Musings not related to film

This is your grace you’ve given the warmth of your body for. The immortal beauty carved of stone the Romans so desperately treasure. Yours is the face that so many seek, the inescapable gleam of your eyes they have such difficulty defining, enough to make them tremble and pull madly at their hair in a frustrated rage. Your voice, the calming echo for the bereft, their childhood fantasies smeared all over their hollow smiles, as their image of Joan of Arc regal and fair waits lonely in the sunny dew drop fields of fairy tales.  They challenge these fantasies as they sift through the posterized stares of an icon, her fuzzy-headed vacancy stamped in black and white for the silver ink of time to trace forever, with nary a crease of age in your face but a scratch in the celluloid, and being only forgotten in the dusty mortal minds of dreamers.


I see us moving where night is darkest, headlights cutting the road before us. I don’t know where I’m going, but it doesn’t matter. There is an empty valley, laid waste in the greener regions of my mind, a place where faded ambitions burned in the smoldering fires of age. A place where the scatterings of expectations were planted long before I came too in the bright dawn of a May morning. Where it wasn’t until now that I tumbled forth and discovered the ruins of my home, built in the minds of so many. And now our silver snake growls through this darkened place.

I hardly think of you as a friend anymore, and I see by your stiffened expression you have thought little of me in this. I can’t help but wonder, though, what is it that tunnels through your mind? How far are you willing to go, before a spark ignites all that was left behind, and you howl with the cold gasp of air that fills the silent spaces between us? Where did we drift off? What combination of grand failures, romantic successes, and quiet lunacy, led two friends to become strays of one and other. What was it that lead us here, thundering aimlessly, running from the crazed familiarity of our home?

Just drive, and let the flashing of the street lamps answer for us. The steady repetition of the road will sort out all our transgressions. We’ll be forgotten, and we’ll forget each other, wherever we end up.

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