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My life is film.
Monday. 1.18.10 2:23 am
I've been watching a lot of film recently and not just those flitting films, drenched in modern muscles devoid of brain cells, long colored processed hair with legs forever, or loud noises that drown out those poignant, emotive, and at times, searing cries from humanity. I've been thought provoked.

Cries of self are often left best in silence or lightly muted short strums on quiet instruments, where the light bounces off in it's infinite directions, ready to illuminate our desires. There are those subjects we see in ourselves, those grandiose, enormous, even mammoth in ideology but so permeated in our culture, our society, they lace their fingers through our hair, along our sheets, and into our brains.


Can we exist amongst ourselves, in normalcy, in quiet content solitude, without these monstrosities. Can we be content without the influence they bear on our lives, those strokes of color, slightly imbued, freshly warmed, lingering scents of emotive desire they mark on our beings. Can we live without their art?

I find myself exploring those thoughts I had so quickly, powerfully, fervently, asserted as impossible for myself. Social conventions I'd leave for others. Madness I'd save myself from.


The last being the first, the first being the last. These imaginative beings never fully realities, they trace the very edge of my existence, ever so quietly laying bits of thought, texture, possibility into my consciousness. They breed desire. They breed unwanton thought, explicative actions, irreparable consequences.

but they do produce that which tingles, twinges, balks with fear. They birth possibility.


the crack in impervious declarations of abstinence, the inklings of hope, the first seed to death. The very thought of that with which I desire the least provokes my desire. It all just seems slightly enigmatic thought truly, intensely inane. Comic right? Simple things, normal things, things in which everyone should be simply entitled yet desperately yearn for, I fear I begin to crave.

Crave like a madwoman craves a listening ear and understanding thought. Crave like the forgotten are forgotten. Crave like the coveted desire. I too am realizing my ranks amongst these vagrants of society.

I'm slowly realizing my uniform, testing it's new fit, the rough texture, the fabric starched, yet to be broken in. The shoes with too little padding but enough strength to make the years, the belt with it's smooth surface awaiting it's notches, I'm trying it on. Almost willing to purchase, though my coffers are far from capable of paying it's heady price.

But I see it there, with my name etched in memories amongst the breast. Away it goes, silently awaiting my return, smiling at my acceptance, knowing more then I can.

It's official. I've picked up the ticket, blank with the exception of a single word.



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