life imitates art

I lost my moleskin (I hope someone returns it) so alot of these are fuzzy.
thoughts have been discerning me this and last week.

sky:
After watching "Elephant", I began to ponder why the sky was such a popular metaphor for artist to allude to (particulary the reason it was used in "Elephant"). I came to realize that the sky reflects human's insecurity, forloness, and all around ambiguity (god, I love that word). The sky schedules are day but we can't think of it as personal for it is not exclusive to the earth. This only brings out the fear of the unknown. In "Elephant" it was used as something that can't be ignored (much like it's title animal) yet is vastly unpredictable. The sky is one of the greatest human wonders that reaches into our despair of the future and our own beliefs. Of course, this is only my theory.

flying
This one isn't as philosophical or certain (it's more inquisitive if anything), but why are violens and various string instruments associated with flying? I wondered if I was the only one that got the feeling of hovering high above landscapes when a song either broke into or used violens singularly for the effect. I don't know much about music (as in reading it and so on), but is this intention purposeful? Do artist try to accomplish this effect? or am I just different from everyone else? A theory could be that the strings serve the same piercing effect wind can have, but yet have an airy depth to create the illusion of elevation, but I might be wrong.

the rest.
curve. candy. lie. dance.

Man, I need that black book back.
posted by Justin at 7:49 PM

quitism rules!

wordy crap.

an awkward air:
An awkward air between them, he falsely goes through papers tediously, as she plays with her once finely prepared hair harder and harder, but to a skillfully unnoticeable degree. A quick slight glance is common, but hardly discreet. A Hollowness is shared within them sparks smallest tasks into acted faults that consequently embarrass and encase them in grief.
A neurotically spasmed elbow frees a pencil to the ground from his desk. Now they share something between them, a furiously chewed and dull pencil. The pencil is now the star as wishful eyes are hypnotized in all the conclusions of its possible glory. Fate is the only tone that seems to be present, although it is truly destiny who will decide. Both waiting to be carried by the others actions, the pencil’s subconscious shine begins to grow thin.
In an act of faith guided by the possibilities, she bends down as if she doesn’t care and lazily returns the pencil.
“Thanks.” He says almost as if it were involuntary.
“Ya’” She responds coldly without a glance, silently under her breath as her eyes wander across her glasses imitating to study the few sheets of paper on her desk. She wanted to embrace, but couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Not today; maybe not ever. He pulled out another pencil and placed it at edge of his desk, that flirted with the ideology.

that'll
“That’ll be $1.35, sir,” the employee said.
The customer, Peter, a gawky teenager with no distinct qualities, leisurely handed him two crumpled dollar bills. The employee has a bit of trouble using the cash register; he tries calmly yet frantically to get it to work. He presses the same combination of buttons to a maddening amount of times.
“Keep the change.” Peter said restlessly while beginning to exit.
“Thanks” the employee murmurs under his breath as his frustration heightens.
Peter walked home the remaining block, guided by the adjacent city street lights that glowed in the pearly white fog. It was hardly night time, but it was gray as morning. Enjoying the warm jets of air and cotton matted clouds, he rejected time and strolled an unhurried pace. He hadn’t treated himself to a bakery treat in quite some time; he gazed out into the endless city across a bridge. The ferocious cars, and eternal niggling construction did not faze him.
At home was an ordinary practice of his usual routines. He slept three good dreams, and four misfortunate that were forgotten as they ended.
Along with the morning, he woke up with a new appreciation for the day. He walked to the bus with a open mind to what would lead to and a modest smirk on his face. As the bus approached, he dug in his pocket to only be empty handed of the deposit he would have to make to board. Almost immediately his mood swung into a recovery depression, as he watched the bus mock him with a gigantic and thunderous roar.
Before he could turn the corner, the unexpected happened. A gigantic crash caught Peter’s attention as with everyone near him. With a reaction glance back the bus was on it’s side with cries and screams that awoke a sleepless city. Glass could’ve been mistaken for asphalt, as the red of the curb with dying blood. A cold wind rushed towards him and he withstood it, along with memories of the now deceased. Was it a ghost? A spirit? A soul?
Thinking to himself what luck. Standing next to the bakery, he could see the rebellious cash register that still held his change, just enough for a bus ride.

the rest.
virgin. clouds. dith. ice.

Awful, awful, awful.
posted by Justin at 7:49 PM