Cetera Desunt Filma

http://www.youtube.com/user/Ceteradesuntfilma

go there... because you oughta...





you're an oughta..



an Aorta....hehehe


*coughs*

nothing, nothing at all...

and when you look into my eyes... you see... NOTHING...

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sometimes i start writing and i discover that what i've written is to close to "what actually happened"

i hereby declare not to ever write 'what happened'
I hereby declare that I will write the truth. but never what happened.

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Wake up. she's next to me.

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Wake up. she's still here. Who is she. what is this gentle creature whose scent devours me.
Whose very breath fills my soul. Others accuse me of having sort her out, of fighting, of battling.
I disagree; for this divine fortune has in fact found me and gifted me with herself.

Who am I to deserve such favor, such blessing. For I have nothing to give, and nothing within me worthy of such a calling.

Stop. Get up. Leave the bedroom. Downstairs. Coffee is waiting. Clouds swirling. Thoughts of...

a dream. A mighty ship courses through the waves. I am not its captain, but i am close. Second in command; i stand holding the wheel. He is asleep. A man stands beside me watching, learning. perhaps I should be in command, i sense the power drawing me. I can run this ship, i can take command, he is fast asleep and I am running things now. It wouldn't take much...take this officer behind me..pillow over his face..hold it down... We haven't eaten in days, it will look like he just died... clutching at the wheel...palms are sweaty, just let go, just make the decision.... just...
rain beating across my face. teeth clenched... i wake up. she's next to me...

ode to a bucket of soup

exploratory contemporary...


- - -


when I close my eyes I see a man standing on a dune, the sun is setting..clouds flooded with orange and red. he stands alone. motionless. watching the last few minutes of light. he considers the sound of thunder in the distance and staggers himself gently toward it. The sun is gone.

as darkness engulfs him the sounds of his mind begin to be steadily replaced by insects; the occasional bird. a soft wind begins to blow.

the moon rises far above this walking corpse. on his left hand a watch, slightly charred as if by fire, its hands insistent on ticking... sand pours out of a hole in his jacket. every few steps or so the man slips down and grabs a handful of sand, dusting it into his pocket.

out of his inside pocket he pulls a photo. It is of a family. a father, a wife, a son and a sister.
the man looks at this photo for a few moments then scrapes his gloved hand across it before filing it back away safely.

these farcical rituals continue as he walks seemingly towards a bunch of stars nestled in the horizon.