I am Atlas

I am my Grandfather's wristwatch,

still-framed - reaching my left hand

across into eye's reach

the weight of the world

unsteady across my shoulders.

I am a bloom in the shade

stretching my neck

towards sunlight waiting

for rain to fall on fresh petals.

The droplets strobing down,

I am the time it takes each splatter

to move under foundations

of the stone beneath

your cellar--I am the mortar

holding your insides together,

safe from the downpour.

I am the lock and I am the key

on an old wooden frame.

I am the light illuminating your shame;

I am the crooked chair you'll sit on

when it rains.

Untuned Melody

His words like ice,

swords that slice the center

of my gravity--devoid of meaning,

weighing down like a rain covered tarp.

"Win some, lose some," he says,

as I pick up the paint brush,

making delicate strokes along the baselines

of a room meant for his lover.

But I was there, I swear I was,

splitting wood in the sideyard,

mowing lawns, and going to golf outings.

He erased me every chance he got.

I was a mole in his basement - blind

and without a place to hide, open

for all interpretation and malice.

His smile was like a full moon

on a star filled night, blocking out

the serenity of everything surrounding it.

His chortle a constant beckoning

for me to bequeath some misplaced vanity

between only the two of us.

The way he chewed his gum, mouth slightly open,

mashing two sets of dentures together;

the way he softly hummed the lullabies

of his favorite country tunes

reminded me of younger days--

rides in an attached seat on vintage bicycles.

Removing training wheels and falling

asleep on his lap while mowing the lawn.

I was there; I swear I was.

But our song sang like an untuned melody,

chords that would never sing in rhyme.

Lament of the Phoenix

From a distant mountain

looking down upon the past,

I witnessed the great tornadoes

that haunted me so vast.

Within this recognition,

I set my camp and fire;

rustling feathers, I gathered twigs,

and set them on my pyre.

And on that very evening,

asleep amongst the stars,

I dreamt of those tornadoes

which enclosed me in these bars.

When I awoke, I knew it true,

these tears could never heal,

my memories so deep and sweeping

would forever color blue.

Missing Pieces

He sits upright in bed staring at the white wall, thinking about life. About how he wants to hit snooze again and forget he's alive. About how he knows he's going to get yelled at for being late again. What does it matter though? He doesn't care about his boss; in fact he barely even cares about his job. He barely ever shows affection towards anyone these days, head turned to the ground, eyes lonesome. He feels like a part of him is missing, like someone reached inside his chest and pulled out the piece of him he tried so many years to keep a hold of. He looks at the world differently now, the expressions on faces, the smiles he knew were never real. He tells himself the dream will end soon. He laughs, wishing every morning has never made it come true; he asks anyway. Stumbling out of bed he kicks through the clothes on the floor deciding which skin to wear today. Arrogance, fear, depression, he keeps kicking, grief, pity. Pulling fear over his head he knows grief is not far behind. Fear for what? Fear for living, for his dream, for the next morning when he wakes up kicking the same shit, asking the same questions. Grief for what? Grief for the fear he has walking through the halls seeing smiling faces, for the part of himself he lost. Where did that go anyway? Maybe it was too sweet and time melted it away in the heat of the days. The long nights with endless dimes and blank stares. It was only a matter of time, he thought, before it dissolved away.

Saved by the Storm

I walk outside and fire up a cigarette. The vivid display of nature in the sky reminds me that some things in life are still beautiful. Taking a drink of my beer I cough from the desecration of smoke traveling through my body. It pushes deeper and deeper until my mouth begins to salivate and I think of all the nights puking in drunken pity-parties. I can taste the salami sandwich I ate two hours ago as the insides explode from my body. I'm not even drunk, but still, I get sick. All the thoughts no one will appreciate drip from my lips leaving a remorseful taste in my mouth. I feel my body getting hot as another crash of thunder lights the cloudy sky. The rain cools my fever and assures me that I won't combust tonight.

Ink

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1071804/

Jamin Winans’ new film Ink plays with the classical dichotomy between good and evil. While seemingly linear in motion, Winans has a tendency to make his audience work for the meaning behind his films. Ink takes place in a world where several planes of existence are present. In the “dream world” the Storytellers and Incubi reign supreme. The Storytellers are responsible for good dreams while their darker counterpart, the Incubi, conjure nightmares that people of the “real world” experience in their sleep.

The story begins on a wild yet forthcoming tangent by introducing two of the main characters of the story, Emma and her father. We are then driven into the main theme of the film where we are presented with the abilities of the Storytellers and Incubi and their unique gift to give people the seemingly impossible through the imagination of the dream world. And thus the tragic hero Ink comes to the forefront; a disfigured and socially unadjusted wanderer of the dream world.

It is Ink’s belief that by taking a child sacrifice to the leader of the Incubi he will be saved thus making the final transition into becoming an Incubus himself. What Ink does not yet know is that the journey from one child’s bedroom to the lair of the Incubi will be long and distraught and full of challenges both morally and transcendentally.

With a soundtrack written by Jamin Winans himself and a screenplay co-written by his wife, Ink is a truly mesmerizing journey through the enlightening moments of the human experience. This is one film of 2009 that you will not want to miss out on.

Voices of a Distant Star

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0370754/

"Voices Of A Distant Star" is a unique take on romantic relationship torn apart by duty and growing distance to each other. In this case it is the distance of light years, which separates a Mech-Pilot in outer space, from her lover on Earth. Only through SMS can they keep contact with each other and the further the girl travels into space with a fleet of spaceship looking for alien aggressors, the longer her messages take to reach him. Following Einstein's general Theory of Relativity she also ages slower in relationship to him, but the true love they have for each other only grows through the hope of reuniting and sharing their emotion to the fullest.