ARTheodore

Crossing the intersection to get onto the freeway on ramp I'm forced behind Cinema Verite driving; his mise-en-shot is not my ideal scene.  Luckily this is a short.  He soon decides to change lanes and a new lead man takes his place.  After a few moments I become sick of his role and wish he would animate himself, so I motivate him to do this with a few loud notes of background music.  His response to my choice of motivation needs a voice over so I quickly zoom freeze around him, making sure I whip pan around the set first, so as to not get hit.  While beside his vehicle I notice that this bad act must not have been his first, considering its

I am lowercase.  Sometimes bolded. I am not underlined.  Ever. I am also never italicized.  This is because I am cursive. There is no sense in italicized cursive, and I create sense. Sense of the heart, of the mind, of the fingertips, I am a fingerprint. A miniscule pattern seemingly no different from the next, but which always has it’s own way. I write like nobody’s watching. Most always I feel that I’ve thought of something more than words.  Most always I see intricate artwork comprised of letters and symbols, covering a wall and crawling up onto the ceiling. And then when I compress it into words and slap it betwe

Lined with cracked, rough wooden logs bound to drill splinters into any hand to come near, the small sand box is littered with forgotten pieces of misshapen plastic that were previously shovels colored yellow or red; they are now charred black.  Surrounding the box are many jagged tree stumps and a large brick wall; spaces between black streaks covering almost the entire wall reveal scarcely legible initials, hearts, and profanity.  On this wall near what used to be a tall, lush maple a simply drawn dog is depicted relieving itself on the trunk. A dull plastic slide that once resided beneath the maple is scarred with dirt and scorch marks.  

“Who the hell could believe that?”  Randal P. McMurphy is questioning George W. Bush with a tone of voice that makes George take a few steps backward with his point of view. “Mr. McMurphy, if our troops do not remain in Iraq and finish what they’ve started, not only will America look weak but we will suffer serious consequences that you obviously fail to understand.” Countering his opponent’s beginning to a seemingly eloquent argument, Randal inquires, “and these consequences are?”  After a long pause from the lectern to his right a thrilled shriek raises from behind him.  Randal’s head campaign

How could you do this? Why would you do this? I would have preferred that you slowly… lower me… into a vat of acid. Truly. But now, because you would NOT pleasure me via meat grinder on every individual limb, I bite down on my finger. It hurts… so bad. I press my knuckles into my gritting teeth. It does cease the vibrations in my bones. My foot won’t stop jittering. Stomach won’t stop lurching. Wanna curl into the fetal position and stay. I wallow. Tugging down on my eyelids, Stinging eyes that produced these wet cheeks, these pathetic sniffles… YOUR FAULT Wanna curl into the fetal position.

The grains of sand sink under my feet in a chill.  The waves swiftly tumble the rocks up to shore.  I look above me to see strips of cotton candy floating in the soft purple sky. "I see beauty," I say. "Look longer," he replied.  I crouch down and pick up a rainbow shell, the sun glimmers on it as I move it in my hand, inspecting it like a scientist.  Then the shine dulls, I look up and the sun is half gone, it quickly slips behind the ocean.  The cotton candy above the sun has been dipped in blueberry juice.  I put down the shell I am holding and look around. "There is nothing left to see, I would like to go home now". "You still have mu

Caked in all those lies it's that mastermind disguise the one I barely see through. Playing with my mind your puppetry disguise I'm tangled up in your strings. Won't you just let me go? Untie me set me free but don't hurt me, please. I'm tired of everything you stand for thinking of you is never any fun... anymore. I miss the old flare but it was never really there, now was it? Longing to run run far far away wishing to escape to a much happier place. A wide open field of Freedom. 'Cause you wouldn't be there I'd be free without you. Can't leave you can't be without you can't breathe without you don't wanna even liv

In a land where birds never learn to fly because they've been glued to their nests, where fish fall downstream and freeze to death, for motivation has been put to rest. The wind gives up and the clouds disperse and the trees and flowers heel over. And as I tilt my head to look at the sky I don't have to close my eyes. The sun is gone, it's long been dead and a constant chill surrounds me. Look through the mass of what used to be trees I think my eyes have given up, too, I must be seeing things, right? No?  Is it real?  Is there somebody there? Oh well, I don't really care. All I'm up for is lying here limp on the cold hard excuse fo