roast and they never eat their leftovers…

ALICE: After the Thompson’s, we’ll go there. (Everyone starts to unbuckle except ELIZA who is still in the same position.) Alright… let’s pull this sh…(the car door opens before she finishes, cutting to black with no sound)


Wednesday, June 10, 2009

A Peeve with Pants

Oh, jeans.
Oh, jeans.
You are snug on my hips
As I attempt to slip in and zip
you up, curses from my lips.

Lighten up.
Loosen up.
No one
Should ever pant
Putting on
A pair of pants.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Wrong Way

Your killing me
Or I'm killing me with you.
Either way, I'm fine with it.
Like electrons colliding creates chaos,
So our world will fall as I fall for you.

It's this feeling inside you're giving me.
Undeserved and underestimated.
A suicidal pleasure
Where I'm gladly killing myself
For the sake of your acceptance.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Twisted Dialogue (aka- The "Good" Friend)

A: I want to die. Right now.

B: Why would you do that? I don't think that's a good idea.

A: I do. I just don't like my life. It's not as euphoric as I imagined it to be. If I can't be happy, what else is left?

B: I don't think anyone's life is that ecstatic. Why else would we live such self-destructive lives? But, I think if you learned to love a little more inclusively, life wouldn't feel so empty.

A: Why can't you just love and support my decision like a real friend?

B: Well, as long as you are comfortable with it... I won't judge.

*A falls*

B: Wait.. you forgot your parasol.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

It Came From The Sea With A Vengeance


THE BOY: A mischievous young man wearing a cowboy costume. The only thing leaving this city with him is his Red Ryder.

THE GIRL: A foolish and enchanted girl caught up by THE BOY's debonair mystery.

SETTING: Outside of magenta theater and leading to the mural wall.

FADE into a shot of a wedding ring lying on the sidewalk. it's not entirely within the shot, a piece of it is off camera right of the frame. and THE GIRL's feet walk up to the ring. as a hand reaches into the frame to grab the ring, the ring is pulled out of the frame. she follows the ring to it's new location, but then it starts to walk away from her. as she follows it, the camera reveals the hidden bit of the ring that is tied to a string. the camera follows up the string to THE BOY pulling the the string as he walks away from THE GIRL. as the camera doesn't break, it shows the boy walking away with his face camera right, showing both the ring in tow along with the foolish girl, holding a fish in one hand, following closely after the ring.

eventually, they end up in front of the mural near by. THE GIRL finally gets the ring. as she holds it up and starts to put it on, THE BOY pulls the string, flying the ring out of her hand. after a rage of emotion, she slaps THE BOY with the fish. this shot is very 2 dimensional. after slight pouting by both parties, the boy turns around and leaves her, and she soon turns around and leaves, the camera splits into 2 screens as it shows the boy riding a toy tricycle away from the scene with the girl walking the other direction, both hurt and sad, as credits roll.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Welcome to Nostalgia

Here I am
Facing the blue I was once so acquainted with.
Our reunion is well received by both parties
As we laugh and chat of all the things we seen
Since we last talked and sang of silly things.

I sat on the now cruddy, once clean carpet of my past to reconnect with the view of my previously 5 year old self. The books slumped on the shelf where they once stood erect and ready to be read. One by one, I asked them to tell me the story they've each told a million times.
"Oh, my boy," they each sighed, "You've heard it before."
"I know, but i want you to tell me anyway. For old time's sake..." The look in my eyes was one each story knew well. It was the big blue sky colored eye look I'd get from swinging so high that gravity would have to reach to pull me down.
Besides, the books were never ones to turn down Old Time's pleas, so they sneezed the dust out of their binding and said, "Very well."
And as each of them shared what they were told to tell, the magic of each of their tales seemed as clear as the first time I heard it. From the boy who found life too dull to the raccoon that nearly fell over the waterfall. From the man with the purple house to a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, the euphoric feeling of escaping the ground's grip on me never felt so real with me sitting on a filthy floor flipping through tattered paperbacks and hardcover antiques. It made me wonder what would happen if I found a swing...
The books finished their interview session, with little else to say but who designed their cover and the year they were published. Tears fell down my face ever so slightly for as I listened to their stories, they reminded me of times when I found life too dull and when I nearly fell over the waterfall. It reminded me of when I wanted a purple house and that terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. If only I could have told those 6, 8, 15, and 19 year old boys those stories as they met those stories more personally, I could have told them, "You are not alone. Remember the boy, raccoon, man, and day? They remember you, I assure you." However, knowing those foolish boys, they wouldn't have listened to me. They never really paid much attention to silly things such as wisdom and contentment. It was more important to learn what 2+3 equaled or how to spell "spaghetti".
Regardless, time had stretched back far enough and it started to lose it's elasticity, pulling me faster and faster to my currently dull life, full of waterfalls, purple houses, and terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. The connection fading, I didn't know how else to find the feeling I found in dusty room. I ran to my car, silence the radio that pumped it's "I loathe you" propaganda so I could recite poetry about radishes and upside-down cakes and sing songs about a monkey and a weasel. I also sang about a bunny that lied over the ocean, but it never made much sense to me, but it made more sense than a "bonnie" that lied over the sea. I searched frantically for the color of nostalgia, with it's green ground, green and brown lamps, and blue ceiling. That's when I found it... A swing. I leaped out of my vehicle, neglecting the lines society set for me to sit my vehicle in, not to mention the mandatory "feed me" toll machine that would allow my automobile to sit in the black concrete chair that it currently occupied. But even in my complete presence of mind, I found the blessed chair that I came to see. So...

Here I am
Facing the blue I was once so acquainted with.
Our reunion ss well received by both parties
As we laugh and chat of all the things we seen
Since we last talked and sang of silly things.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

I Won't

His name is irrelevant.
He is a leper.
Need I continue?

Thursday, April 30, 2009

A Mellow Drama

(RABBIT O'HARE exits stage left as GERARD crosses to down-center. GERARD's clothes are tattered from RABBIT's torrent of "tearing down" discouragement. GERARD stands, sucking in air through his hands which cover his mouth. Slowly dropping to a kneel, he loses strength and falls back on his backside, simply sitting and sighing, a few thoughts before tears.)

GERARD: Why do you do this to me all the time? We are near antonymous in character, but we are one. I see the visions of my piteous melancholy from your eyes, but I know you witness your own malicious spite through mine. The pain you provide may not be physical, but it sinks deeper than most bullets can drive, you belittling bard! you minstrel of malignity!

RABBIT O'HARE: (enters with a cup of tea in one hand and matching saucer in the other) Would you cease this rather worthless parade of baroque vocabulary? Honestly, Who are you attempting to impress? It is only you and I, and I am you. (RABBIT kneels beside him, setting his tea and saucer aside on the floor and starts to pull make up out of his sleeves, much like a magician) Put your hands down.

(GERARD looks into RABBIT's eyes with that same spite before dropping his hands for the "necessary" makeover.)

RABBIT O'HARE: Very good... (RABBIT begins laying the foundation on GERARD. GERARD never smiles throughout the process. RABBIT starts to put on the blush. RABBIT pauses briefly for a sip of tea.)

GERARD: This isn't going to help. My facade is practically transparent.

(RABBIT drops his tea near instantly, spilling onto the floor much like the way his rage will soon manifest. He turns and slaps GERARD firmly across the face, slightly smudging GERARD's makeup. RABBIT starts to mend the error as GERARD sits in silence.)

RABBIT O'HARE: Don't say that about yourself. That's my job. But you are right. You will look terrible if you continue on with that attitude. The crowd can see through these things easily if you let them, and as long as you don't make foolish remarks like that, all will be well. Now for the lips...

(RABBIT starts to apply the lipstick where he wants GERARD's lips to be, not necessarily where they are. GERARD's lips remain frowned as RABBIT continues to draw a smile on his face. He finishes up the eyebrows, eyes, rather quickly as he is more worried about making GERARD's smile appear authentic than the rest of his face.)

RABBIT O'HARE: There... Now... Smile!

(GERARD sits still frowning, but his face gives the indication of happiness from RABBIT's excellent makeup work.)

RABBIT O'HARE: (smacks GERARD on the back of his head.) I know you are smiling already, you addlepate. But how about you smile as if I weren't around?

(GERARD remains briefly, then grins so that his face becomes a caricature of

RABBIT O'HARE: Fantastic! Now, go and make them wish for a little bit of that Heaven you found...


Sunday, April 26, 2009

What I Once Saw

The world was geometry,
Polygons patched together by
Someone greater than I.

The people were androids,
Initiating apathetic responses from
My apathetic approach.

The colors were there,
But not alive like the flowers
they occupied.

The clouds were missing
The shapes they held back when
I could swing so high.

The stars were asymmetrical.
A beautiful blanket of dots,
But lacking alignment.

My imagination was frightening
-ly dull as all I once saw
were polygons, androids, dots and
blotches of gray blotting spots of blue

But who knew
that who made this view
could provide clarity to me
If I would only open my eyes and see.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Des Amis Au Début

It ended with silence.
It started with sound.
A symphonic grace played from
The timpani roll and trumpet solo.
A poise seldom told by a fragrance
So sweet between the scene they occupy.

The show has ended.
Insert the epilogue.

They start their laughing,
applause and blushing.
As darting eyes finally meet,
A thought so soft says,
"Hello, my confidant."

Monday, April 6, 2009

"Validated" Vindication

You're hurtin', that's for certain.
The shots rang while insults sang
from the tongue and Thompson
of a repeat offender.
This isn't a sanctioned sin and
God does not approve of this message.
Don't worry, I know. Oh I know...

It's not enough to have the blood and spit
on your favorite coat from the throat he slit
While you are so simply expected to quit.
You've been hit and your skin is split!
Stand up straight
Throw them your weight
It's only fair to hate what they create.

The glare that flares a "once more" rapport into wretched war...

The sound and spit has settled
the dust between your crosses and curses.
Air flowing out,
Air coming in,
Ok, we can breathe again.
And now I ask you...
Do you feel better now?
Did your gift receipt come in handy?
Is this bruise for bruise,
This lose for lose,
parting the clouds so you can say so loud,
"Oh, everything's just dandy"?
Because I thought I knew who the loser was
until his blood spilled as you waited for applause.
Now, I won't lie, I just see a tie.
Can we please press pause
there must be some flaws
emanating from my jaws...
After all, lets look at the scene.
Cause from what I've seen,
Neither are clean.
I see stains on both jeans.
I don't mean to demean, but this is obscene,
like 2 thirteen year old hate machines.
I can't see why i should stay,
I'm beginning to fray
From frustration.
I'm going to walk away.
Do you have anything to say?

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Something I Can't Quite Explain

Where do the Popes and Priests confess? -Evan Adent

Meet Gerard.

Gerard has a lot of things to say.

He lives his lies a little louder than the day before (just so everyone feels more comfortable).

But Gerard is afraid of truth.

More than just the truth of what will happen, but the truths inside that make his lies harder to keep confidently..

Gerard finds the lies too tiring to tell and the truths to resistant to repress that he stitched his smile into place.

But soon, the thread will whither and the scissors will sharpen.

And if the scissors stay in their conveniently dull state, the moths will come like the rain to wash away what shouldn't stay.

A flood of truth will flow to the tundra from foreign tongues.

But for now, Etiquette and Formality keep Gerard's eyes bright and teeth shining.

Monday, March 2, 2009

A One-Sided Exchange

I am holding you so tight
That I can't feel your arms.
I never could,
But I've never minded.
The fact that you've stayed was
Enough proof
That you feel what I "feel"
That you "give" what I give
That you "have" what I have

I don't mind loving you more
Than you "love" me,
But I dream that this
Implied embrace
Would find it's way around me
In a more tangible fashion.
Let's just say that
Even though my back will
Catch the breeze,
I'm wishing
While the clock is flashing
On the last day
11:12 PM

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Happy Valentines DAy!!!

i wrote a song for you (and i mean you...)

Leave love like i left mine

Friday, February 6, 2009

oh yeah, if you care...

creating a musical experience is incredibly difficult, so it's kinda on hiatus until complete inspiration hits. however, here is what i last left on, and i think you'll like the changes, for the sake of the story more so that pleasantries... pretty much nothing was added though, but the ending is like a cliffhanger. you'll want to hear the rest... when it's created.

experience... don't necessarily enjoy ;)

Saturday, January 31, 2009

A Sickness So Debonair

This is my different shade of jealousy,
An ascot so chartreuse and an air of vanity.

There are holes in my tuxedo shirt
Where the knife still hides.
A knife from my miscalculation of "important things".
But, my pinstripe suit and cavalier grin
Keep the fact below my chary eyes.
After all, you can't see
The flux in my fabric
Where the pounds were shed.

So, let us toast to my dear friends, Misery and Doubt.
May they keep my make-up suave and smiling
For your sake, as well as mine.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The Pourad Who Didn't Care For Shoes

Have you ever heard of the Pourads?

Years ago before you were born, when the great rock puppies played, and every evergreen tree grew a mustache, There lived the quite petite and quite queer Pourads. While they weren't like you and I, they were fairly similar. they had two eyes, two ears, two hands, two feet like you and I. However, what made these characters so queer was that they always wore three shoes... sometimes more! For, you see, the Pourads love shoes. All sorts of shoes. Blue shoes, pink shoes, horse shoes, shoe flies, and even sun-dried shoes and pickled shoes. While this may be a rumor, I heard of a Pourad named Tia Climpton that once found a way to wear TWENTY-THREE shoes! I can only imagine how she put so many shoes on... None the less, they loved shoes and this was very apparent in all they made and did. The sculptors sculpted with shoes, the painters painted shoes (both on a shoe as well as pictures of shoes), and, of course, all their houses and furniture were made of shoes.

While all the Pourads talked about the latest shoes they made or played kickball, there was one Pourad named Anthony Douglass that didn't really care for shoes. He'd rather draw pictures in the grass of things he sees in the sky or ask the mustached trees about all the things they've seen and the legends that lived beneath their shade, like the Wishing Fish or the memory of the Sun and Moon. When neither Anthony or the trees had anything else to say, the trees would help Anthony climb to the top branch so he could watch the great rock puppies play as the Sun yawned and said goodnight to his friend and love, looking as long he could until he slipped out of view.

Don't get me wrong, Anthony was cared for by all the Pourads. He wore his 3 shoes even if they were a year old. While he didn't care about the latest fashion, there was another reason he didn't have the newest shoes. He never had new shoes because he was the only Pourad that couldn't make a pair of shoes. The Pourads, while disappointed, never looked down on Anthony Douglass because he couldn't make a pair of shoes. They actually did everything they could to help him learn to make his own, teaching him their tricks and explaining the latest styles. But the Pourads were upset that Anthony never tried to learn to make shoes. Each Pourad did their best to help him become a proper Pourad, but Anthony would much rather draw his pictures in the grass and talk with the mustached trees.

But, all the Pourads, from Gloria Fairland to Harold Stinkinship, loved the great rock puppies. They were as much a part of their sky as we would call the city lights or the rabbit-shaped clouds is a part of ours. As the great rock puppies played, the Pourads carried on about their day. They were rarely watched, but their presence was always known. The great rock puppies often played their games all day, and after the Sun would try to kiss the Moon goodnight, they would go to sleep along with the Pourads, forming great rocky mountains as they cuddled and huddled together for warmth. and as the Moon would leave, the Sun opening his eyes would wake the great rock puppies and they'd being to play again. It was like clock work. Each day and night the same as the one before and the one to come.

One day though, the Pourads realized that the great rock puppies, while at play, were slowly becoming sadder and less playful each day. They didn't want the great rock puppies to stop playing or leave, so they held a town meeting. After discussing the issue, they realized that the puppies needed a brand new pair of shoes, for everyone is happier with a new pair of shoes. This made everyone really excited. The Pourads had never done anything so unified and great that they couldn't think of what to do. What style? Who would design them? How many great rock puppies were there? As the Pourads started to decide who was going to do what, Anthony went back to talk with the mustached evergreen trees. Knowing the evergreen trees had bountiful knowledge tucked inside their mustaches, he asked the trees, "Why are the great rock puppies so sad?"

"Well," one tree explained, "Years ago before you or any of your kind were born; Before the Sun and the Moon were needed to keep track of time, they used to walk among us. They'd sing songs and paint each others portrait on the reflection of the water. I recall the first time they held hands. It was also their last, because they never let go until the day Time started. They were, and still are, in love, but now they never have time for each other any more. They are too busy doing their jobs to have time for simple affairs. I remember helping them climb up to our top branches so they could watch the great rock puppies play, as well. The great rock puppies, who were much smarter back then, used to put on plays and tell stories that only they could dream of.."
"Can you tell me any of the stories they told?" Anthony asked. He always loved a good story.
"I could never tell them as they did," the trees sighed, "But if you can reunite the Sun and the Moon, then the great rock puppies will gladly tell some more, I can assure you."
This intrigued Anthony. Such a spectacle sounded absolutely marvelous to him and he couldn't help but ask the trees, "How could I reunite the Sun and the Moon?"
"Ohh," one tree laughed, "I suppose you could catch the Wishing Fish." The other trees laughed, for they knew the Wishing Fish was a mischievous fish and they remembered all the trouble he's caused the woods in which they lived.
"How can I catch one?" Anthony asked. He was becoming more and more interested in these stories, but mostly the adventure that could ensue.
This caused concern amongst the trees. "Now listen, my boy..." another tree said, "The Wishing Fish is not to be toyed with. He has answered many wishes, but has also broken many hearts. It was the Wishing Fish that separated the Sun from the Moon; It was by his hand that they can no longer hold hands. The Wishing Fish, being a very useful creature, can bring great joy, but if asked improperly, will exploit any hole left unfilled within your wish."
"But, I know what I want," Anthony begged, "and I promise you that nothing will happen to you before it happens to me. Will you tell me the secret to catching the Wishing Fish?"
The mustached trees looked at each other and pondered. Eventually, one spoke up and said, "We will tell you, but you may not catch it without our permission, for we are the key to catching the Wishing Fish... In order to catch the Wishing Fish, you must shave one of our mustaches and feed it to the river. Only then will the Wishing Fish will come."
"But..." Anthony stuttered, "Your mustaches are what let you talk; what keep you alive. I don't know if I could do that to anyone of you..."
"Then think hard," A tree spoke sternly, "For this wish you want is our gift to you for your friendship. Be wise and come back after thinking about it."

Anthony headed home and thought. He was starting to forget exactly what it was he wished for, but he did know that the Sun and the Moon deserved to be together and the great rock puppies deserve to be happy. As he made his way into the town, his friend Amelia Gracefelt said, "Guess what?! We have the most amazing shoes we are about to make for the great rock puppies! you should come see our design." Anthony had nothing better to do and didn't want to hurt Amelia's feelings, so he followed her to the town hall to see the plans.
After seeing the plans, he couldn't help but admire the handiwork of his family and friends. They were going to be beautiful shoes and asked Amelia, "Where are you going to get the material to do all this?"
"We are going to make them with the latest trend..." Amelia said excitedly, "Evergreen mustaches. They will be the most fashionable shoes ever created by the Pourads!"
This frightened Anthony. How was he going to make his wish with all the evergreen tree's mustaches gone? His friends would become nothing but sticks with green growing from their branches... "Where are all the Pourads?" Anthony shouted.
"Why, they are off to fetch the mustaches so we can start sewing the great rock puppies' shoes right away." Amelia said.
Anthony ran out the door and left for the trees, wishing that he wasn't too late... but, he was.

As Anthony looked at all the trees, all their mustaches missing, he shouted over and over, "Hello? Are you awake?"
As he listened intently for a response, he heard something... "Anthony Douglass? Is that you? Come over here!" He ran toward the tree. It was the last one with a mustache. "Anthony... they are shaving all our mustaches off. I'm the last one left."
Anthony told the tree, "I know what I want to wish for... May I have your mustache?"
The tree looked into Anthony's eyes and said, "...You may. Please, wish wisely." As he said this, the tree closed his eyes, his mustache falling to the ground, and said nothing else. The forest was now silenced.
Anthony took the mustache and headed toward the river. As he looked into the skyline, the great rock puppies were sadder than before, merely walking in circles, and looking to the trees with somber faces. While they weren't as smart as they used to be, they know the last of their friends have left. All that was left a lonely sun, waiting for his shift to end. Anthony, full of anger towards the Pourads, threw the mustache into the river. After a few seconds, he heard humming coming from the water. All of a sudden, the Wishing Fish leaped from the river towards Anthony, screaming, "Why... HELLO, Mr. Peculiar! I'd love to bake a cake for you and your charming hat!"
Anthony didn't like what was coming from the Wishing Fish, but he knew what he had to do... "You are the Wishing Fish, aren't you?"
"Well... Does the Sun miss the Moon?" The Wishing Fish asked.
"Very much so..." Anthony replied.
"Then, 'Very much so'!" The Wishing Fish giggled. "I am quite, indeed, and truly the Wishing Fish you wished to fish for."
Anthony was in shock at how silly and mean the Wishing Fish was, but he knew what he had to do... "I need to make a wish," he said.
The Wishing Fish grinned, "I'm sorry, but i believe that is the improper way to ask for a wish from this fish..." The great rock puppies had stopped moving entirely, sitting on their hind legs, waiting and watching to see what would become of the exchange. "First, in order to get anywhere with me, you must speak in some sort of nonsensical fashion, So please, say something outlandish, but don't mumble."
Anthony paused, swallowed, and spoke, "The time has come in which my thumb is pressed down between your fins, silence your grins so I may wish to this fish."
The Wishing Fish was quite pleasant with the participating nature of Anthony. "That's more like it," he said, "Now, sit. Don't quit... Please tell this fish your wish's wish."
Anthony looked to the sky, the great rock puppies and the Sun alike, then asked the fish, "I will swish my wish when my fish, my friend speaks first of the cursed thirst the Sun and Moon share which hurts. Their hands were held, they dwelled with evergreen trees with their mustache leaves. Yet, trees let them wish to this fish whom i dish and serve... oh the nerve! How could you do? you, who two came to?"
"Well," the fish said, "to tell the truth, the youth who grow so cold and old as they chase through space... to me, they came, they knew my name. I did as I was told.. Why are you so cold?"
Anthony was getting angrier and angrier at the Wishing Fish. "Wishing Fish, I wish this fish tells these shoes, of pinks and blues, what wish..."
"...What?" the Wishing Fish asked, "Are you, a year old shoe, of pale and fading blue, wishing to wish for what they wished?"
Anthony took a deep breath... "Yes, I am, my fish friend, Sam."
"My name is not Sam," the fish replied, "but Graham.. you ham. But none the less, yes... your wish from this fish shall come, now eat your dish..." The Wishing Fish sighed as he recalled the story of the Sun and Moon's discontent, "The Moon and Sun wished for fun... That they could chase one another in space; that colors would gloriously come and fade as they played their game; A game named 'Time.' And as they'd fall and climb, playing their game named Time, that people could watch them play and say, 'Hey, how grand that by their hand we know what time it is...'"
Anthony was confused by his response. Why would the Sun and Moon wish for such a silly thing? And so he said, "Fish, I wish that this fish explains... the pains are as great as my hate for this now lifeless estate."
But the Wishing Fish shook his fin, "No, now, Pish Pash... Please, another mustache..."
Anthony started to tear up. He was sad that by wishing so foolishly, all the world would change. For, No one knew this, but the now lifeless trees were what fueled the Pourads. They were a source of intellect. Without them, The Pourads were but mice and the great rock puppies were but mountains. Anthony turned and headed back to his town, deeply upset. As he sauntered home, the great rock puppies lowered their heads down, ready to slumber and whined as the Sun continued to tell Time. They weren't ready for this to end. After all, they had prepared a play...

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Something I've Never Meant To Say

Real lovers.
Fictitious romances.

Our affairs weren't cliché kisses and coitus,
But simple suggestions of where we should eat
Or which side of me you'll sit on in the theater.
Our dates consist of what was never said.
Our fights formed from imagined issues.
Even though I can't help but remember
What you didn't whisper in my ear
That night from the 7th story balcony,
We have grown far apart.
But somehow, we are closer than we are in my mind.

I'm sorry, my acquaintance, what were you saying?
I was a little sidetracked...

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

His Madame, Her Malady

I used to lie in silk sheets
While the window leaked in the daylight.
As the blue birds came into view,
Soon He came, too.
A deep inhale and a radiating glow
Are what I remember as His fingers
Ran through my hair,
my glorious air.
The presence of his face brought
A smile to mine.
He looked into my closed eyes and told me,

"You look so pretty..."

Now I lie in cotton sheets
While the window leaks in the nightlife.
As the blue moon comes into view,
Soon He came, too.
An IV and a hospital bed
Are what I know as His fingers
Run through my "hair".
(more through the air)
The presence of his face brings
Tears to mine.
He looks into my closed eyes and tells me,

"You look so pretty..."

I will soon lie on velveteen sheets
While the window leaks in the absence of life.
As the blue assembly comes into view,
Soon he'll come, too.
My favorite dress and lilies
Are what I am as His fingers
Run through my hair.
I'm without air.
The presence of his face brings
Nothing to mine.
He'll look into my closed eyes and tell me,

"You look so pretty..."

Make-Shift Friend

A grey paint
Covers the black and blue night.
Somewhere in my culdesac,
A puddle catches my glance
At the only moon awake tonight.
A lamp post
Waxing and waning
An irregular pattern

I'm tired, my good friend.
I see you are, too.
Thanks for staying up with me.

"You're Welcome..."

Writer's Note- This is for my former CWP teacher, Mrs. Morris. Happy Birthday. Sorry it's "sad".

Monday, January 12, 2009

The Star on a String

There was a bright star
That hung so high and far
Above the blue and green sea,
Held by a string for all to see.

Lying on his bed made of cloud,
He couldn't help but feel proud
Of his looks as he'd stare so fond
At his reflection in the pond.

Hoping for a better look of his face,
He got out of bed and came down from space.
But, as he stared at his light in the drink,
His string came loose and began to sink.

He fell deeper until almost left unseen,
Surrounded and recolored with blue and green,
Swimming with sea horses and gold starfish,
Too tired to see his cloud, but not to wish.

Now, he's the bright sitting on the ocean,
Leaving you to believe he's a reflection
Of the sun that we all love to see
As he prays for his cloud and less vanity.

Writer's Note- I may fine tune it because I'm not 100% happy with how it is, but i'm a bit lazy. I love the story it tells enough that i'm posting it's raw form and now when you see the sun shining on the ocean's surface, you know it isn't the sun, but a star that was a tad to vain.

Ps- i might add more to the story period besides fine tuning, but we'll see how i recieve it upon reflection...

*Traveling Muses*

She was so beautiful

Until She opened her mouth

And took a drag...

Sunday, January 11, 2009

My Minstrel, My Dear

i wrote and recorded this awhile ago (ok, a month or 2 ago). call it what you will, but it is quite simple.

If requested, I will post the lyrics. but know this, "This is my first song and it's from me to you, and I hope that's enough for you."

PS- ignore the last minute or 2. when the song is over, it's over. it was part of a different project that is on hold, but got in here somehow. i apologize for the annoying tease, of sorts.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

A Skewed View

The snow looks like ash,
Dying on the side of the road.
But really, all it took was
A little sunshine
A new shade of abhorrence.