I wake up in a room of sleeping faces. They all pull the covers closer to their faces as I stare. I'm aware of the risk I'm taking, staring at someone's sleeping face. There is the chance they could wake up and we'd never look at each other the same again. But I'm drawn to that passive contention across their face. I'm fascinated by the slow rise and fall of their chest.
The snow lightly falls and my feet are picking up the leftovers. My bare hand holds a glass of orange juice. My hair hangs under my Alpaca hat, dampened by the wet snow. Bird narrates the morning commute to work and I let the music magnify the beauty of the falling snow.
Hoards of people walk paces behind me. I quickly glance and see dozens of faces and a murmur of voices. It's graduation day for winter semester grads.
Graduation day.
I've never been scared by the thought. I'm sure it will hit a little closer to home when I actually find myself waking up early in the morning to walk across a stage dressed as a wizard just to grab a piece of paper filled with scrawled calligraphy.
________________
Last night, I heard God in the voice of a wild six year old as she whistle-toned to "Get Back" on Beatles Rockband. I heard audible love in her giggle from the other room.
It reset any doubts I ever had about life, love, and faith.
I hope you realize I never get tired of writing things like this. I hope it never stops. It's not a chore. It's a pleasure.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
10/29/09 - 10/31/09
Grandma passed away/funeral
-Check
Totaled car
-Check
Missed concert of one of my favorite bands
-Check
Lost girl
-Check
They say "bad things always happen in 3's." Well, yes, and sometimes they happen in 4's. The past few days...hm...well they've sucked. A lot. Last night, I couldn't help but laugh at the whole thing. It seemed like the plot of some overly dramatic indie movie.
A while ago, on this very blog, I pointed out that "Our beautiful world is injected with negativity on a daily basis. I feel the need to fill it with as much bliss and positivity as possible." (February 28, 2009)
So since then, I've made it a point to write about all of the beauty in the world.
It's turned into a way of life, a way of seeing and interpreting things on a daily basis. If I had feathered graying hair and a cheesy headshot, I could write a motivational book on it. It's been that life-altering.
10/29/09-10/31/09 really put this idea to the test.
But I found myself looking at the light in each situation. I prayed months, weeks, days for my grandma to have "peace as she lived out her last days". It was answered directly as she passed away in her sleep early Thursday morning. I prayed for "peace and understanding" as I had to say goodbye to chances of a relationship with the girl I had been interested in for nearly half a year. While driving to Louisville this notion finally set in. I didn't want to accept it. I still had hope. But before I knew it tears were unwillingly welling up in my eyes. I let myself have this moment. My disposition changed when I saw the beautiful clear night sky above me. There was something, someone else present. I felt a hand on my shoulder encouraging me to breathe. My weary overly analytical mind was turned off and I was able to see the beauty outside the window.
"Some day
Some happy day
Some day I'll find
The one with eyes that say those words I cannot find" (A. Bird)...
I sung to myself.
Louisville offered a chance to get away from it all. I was at the mercy of the changing leaves of the city's towering autumn trees and the company of my best friend. We took drives through winding roads that were veiled with falling red and gold ember. The leaves floated past our outstretched arms and brushed against our wind-blown hair. In spite of all the mess and the broken-ness, my mind was at rest.
Front row tickets to the Avett Brothers had been arranged when we bought our tickets late this past summer. This would make the week all worthwhile. That night, the rain made the roads slick. On our way to the Avett Brothers show, someone ahead of us stopped abruptly and I went into the back of my friends car. Leaving nothing but a small dent on her car. My car was totaled, it's insides sandwiched together in a heap of metal. It was such a strange sight. Next to no damage on her car and the now unrepairable my vehicle had become. This all happened while only going about 25-30 mph.
Roger, our wide-eyed tow truck driver offered us advice and cigarettes. Through clenched teeth and a country twang he made the accident seem minute and manageable. I junked the car I was still paying off for $250 and called it a night. My mom said she was on her way to pick me up, the funeral was tomorrow morning at 8am.
The finality of it all had set in. I lost my grandma. I lost my girl. I lost my car. I lost my concert ticket.
My friends skipped the show, despite my request, and stayed back with me. They ordered us a pizza and we shouted and danced to Avett Brothers songs the rest of the night until mom came. Once again, I was struck with the beauty of the situation. Sure, I had lost it all. But at the moment, dancing to "Will You Return" was a pressing matter. Shouting lyrics until my voice was hoarse seemed like the solution to it all. Standing in the corner silent, smile across my face, taking in all the love in the room, I thanked God for the day.
The "peace and understanding" I asked for still stands.
The funeral is beautiful, and I'm given the chance to reconnect with many old relatives and friends. I expect to see my grandma sitting at the head of the table at the reception. When she's not there, I take comfort in the fact that the whole family is together, happy, celebrating her life.
Now I sit here at home. The doorbell rings every so often with trick-or-treaters. My dad jumps up with excitement, scurrying to the door like a small child. He gives them a hard time, "they must EARN their candy". My sister laughs and makes fun of him after they leave. The fall leaves blow across the yard and lull me to sleep through the half open window.
I am content.
-Check
Totaled car
-Check
Missed concert of one of my favorite bands
-Check
Lost girl
-Check
They say "bad things always happen in 3's." Well, yes, and sometimes they happen in 4's. The past few days...hm...well they've sucked. A lot. Last night, I couldn't help but laugh at the whole thing. It seemed like the plot of some overly dramatic indie movie.
A while ago, on this very blog, I pointed out that "Our beautiful world is injected with negativity on a daily basis. I feel the need to fill it with as much bliss and positivity as possible." (February 28, 2009)
So since then, I've made it a point to write about all of the beauty in the world.
It's turned into a way of life, a way of seeing and interpreting things on a daily basis. If I had feathered graying hair and a cheesy headshot, I could write a motivational book on it. It's been that life-altering.
10/29/09-10/31/09 really put this idea to the test.
But I found myself looking at the light in each situation. I prayed months, weeks, days for my grandma to have "peace as she lived out her last days". It was answered directly as she passed away in her sleep early Thursday morning. I prayed for "peace and understanding" as I had to say goodbye to chances of a relationship with the girl I had been interested in for nearly half a year. While driving to Louisville this notion finally set in. I didn't want to accept it. I still had hope. But before I knew it tears were unwillingly welling up in my eyes. I let myself have this moment. My disposition changed when I saw the beautiful clear night sky above me. There was something, someone else present. I felt a hand on my shoulder encouraging me to breathe. My weary overly analytical mind was turned off and I was able to see the beauty outside the window.
"Some day
Some happy day
Some day I'll find
The one with eyes that say those words I cannot find" (A. Bird)...
I sung to myself.
Louisville offered a chance to get away from it all. I was at the mercy of the changing leaves of the city's towering autumn trees and the company of my best friend. We took drives through winding roads that were veiled with falling red and gold ember. The leaves floated past our outstretched arms and brushed against our wind-blown hair. In spite of all the mess and the broken-ness, my mind was at rest.
Front row tickets to the Avett Brothers had been arranged when we bought our tickets late this past summer. This would make the week all worthwhile. That night, the rain made the roads slick. On our way to the Avett Brothers show, someone ahead of us stopped abruptly and I went into the back of my friends car. Leaving nothing but a small dent on her car. My car was totaled, it's insides sandwiched together in a heap of metal. It was such a strange sight. Next to no damage on her car and the now unrepairable my vehicle had become. This all happened while only going about 25-30 mph.
Roger, our wide-eyed tow truck driver offered us advice and cigarettes. Through clenched teeth and a country twang he made the accident seem minute and manageable. I junked the car I was still paying off for $250 and called it a night. My mom said she was on her way to pick me up, the funeral was tomorrow morning at 8am.
The finality of it all had set in. I lost my grandma. I lost my girl. I lost my car. I lost my concert ticket.
My friends skipped the show, despite my request, and stayed back with me. They ordered us a pizza and we shouted and danced to Avett Brothers songs the rest of the night until mom came. Once again, I was struck with the beauty of the situation. Sure, I had lost it all. But at the moment, dancing to "Will You Return" was a pressing matter. Shouting lyrics until my voice was hoarse seemed like the solution to it all. Standing in the corner silent, smile across my face, taking in all the love in the room, I thanked God for the day.
The "peace and understanding" I asked for still stands.
The funeral is beautiful, and I'm given the chance to reconnect with many old relatives and friends. I expect to see my grandma sitting at the head of the table at the reception. When she's not there, I take comfort in the fact that the whole family is together, happy, celebrating her life.
Now I sit here at home. The doorbell rings every so often with trick-or-treaters. My dad jumps up with excitement, scurrying to the door like a small child. He gives them a hard time, "they must EARN their candy". My sister laughs and makes fun of him after they leave. The fall leaves blow across the yard and lull me to sleep through the half open window.
I am content.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Reverie #4 - Mother
Hastily spoken words exude from her lips. A flow of speech infused with the passion and intensity of her voice. She is reminding me of something a mother would remind her son of. Some mundane reminder of something she knows I'll put off until the last minute. Reminders like this sometimes annoy me, I have a to do list, I have reminders set up in my phone, I'll leave it to the last minute but I'll take care of it. I just want to read this paper of far more exotic speech, of human struggle in far away places, of social change down the street, while I eat my soggy cereal and drink my orange juice.
But I stop myself.
I look up from the paper.
I see a beautiful creation. I see her beautiful laugh lines and the way she talks with her hands. She smells like hairspray and home. A smell that when in context, is one of the best smells in the world. She smiles and I know things will get better. I want to tell her everything, she can solve all of life's problems. She could broker a treaty of peace in the Middle East. She could fix global warming and send a man to Mars. She could listen to me complain about a rough day. She could buy me groceries for my barren college kitchen. I remember her embrace. This familiar warmth that stays with me long after we have parted. I see her passion for life in her weary eyes, used to working overtime. She's the most beautiful woman I've seen.
My mind is put at ease, that in such a world, she can exist.
"So you think you can have that done by Friday?" she says finally.
Thanks Mom, yeah I can.
But I stop myself.
I look up from the paper.
I see a beautiful creation. I see her beautiful laugh lines and the way she talks with her hands. She smells like hairspray and home. A smell that when in context, is one of the best smells in the world. She smiles and I know things will get better. I want to tell her everything, she can solve all of life's problems. She could broker a treaty of peace in the Middle East. She could fix global warming and send a man to Mars. She could listen to me complain about a rough day. She could buy me groceries for my barren college kitchen. I remember her embrace. This familiar warmth that stays with me long after we have parted. I see her passion for life in her weary eyes, used to working overtime. She's the most beautiful woman I've seen.
My mind is put at ease, that in such a world, she can exist.
"So you think you can have that done by Friday?" she says finally.
Thanks Mom, yeah I can.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Abandoned Summer
The clear plastic "G" sat in the passenger seat next to me. "Try Our 3 New Angus Choices" was now "Try Our 3 New Anus Choices". We sped away from the McDonalds like idiot teenagers on a midnight ride.
Something was in the air that night. Youth, if that's what you want to call it, was running in the gutters. The angst we thought we had all lost came rushing back like a shot in the night.
I struggled to hear the conversation Brian and Alex were having in the front of the car. The melodic music of someone I had never heard was absorbed by the back of my head. I gave up on trying to enter the conversation and instead sat back and looked out the window. We passed streets I had passed many times and old back-roads I seldom turned down. I saw flashes of memories that once controlled my mind. Incidents and people who now seemed foreign...something my mind tends to do with the past. The sounds of the car and the music and the voices seemed to twine together as one in a beautiful symphony of life. The dark marks on my shorts continued on to the top of the tan line on my knee. I was reminded of what took place earlier that night and smiled to myself...I let myself slip into the fresh memory...
Brian and I jumped out the car, me fumbling with my shoes on the way out. Alex sped the car up and we both darted towards the sudden red neon. Brian jumped on the front hood and I climbed on the back windshield, my hands finding their way through the open window to the interior handles in the roof of the car, locked in anxious excitement. I looked around nervously, the newly finished residential road spotted with a few homes under construction. Movement pushed my body against the car. Dirt from the back of the car left streaks on my leg and pants. Alex hastily turned up the soundtrack to the escapade and sped down the road.
I had the better end of the car, Brian slid around the hood laughing and screaming until Alex sprayed windshield wiper fluid in his face. Then there was mostly screaming. I leaned my stomach against the back, lifting my hands free into the wind. I shouted into the sky, closing my eyes and wishing the wind would lift me into the the stratosphere. The car lurched and I was pushed to the roof of the car. I questioned our childish actions for a moment but let myself fall back into youth. I rested my head on the roof and stared at the blur of houses and streetlights. Life is so simple in moments like this. It was all clear, set out before me. It happened again, it hadn't happened in a long time...In the rush of the wind and music and laughing I saw the face of God. Then the car stopped and it was my turn to ride the front.
...I managed to hear talk of some girl Brian was interested in through the symphony of sounds. He needed a good girl. If anyone deserved one it was Brian. I wanted one too.
I finished off the rest of the Mexican Coca-Cola we bought and watched my shadow dance against the opposing car door fabric. I noticed my silhouette and saw myself in a way no mirror had ever reflected. I saw my wants, I saw my desires, I saw my friends, I saw my faith, I saw my family, I saw love. Gratitude trickled down my spine, collecting at my fingertips, numbing my mind. I closed my eyes.
Something was in the air that night. Youth, if that's what you want to call it, was running in the gutters. The angst we thought we had all lost came rushing back like a shot in the night.
I struggled to hear the conversation Brian and Alex were having in the front of the car. The melodic music of someone I had never heard was absorbed by the back of my head. I gave up on trying to enter the conversation and instead sat back and looked out the window. We passed streets I had passed many times and old back-roads I seldom turned down. I saw flashes of memories that once controlled my mind. Incidents and people who now seemed foreign...something my mind tends to do with the past. The sounds of the car and the music and the voices seemed to twine together as one in a beautiful symphony of life. The dark marks on my shorts continued on to the top of the tan line on my knee. I was reminded of what took place earlier that night and smiled to myself...I let myself slip into the fresh memory...
Brian and I jumped out the car, me fumbling with my shoes on the way out. Alex sped the car up and we both darted towards the sudden red neon. Brian jumped on the front hood and I climbed on the back windshield, my hands finding their way through the open window to the interior handles in the roof of the car, locked in anxious excitement. I looked around nervously, the newly finished residential road spotted with a few homes under construction. Movement pushed my body against the car. Dirt from the back of the car left streaks on my leg and pants. Alex hastily turned up the soundtrack to the escapade and sped down the road.
I had the better end of the car, Brian slid around the hood laughing and screaming until Alex sprayed windshield wiper fluid in his face. Then there was mostly screaming. I leaned my stomach against the back, lifting my hands free into the wind. I shouted into the sky, closing my eyes and wishing the wind would lift me into the the stratosphere. The car lurched and I was pushed to the roof of the car. I questioned our childish actions for a moment but let myself fall back into youth. I rested my head on the roof and stared at the blur of houses and streetlights. Life is so simple in moments like this. It was all clear, set out before me. It happened again, it hadn't happened in a long time...In the rush of the wind and music and laughing I saw the face of God. Then the car stopped and it was my turn to ride the front.
...I managed to hear talk of some girl Brian was interested in through the symphony of sounds. He needed a good girl. If anyone deserved one it was Brian. I wanted one too.
I finished off the rest of the Mexican Coca-Cola we bought and watched my shadow dance against the opposing car door fabric. I noticed my silhouette and saw myself in a way no mirror had ever reflected. I saw my wants, I saw my desires, I saw my friends, I saw my faith, I saw my family, I saw love. Gratitude trickled down my spine, collecting at my fingertips, numbing my mind. I closed my eyes.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Reverie - a Retrospective
Is it possible to find love in everything else but love?
I have all of this built up "love" inside of me, I feel, due to the amount of time I've gone "solo".
I'm not trying to evoke any sort of pity, just posing a very real question within me.
Through taking pictures and writing these "reverie" blogs, can I outlet my zealous need to love?
I feel like it does to a certain degree. By noticing little pieces of beauty in my day to day life, I'm able to release my built up passion.
Ah, but here's the rub...mental and physical intimacy with another human being is unparalleled to anything in this world. It's a variation of this broad intimacy I feel with humanity when I take pictures or write reveries.
But it adds this new formula of two people attempting to sync with one another.
I love this Before Sunrise quote:
"I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt."
I've used that quote before. I just think its such a clear answer to what that thing it's describing is.
I'll find her some day. For now, I'll enjoy the attempt(s).
http://www.flickr.com/photos/austindressman
I have all of this built up "love" inside of me, I feel, due to the amount of time I've gone "solo".
I'm not trying to evoke any sort of pity, just posing a very real question within me.
Through taking pictures and writing these "reverie" blogs, can I outlet my zealous need to love?
I feel like it does to a certain degree. By noticing little pieces of beauty in my day to day life, I'm able to release my built up passion.
Ah, but here's the rub...mental and physical intimacy with another human being is unparalleled to anything in this world. It's a variation of this broad intimacy I feel with humanity when I take pictures or write reveries.
But it adds this new formula of two people attempting to sync with one another.
I love this Before Sunrise quote:
"I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt."
I've used that quote before. I just think its such a clear answer to what that thing it's describing is.
I'll find her some day. For now, I'll enjoy the attempt(s).
http://www.flickr.com/photos/austindressman
Summer so Far...
Pulsing Bernard Hermann scores push the flow of words from my fingers. Writing a paper about Nietzschian trends in Alfred Hitchcock films has become much more vehement than I had anticipated.
I love this summer class. Waking up at 8am and sitting in a really uncomfortable chair for 3 hours is not my favorite aspect of the course. BUT I'm not complaining. The torrential downpour of Hitchcock I get during that class has been invigorating. Even outside of class I rewatch old favorites we don't have time to cover over the 3 weeks.
Uncle Charlie inches towards young Charlie, his secret about to burst from her naive lips. She knows too much. Uncle Charlie slowly turns around and walks back up the staircase, a threatening ferocity in his eyes as he turns around to see her still standing.
I slowly divert my eyes from the screen to notice a girl sitting on the opposite side of the room, her glance completely transfixed on this classic Hitchcock climax. As the music began to pulse she smiled with awe, utterly taken by the scene. My heart begins to beat faster and I let the scene take me as she has, the suspense pushing me towards the edge.
I notice these instances throughout the films we watch. The Hitchcock climax starts its slow descent. Grace Kelly breaks into the house of the suspect, Mr. Thorwald, to grab the evidence only to be met by the man himself. Jimmy Stewart, restricted to a wheelchair can only watch through the window as Thorwald violently grabs her and throws her across the room.
I see a man sitting in the front row, discontent tugging at the edges of his face. He winces when Thorwald begins to shake Kelly, there is nothing he can do either but watch helplessly.
I love this.
Never have I noticed more audience identification with whats transpiring on screen than I have in a room full of people watching a Hitchcock film.
Film is so beautiful. Everything about it. Its power to control emotions, persuade, among other human qualities is so sincere.
It helps when you have a master like Hitchcock at the reigns too.
I love this summer class. Waking up at 8am and sitting in a really uncomfortable chair for 3 hours is not my favorite aspect of the course. BUT I'm not complaining. The torrential downpour of Hitchcock I get during that class has been invigorating. Even outside of class I rewatch old favorites we don't have time to cover over the 3 weeks.
Uncle Charlie inches towards young Charlie, his secret about to burst from her naive lips. She knows too much. Uncle Charlie slowly turns around and walks back up the staircase, a threatening ferocity in his eyes as he turns around to see her still standing.
I slowly divert my eyes from the screen to notice a girl sitting on the opposite side of the room, her glance completely transfixed on this classic Hitchcock climax. As the music began to pulse she smiled with awe, utterly taken by the scene. My heart begins to beat faster and I let the scene take me as she has, the suspense pushing me towards the edge.
I notice these instances throughout the films we watch. The Hitchcock climax starts its slow descent. Grace Kelly breaks into the house of the suspect, Mr. Thorwald, to grab the evidence only to be met by the man himself. Jimmy Stewart, restricted to a wheelchair can only watch through the window as Thorwald violently grabs her and throws her across the room.
I see a man sitting in the front row, discontent tugging at the edges of his face. He winces when Thorwald begins to shake Kelly, there is nothing he can do either but watch helplessly.
I love this.
Never have I noticed more audience identification with whats transpiring on screen than I have in a room full of people watching a Hitchcock film.
Film is so beautiful. Everything about it. Its power to control emotions, persuade, among other human qualities is so sincere.
It helps when you have a master like Hitchcock at the reigns too.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Call it a guilty pleasure...
Okay, so here's the game, if your tagged just write where you'd want to wake up tomorrow. No rules anywhere, any place anytime. And don't just say, Florida, or, the beach, describe it. Why there? What makes it so special. OKAY GO !
I must preface this with the fact that I know this will be extremely over-the-top, but after reading Landan's, I was inspired.
I want to wake up in a huge bed. And the excess space doesn't matter because "the girl" and I are entwined together in one corner. It's the middle of the day, and we are napping. And I don't like napping, but I have a feeling I will after this day. The room is any room, messy or clean, old or new. There's just one window, a big window that looks out over a landscape. The sun gently falls across the hardwood floor. I wake up because her hair tickles my nose. She shifts, closer, her head nestled under my chin. There are no sounds or smells, just the sound of her breathing, the smell of her hair. A wave of contention comes across my mind with the endless possibilities of the day.
I must preface this with the fact that I know this will be extremely over-the-top, but after reading Landan's, I was inspired.
I want to wake up in a huge bed. And the excess space doesn't matter because "the girl" and I are entwined together in one corner. It's the middle of the day, and we are napping. And I don't like napping, but I have a feeling I will after this day. The room is any room, messy or clean, old or new. There's just one window, a big window that looks out over a landscape. The sun gently falls across the hardwood floor. I wake up because her hair tickles my nose. She shifts, closer, her head nestled under my chin. There are no sounds or smells, just the sound of her breathing, the smell of her hair. A wave of contention comes across my mind with the endless possibilities of the day.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Reverie
It begins on the cusp of a dream.
I am running from something, through an open field on a paisley carpet. I am not scared, I just know that I must run. I am in an empty hallway illuminated by incandescent lights on a sterile tile floor and I dissolve through to the floor below, my father and I watching an HBO TV show in a modest looking hotel room.
I wake up suddenly, in a daze, feeling for the alarm on the other side of the room. It's placed there to insure that I wake up fully as I stumble across the length of the room.
My conscious mind flashes on like a strobe and an image of her is instantly projected on to my eyelids, like a shot, nervous elation filling my stomach.
I snap out of the trance, realizing I must begin the day.
I place my keys by the cracked open window, change into my shorts, lace up my shoes, grab my iPod, and head out the door to the nearest treadmill.
Running is the middle ground between the daze of sleep and the surge of reality.
I am free to think childish selfish thoughts, unfiltered by my half-awake mind. My imagination is running rampant. I fantasize about short film ideas that I excitedly write down once the elapsed time hits 22:02.
As I shower, my mind is finally in its normal state. The disposition of the day has finally began to weigh down on me. I go through the mindless routine of getting ready.
The slam of the door behind me as I leave my room lets me know the day has begun.
Walking from class to class is a transitional period my mind takes full advantage of. Thoughts weave through my brain at blurred speeds. My body merely a vessel for this overbearing wave of rational and irrational thought.
Other times, my mind sits in silence.
The music flowing through my ears suppressing any sort of thought. My eyes are lenses, my mind a camera. I am a documentarian filming day to day life with hopes of capturing something beautiful and real.
I focus in on two people standing to the side a way ahead of me. They are dressed head to toe in black, the cuffs of their pants lay like abandoned parachutes on the cracked pavement. Slipknot on one shirt, black stripes overtaking white stripes on the other.
Before my mind passes some harsh undeserved judgment on both, one of them erupts in laughter.
And at that moment, I realize that we are one in the same person. I am reminded of their humanity by this outburst of human emotion. I couldn't help but smile to myself, sharing in her joy and realizing my foolishness.
I am running from something, through an open field on a paisley carpet. I am not scared, I just know that I must run. I am in an empty hallway illuminated by incandescent lights on a sterile tile floor and I dissolve through to the floor below, my father and I watching an HBO TV show in a modest looking hotel room.
I wake up suddenly, in a daze, feeling for the alarm on the other side of the room. It's placed there to insure that I wake up fully as I stumble across the length of the room.
My conscious mind flashes on like a strobe and an image of her is instantly projected on to my eyelids, like a shot, nervous elation filling my stomach.
I snap out of the trance, realizing I must begin the day.
I place my keys by the cracked open window, change into my shorts, lace up my shoes, grab my iPod, and head out the door to the nearest treadmill.
Running is the middle ground between the daze of sleep and the surge of reality.
I am free to think childish selfish thoughts, unfiltered by my half-awake mind. My imagination is running rampant. I fantasize about short film ideas that I excitedly write down once the elapsed time hits 22:02.
As I shower, my mind is finally in its normal state. The disposition of the day has finally began to weigh down on me. I go through the mindless routine of getting ready.
The slam of the door behind me as I leave my room lets me know the day has begun.
Walking from class to class is a transitional period my mind takes full advantage of. Thoughts weave through my brain at blurred speeds. My body merely a vessel for this overbearing wave of rational and irrational thought.
Other times, my mind sits in silence.
The music flowing through my ears suppressing any sort of thought. My eyes are lenses, my mind a camera. I am a documentarian filming day to day life with hopes of capturing something beautiful and real.
I focus in on two people standing to the side a way ahead of me. They are dressed head to toe in black, the cuffs of their pants lay like abandoned parachutes on the cracked pavement. Slipknot on one shirt, black stripes overtaking white stripes on the other.
Before my mind passes some harsh undeserved judgment on both, one of them erupts in laughter.
And at that moment, I realize that we are one in the same person. I am reminded of their humanity by this outburst of human emotion. I couldn't help but smile to myself, sharing in her joy and realizing my foolishness.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Held my breath for too long...
That itching, nagging, longing, worried feeling
I thought I knew it well
Until I felt its clench on my heart strings yet again
The thought of her
I am writing poetry
I am pacing my apartment
I am holding my chest
I am breathing fast
She doesn’t have my number
Yet I wait for her call
I long to see her face
And we’ve only met twice
I long to make her smile
I want to make her swoon
I want her to tell her friends
I want to be the one
I thought I knew it well
Until I felt its clench on my heart strings yet again
The thought of her
I am writing poetry
I am pacing my apartment
I am holding my chest
I am breathing fast
She doesn’t have my number
Yet I wait for her call
I long to see her face
And we’ve only met twice
I long to make her smile
I want to make her swoon
I want her to tell her friends
I want to be the one
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Ughhhhh I love film and a review of Before Sunset and Panic Room
I know I love film to the extent that I do when it's rare for me to find a movie I really hate. Sometimes I feel like every other film I watch I love, 10/10, perfect. I can see through it and understand what the director was going for, even if the film itself is by no means perfect. I build it up too much in my head, the second viewing of the film a disappointment because it doesn't live up to expectation.
I just love the moving image (and still image for that matter) with such a passion that I can find something, one thing about a film that I take away with me.
I do, however, have a critical eye. I watched Panic Room last night and was horribly disappointed. I really find it hard to believe that a film connoisseur like David Fincher directed it. I mean I guess you have to give it props from a technical stand point. There was some incredible cinematography and special effects. But at its base, one of the worst scripts I've ever seen failed to hold the film together. I really don't even want to talk about it. It was stupid.
Now Before Sunset on the other hand, was incredible. Simply put, it was two people with a romantic past walking and talking for 80 minutes. But it completely worked. It was so raw and believable that you were sucked into their lives for the films duration. To be able to keep the audiences attention for 80 minutes while only walking and talking is a feat and both Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy do so masterfully. Director, Richard Linklater does a great job of standing on the side letting the actors do their thing. I was just so impressed by the pacing of the film. It's a big risk for the film to have its climax near its ending, especially with the given circumstances. There's no time for the viewer to anticipate what will be said next because they are constantly talking. That's what makes the climax and pacing work so well.
Not only that, but the improvised script is a beautiful testament to "love". It's a realistic story you can't help relating to. The film stays with you in the hours (and most likely days) after the initial viewing. I loved it.
I just love the moving image (and still image for that matter) with such a passion that I can find something, one thing about a film that I take away with me.
I do, however, have a critical eye. I watched Panic Room last night and was horribly disappointed. I really find it hard to believe that a film connoisseur like David Fincher directed it. I mean I guess you have to give it props from a technical stand point. There was some incredible cinematography and special effects. But at its base, one of the worst scripts I've ever seen failed to hold the film together. I really don't even want to talk about it. It was stupid.
Now Before Sunset on the other hand, was incredible. Simply put, it was two people with a romantic past walking and talking for 80 minutes. But it completely worked. It was so raw and believable that you were sucked into their lives for the films duration. To be able to keep the audiences attention for 80 minutes while only walking and talking is a feat and both Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy do so masterfully. Director, Richard Linklater does a great job of standing on the side letting the actors do their thing. I was just so impressed by the pacing of the film. It's a big risk for the film to have its climax near its ending, especially with the given circumstances. There's no time for the viewer to anticipate what will be said next because they are constantly talking. That's what makes the climax and pacing work so well.
Not only that, but the improvised script is a beautiful testament to "love". It's a realistic story you can't help relating to. The film stays with you in the hours (and most likely days) after the initial viewing. I loved it.
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