Midnight Palace
Vendor
- Messages
- 640
- Location
- Hollywood, CA
Memory
We all have memory. We have a built in loop of videotape footage we can replay anytime we want to. People sometimes remember things that they DON'T remember and quickly dismiss them as mind shrapnel from unknown directions. These are perhaps the most important and persistant of memories. It's amazing that society replies on computers to organize their lives, when computers are man-made....bringing about a contradiction....in that, we are not capable of keeping our own order, but feel that something we've invented can. The same "disorder" was in place when the computer was being invented, yet suddenly we expect it to lose its flaws and properly govern us. We want to create robotic versions of ourselves....even though our robotic military must reply on us to upgrade its memory....and our own is ever expanding for the simple fact of just being.
Crossing
Crossing. Expansion is not something that appears by default with age....a pessimist's pessimism runs along side of him blocking all optimism trying to make contact. He allows it to remain his jogging partner. He must decide to run solo. It's his decision. When two roads cross....the first thing they do before crossing, is smash into each other. They clash, each struggling for the right to cut through the earth. Then suddenly, in the overlap, they find a way to coexist, they recognize their differences, their unique paths and appreciate them for what they are. At the exact moment after this takes place, both roads then move beyond each other, stretching....reaching outward....flying horizontally towards the meeting of ground and sky....while still maintaining their bond forever in that one moment of compromise. Even if it is left miles behind, they'll always know it's there. They now work together for the greater purpose of direction.
The Flow
There is no person more fortunate than an old soul with a young spirit. It is a virtual backstroke through water that runs so fluidly, you can hardly believe it holds the weight of someone carrying the world's confusion in their mind...and contradicting it in their heart. Your arms reach back and touch familiar territories then help usher them in front of you. Life and liquid are stunningly similar. They both move unobstructed by form when allowed to....only the internal mapquest of ripples decide what highways exist.
The Base Of The Road
I stand at the base of the road, staring ahead at things so much more grand than myself. Behind me lies accomplishment. Though minuscule in comparison to previous expectations, still perfect in that it brought me to this point, where I stand....at the base of the road.
I have things that others do not, just as others have things I do not. We interact with each other in the smallest fragments of conversation. A handshake here and debate there, leaves us both walking away with new pieces of our life story. It's possible that our paths may never cross again in this world, but for a short time they did, and our meeting is forever solidified....at the base of the road.
Just as time floats in a continuous stream, never divided as people would like to believe, so does this journey. We leave markers along the way, memories, flares that shoot up into the sky, only to illuminate what we've clouded with mistakes. We have the ability to go back into that mental filing cabinet, and it can never be outdated for the simple fact that it's resurfacing makes it a brand new recollection in that individual moment. The life is a collection of chapters, filled with photographs of places we've been and those we've known. Here I am, still holding mine protectively....at the base of the road.
I believe that tomorrow is a city, yesterday is a town and today is a neighborhood. We are like interstates, some of us suffer through more potholes and construction, but our power to connect is never lost. There is an event, a smile, an applause and friend. There is a birth, a loss, a surprise and a granted wish. All of these elements show great patience for me to find them. They never tire or complain as they wait in the shadows of silence.....anticipating my arrival.....at the base of the road.
That Which Remains
The night has a thousand memories holding conversations with each other. From the elementary decisions made to the moments of utmost significance...all retain equal space in the breeze.
Somewhere, in a house surrounded by the oblivious or indifferent armies of the outside, a family has received word of a relative's passing, a husband has launched into a drunken expression of his opinions, a mother has worried about her child's well being, a television has provoked laughter and sadness in a one hour time slot...
...and that which remains is optimism....that the following day will erase the reality before it.
The day can hold a grudge or set one free. In the neighborhoods and cities where money is the fuel that powers the machine of man's greed, tasks are invented to collect the golden tickets. From the hard-working man sweeping the restaurant to the cigar-chewing kingpin entertaining a mistress on the 37th floor....all continue in search of the same gain, though society places them classes apart.
Somewhere, in a quick twist of fate surrounded by on-lookers who take their afternoon for granted, a man is fired...rendering tomorrow's meal uncertain, a dime dropped in a cup gives the unfortunate a reason to hope, a handshake with the right person changes a job title...
...and that which remains is belief...that karma has a good sense of direction.
She Thought She Knew (Short Story)
She always wanted to live beyond her means...all the while struggling to understand what it means to live beyond.
She was his slave.....this giver of gifts and all of his promises. He was her everything.
In her darkest hours, he presented the most expensive lamps. He wiped her tears in the finest linens, he covered her emptiness in designer fashion.
She longed for him where he didn't belong. She traded her better judgment for a new house. She bargained her patience away for the latest model in the showroom. He gave and he gave, and the price tags were never considered.
In the hallways of her soul where the windows were locked, the light from the outside could be seen but not felt. This giver of gifts would never turn his face into the rays. Yet she remained his slave, and he remained unidentifiable.
"What you want...I can give you.", he said. "Think with all of your human priorities what would please you the most and it will appear before you". She closed her eyes and traveled the corridors, watching her years slide backwards.....her appearance getting younger and deceased relatives resurfacing. Her grandparents waived goodbye to her as she floated in reverse and watched them get further away....she could almost still hear her grandfather telling his wife he loved her for sentimental reasons in his best Nat King Cole impression. So quickly it blurred and faded in time. The snapping of fingers....
"Well have you decided what you want?", he asked impatiently. "Yes", she answered. "I want to be free. I want to cry because I'm overjoyed, not because I'm afraid. I want to run because I'm energetic, not because I'm being chased. I want to laugh because I remember the good times, not because I'm covering lies with fabricated innocence. Can you give me that?"
He looked at her with anger. "DO NOT ask me with your heart and soul!!!! DO NOT ask me with your mind, ask me with the voice that swears, the voice that screams, the voice that whines with pain and seethes with envy!!! Ask me in that voice!!!!!!", he demanded.
"But I cannot ask for these things with greed, they have no business with each other. I will not be able to carry the weight of your gifts in my new found freedom....and as I've told you, I want to be free." she replied.
Her giver of gifts faded, bearing his hollowing black eyes and claws before vanishing.......and in his absence, the windows in the hallways of her soul unlocked. A swift wind lifted the rusted frames and sun broke through....turning the floors golden.
If you've gotten through it, thanks for reading
We all have memory. We have a built in loop of videotape footage we can replay anytime we want to. People sometimes remember things that they DON'T remember and quickly dismiss them as mind shrapnel from unknown directions. These are perhaps the most important and persistant of memories. It's amazing that society replies on computers to organize their lives, when computers are man-made....bringing about a contradiction....in that, we are not capable of keeping our own order, but feel that something we've invented can. The same "disorder" was in place when the computer was being invented, yet suddenly we expect it to lose its flaws and properly govern us. We want to create robotic versions of ourselves....even though our robotic military must reply on us to upgrade its memory....and our own is ever expanding for the simple fact of just being.
Crossing
Crossing. Expansion is not something that appears by default with age....a pessimist's pessimism runs along side of him blocking all optimism trying to make contact. He allows it to remain his jogging partner. He must decide to run solo. It's his decision. When two roads cross....the first thing they do before crossing, is smash into each other. They clash, each struggling for the right to cut through the earth. Then suddenly, in the overlap, they find a way to coexist, they recognize their differences, their unique paths and appreciate them for what they are. At the exact moment after this takes place, both roads then move beyond each other, stretching....reaching outward....flying horizontally towards the meeting of ground and sky....while still maintaining their bond forever in that one moment of compromise. Even if it is left miles behind, they'll always know it's there. They now work together for the greater purpose of direction.
The Flow
There is no person more fortunate than an old soul with a young spirit. It is a virtual backstroke through water that runs so fluidly, you can hardly believe it holds the weight of someone carrying the world's confusion in their mind...and contradicting it in their heart. Your arms reach back and touch familiar territories then help usher them in front of you. Life and liquid are stunningly similar. They both move unobstructed by form when allowed to....only the internal mapquest of ripples decide what highways exist.
The Base Of The Road
I stand at the base of the road, staring ahead at things so much more grand than myself. Behind me lies accomplishment. Though minuscule in comparison to previous expectations, still perfect in that it brought me to this point, where I stand....at the base of the road.
I have things that others do not, just as others have things I do not. We interact with each other in the smallest fragments of conversation. A handshake here and debate there, leaves us both walking away with new pieces of our life story. It's possible that our paths may never cross again in this world, but for a short time they did, and our meeting is forever solidified....at the base of the road.
Just as time floats in a continuous stream, never divided as people would like to believe, so does this journey. We leave markers along the way, memories, flares that shoot up into the sky, only to illuminate what we've clouded with mistakes. We have the ability to go back into that mental filing cabinet, and it can never be outdated for the simple fact that it's resurfacing makes it a brand new recollection in that individual moment. The life is a collection of chapters, filled with photographs of places we've been and those we've known. Here I am, still holding mine protectively....at the base of the road.
I believe that tomorrow is a city, yesterday is a town and today is a neighborhood. We are like interstates, some of us suffer through more potholes and construction, but our power to connect is never lost. There is an event, a smile, an applause and friend. There is a birth, a loss, a surprise and a granted wish. All of these elements show great patience for me to find them. They never tire or complain as they wait in the shadows of silence.....anticipating my arrival.....at the base of the road.
That Which Remains
The night has a thousand memories holding conversations with each other. From the elementary decisions made to the moments of utmost significance...all retain equal space in the breeze.
Somewhere, in a house surrounded by the oblivious or indifferent armies of the outside, a family has received word of a relative's passing, a husband has launched into a drunken expression of his opinions, a mother has worried about her child's well being, a television has provoked laughter and sadness in a one hour time slot...
...and that which remains is optimism....that the following day will erase the reality before it.
The day can hold a grudge or set one free. In the neighborhoods and cities where money is the fuel that powers the machine of man's greed, tasks are invented to collect the golden tickets. From the hard-working man sweeping the restaurant to the cigar-chewing kingpin entertaining a mistress on the 37th floor....all continue in search of the same gain, though society places them classes apart.
Somewhere, in a quick twist of fate surrounded by on-lookers who take their afternoon for granted, a man is fired...rendering tomorrow's meal uncertain, a dime dropped in a cup gives the unfortunate a reason to hope, a handshake with the right person changes a job title...
...and that which remains is belief...that karma has a good sense of direction.
She Thought She Knew (Short Story)
She always wanted to live beyond her means...all the while struggling to understand what it means to live beyond.
She was his slave.....this giver of gifts and all of his promises. He was her everything.
In her darkest hours, he presented the most expensive lamps. He wiped her tears in the finest linens, he covered her emptiness in designer fashion.
She longed for him where he didn't belong. She traded her better judgment for a new house. She bargained her patience away for the latest model in the showroom. He gave and he gave, and the price tags were never considered.
In the hallways of her soul where the windows were locked, the light from the outside could be seen but not felt. This giver of gifts would never turn his face into the rays. Yet she remained his slave, and he remained unidentifiable.
"What you want...I can give you.", he said. "Think with all of your human priorities what would please you the most and it will appear before you". She closed her eyes and traveled the corridors, watching her years slide backwards.....her appearance getting younger and deceased relatives resurfacing. Her grandparents waived goodbye to her as she floated in reverse and watched them get further away....she could almost still hear her grandfather telling his wife he loved her for sentimental reasons in his best Nat King Cole impression. So quickly it blurred and faded in time. The snapping of fingers....
"Well have you decided what you want?", he asked impatiently. "Yes", she answered. "I want to be free. I want to cry because I'm overjoyed, not because I'm afraid. I want to run because I'm energetic, not because I'm being chased. I want to laugh because I remember the good times, not because I'm covering lies with fabricated innocence. Can you give me that?"
He looked at her with anger. "DO NOT ask me with your heart and soul!!!! DO NOT ask me with your mind, ask me with the voice that swears, the voice that screams, the voice that whines with pain and seethes with envy!!! Ask me in that voice!!!!!!", he demanded.
"But I cannot ask for these things with greed, they have no business with each other. I will not be able to carry the weight of your gifts in my new found freedom....and as I've told you, I want to be free." she replied.
Her giver of gifts faded, bearing his hollowing black eyes and claws before vanishing.......and in his absence, the windows in the hallways of her soul unlocked. A swift wind lifted the rusted frames and sun broke through....turning the floors golden.
If you've gotten through it, thanks for reading
