there is just something about this ‘poem’ that i adore.. check it out.. it’s from the film ‘me and you and everyone we know‘…. it’s just kinda misquoted….
i going to be free,
and i going to be brave,
and i going to live each day,
as if it were my last.
and in the dark of the night,
and it does get dark,
when i call a name,
it will be your name.
what’s your name?
even though we’re scared,
kuz it’s life,
and it’s happening,
it’s really really happening,
The slightest breeze subtly shifted the warm summer air as they laid initially facing each other on a large flat and crisp segment of lawn. Jill who was dressed in a long-denim skirt and a white tank top and Chris in kakis-coloured cargo shorts, with a trendy dark t-shirt on, both felt totally carefree and somewhat astonished with their success in gaining a semblance of privacy albeit being merely steps away from a public display of a large custom-made structure in a downtown park. To them, laying on the ground was not something to avoid, despite its obvious coarse, brown, and dried-up appearance, but rather it was a remarkably perfect venue to aid in experiencing the absolute last few moments of sunshine each day in recent memory had seemed to deliver to them.
That evening the skies were predominately blue, yet in the ever-approaching distance there was a scattered haze of darkness that essentially littered the sky with apparent disorder. Somewhat unfazed by this imminent chaos, Chris continued to look deeply into the blues of the sky which distinctly reminded him of all the possibilities life could bring. The combination of this deep gaze and his close proximity with his favourite person in the whole world, produced a complete sense of joy within him – sustaining confidence in his identity, goals, and his ongoing ability to succeed as young and healthy Canadian.
Jill on the other hand, laid there feeling somewhat awkward with the sensations she was encountering as a result of this early evening event. As she laid there holding Chris’ hand in love, and as he enjoyed the possibilities of the blue skies, she found herself struggling to withstand a persuasive allurement that the darkness of the approaching haze seemed to furiously produce inside of her. Jill did not understand how such a fascination with a mysterious overcast could suddenly and so strongly exist, yet she quickly accepted that fact as she became energized with the possibility of conflict this haze could bring.
(A) write your own paragraph or two and post them as comments (remember to build on existing comments);
(B) wait for someone else to write a paragraph or two and then simply read them; or,
(C) wait for velkr0 to finish the short story, which may take a while.
conflict between a psyche of glamorous and enchanting thought; unyielding and engrossing emotion; and a physical existence filled with prosaic habitual behaviour and capacity.
The curiosity was so awesome from a pair of forces flawlessly equal in magnitude. Their actions were running in parallel; yet their origins completely unknown. With a quick glance and then a pause; their feelings became mutual and a sense of bliss filled their world.
Individual essences became shared; their behaviour so unique amongst the ambience. An inaudible conversation occurred; taking on various forms that went beyond the capability of any spoken word. Body language and dallied actions were screaming out lucid feelings, while suddenly traditional signs of commitment became the keynote of the occurrence.
Despite the observation, their demeanours remained to be increasingly engaged; while their fingers struggled to find objects to fiddle. They noticed the individual actions of each other; both taking turns participating in a implicit succession of personal disclosure.
Then in an instant, the occurrence was over and they somehow knew the event served a particular purpose. Although the conjuncture appeared to be simply coincidental, it touched them on levels beyond a simple unplanned crossing of paths.
sunday morning: relaxed.
streaming internet radio playing, woxy to be exact.
tea in a cup nearby, so nice and warm: sigh.
powerbook on my lap, allowing the internet to fill the gap.
we all sit there, in a silent state, reflecting on the events of our day, we may even be thinking of future plans.. or we may even be sleeping… our heads are bopping up and down and back and forth.. people are watching us… well i am watching you… i am amazed at how you can rest so easily during this time of transit… how the abrupt stops and the countless strangers around you don’t bother you… the bus provides provides you with a safety net of some sort… it feels like you are in a bubble.. a protective shield that is your daily routine… your headphones are on.. and your discman in hand… you are so cute and remind me of something i once had… eyecontact is not even made… a total state of uncertanity is us… a mystery… and then wait.. it’s my stop.. kool.. this bus is quick…
Lost and without purpose on the fringe of a broken track. However, it seems the track is not broken but rather incomplete. It appears that there is some kind of impediment in the way, and regardless of all the planning, this outcome was inevitable. Actually, the problem lies in the fact that the obstacle was purposely avoided during the planning and this primarily occurred since the obstruction could not be accurately forecasted. And now, as a result of this ignorance, the barrier has become larger than ever. What to do? What to do?
The spider webs have nearly annexed every corner of the room. They have connected every deviation and linked the secluded fragments of the room with a mesh of idleness. This produces an almost eerie feeling; the fact that a human routine typically cannot hinder the web. They go untouched, undisturbed, and are usually unnoticed. This mesh resides in life, existing in parallel, resistant to the human effects, and immune to the dilemmas that we all endure. Yet, the spider web has its purpose; it maintains its goal and captures the insects needed for the spiders’ survival; unless someone walks through one, seeing as they immediately become compelled to peel the silk from their face.
The dust has accumulated for so long. It has now merged with the surface of object beneath it. It is no longer these fluffy, weightless particles that reflect in the sun. It has become this gummy substance, a coating of filth that requires great strength to be removed. It smears during attempts to eliminate it; fighting to remain in its claimed place. The dust becomes angry, and you know it. You know the dust will return, no matter what you do. The power the dust cannot be defeated. It has control over you, your life and your belongings. It is a constant chore that you are unable to escape. Appropriate amounts of attention must persistently be granted to the dust. It is needy, annoying and frustrating. The dust has managed to coerce itself upon you. This realization irritates you, and you wonder how the dust can so easily disregard your lack of will and consent for this relationship. The fury builds up in you. You don’t want to believe it, you don’t want to let the dust win, but you soon understand that you don’t have an option. You must accept the dust, welcome it, enjoy it, love it or constantly live in battle, trying to conquer its supremacy.