the proposal of truth

i'll carve the words into the surface when they won't bleed through it.
tracing forcefully over the words until they read dark and boldly
sometimes we'll make a sacrifice and smash something beautiful just to hear the shatter, even if for a short moment.
giving truth when you can't always give justice.
grasping enough self-control not to allow emotion to motivate me instead of logic when there's a war between the two:  to just walk away sometimes and return when you are at a rational serenity.
knowing just because a feeling is strong now, sometimes you have to hold back because it won't be consistent.  the storm just passing by.  a rainbow in the sky.
saved by new highs from fantasies, fame and lust when you become bored with love:  obsessions with fiction, forgetting about the people who love you.
trying to find a healthy medium between morals and happiness when your desires won't allow balance between the two.
unsure of where to draw the line between living for ourselves and for others without betraying the idea of morals, falling into sin.
memories fade even more by the day, eventually to the point they are so far away from our senses, we could've dreamt them and not really lived them.
knowing the difference between an observation and a judgement when you gossip and hear gossip from others.
don't be fooled by their potentially fraud warmth, for people are not genuine:  they'll manipulate you to get what they want from you, then quickly remove their masks.
i will not be fooled by first, second and even third impressions.  i will not grant someone the honor of positive character until they can prove themselves consistently to me.
for you can change your environment:  but your thoughts, habits and addictions will still follow you.  ideas proposed too soon.
don't have a bias for over-ly sensitive and negative people.  don't have a bias when you have both sides of the story:  for it was never your story to tell.
there are endless combinations of words in this language the two of us have created.  they only make sense to us, but are beautiful to everyone.


-shelly scene

strange girl

a lonely white house with dark red trim rests alone on top of the hill, all dark with the exception of a single glowing window from the t.v. light.  you'll find her inside: she finds faces in the swirls of the wooden walls instead of shapes in the clouds.  the light from the window casts a heavy eerie green glow against the garage outside: tree branches and clusters of hundreds of little leaves dance, throwing their silhouetted shadows against the gleam on a windy night: the leaves like television static: she gets lost in the dim audio.
she's a weird girl.  a solitary girl.
(maybe she's an alien, an alien trapped in a human body.)
her broken heart, stitched by sewing needles and the most lovely corset ribbons
this world won't seem to accept her; so she created her own.
she lives in a bubble:   the bubble accessorized with the decorative details of her imagination
her thoughts, like black and white with color-coordinated confetti revolving around in a fan, at a dangerous speed
she desires only occasional and little company.
she only drinks coffee at 2 a.m.
she lives with her black cats and her book collection.
she fell in love with the night sky:
she adopted the stars in the sky and claims them as her children.
the desserted, quiet streets at night make her feel at peace, at home.
she thinks the sunshine is obnoxious
starlight:  her sunshine
she finds freedom in the shadows, not the spotlight.
 but she is never alone...
she makes friends with her imagination, she lives alone in the shadows.
she loves her moon garden more than she loves people: she talks to the flowers in the moonlight, basking in the white glow
she still has tea parties with the toy teaset she had as a child, with her cats as the party guests: and the ghosts she befriends from the steam pouring from the teapot
when she walks the streets, she shys behind her umbrella, the umbrella she carries with her no matter the weather; lost in the clouds.
a lonely girl with black-and-white striped stockings and thin dark hair, standing alone in the rain holding balloons with her party dress on:  her stuffed animals, her party guests
she lives in a dream world with music as her vessel
she takes comfort and contentment in rainy, gloomy days and darkness.
when she wants the streaks in the sky at a pretty sunset, she draws a picture with her crayons and colored pencils and she has the whole sky in the palm of her hands.
one would never propose introversion can be such a gift
she's a weird girl.


-shelly scene

how social networking and improved technology made us all lazy and socially retarded.

bad habits we have developed from the roots of facebook and other means of social networking and improved technology.  they have made us all socially retarded and lazy in one way or another:


-"it's so much easier to eyeball that hot girl at a party nowadays than work up the balls to walk over and introduce myself, so instead i'll act like a total standoffish douche all night, then add her as a friend on facebook afterwards: "hi! i think i saw you at that party the other night. let me give you my cell phone number so i can continue being a pussy and we can text constantly instead of hanging out and having a face-to-face conversation.""

-"i can't stand that guy! he's friends with my girlfriend on facebook and constantly likes her pictures and leaves links on her page. i'm gonna get just as offended over that as i would if he walked right up to her in front of me and grabbed her ass."

- "i "met" these 3 people at a party last night because they're friends of association: we were introduced and superficially left it at, "hi what's up?", so i'm gonna add them on facebook first thing when i get home later and immediately leave them a comment telling them it was nice meeting them the other night. after this, i'm probably never going to see them again because they live out of town and were only in for a few days, and i'm not gonna talk to them much, if at all on facebook either: i'm going through my friends list and can categorize  several people as ones i "met" once at a party months and even years ago and haven't talked to since."

-"i know that facebook status is about me...it's so much more mature and easier to post that than for her to just send me a message telling me i've been bothering her."


-"that girl is so pretty...my self-esteem is gone.  no, i'm going to take an even HOTTER picture and put it up right now.  the heat's on, bitch."


- "my ex talks to too many other girls on facebook, so i'm gonna take charge becoming a jealous psycho hose beast and add them all as friends and creep on their profiles to see what they look like and look through all their recent statuses and pictures to see if he leaves them as many comments as they do him. i'm also going to go through all his newsfeed with a fine-tooth comb multiple times daily to nose through all the comments he leaves other people."

-"i don't think i'll ever get over her...at least i still have her facebook to stalk, maybe it'll bring her back somehow, even though i have to look at all the comments her and her new boyfriend leave each other so when it comes down to it it'll probably just make me feel worse."

- "have you talked to paul lately?" -"yeah we've been friends on facebook for 2 years now and he constantly leave me comments and messages me we should hang out, but whenever i see him within the last 2 years in public he's always extremely flighty and acts totally aloof."

- "i have the worst unnecessary paranoia and anxiety about having to communicate with someone through a viewing surface before we make plans. if someone comes over i'm just not gonna answer the door. they didn't text first! I LOOK LIKE SHIT! I DON'T WANNA TALK TO ANYONE RIGHT NOW! even though it's my best friend of 7 years and they don't give a shit."

-"we need to talk, honey...get on facebook."

-"i don't like that person because we were arguing with each other though 50+ comments on someone's facebook status about something really stupid that really comes down to a matter of personal choice and opinion."

-"if it wasn't for the ego-boosting comments people leave me on facebook (even though my photos look pretty different from what i look like in person), i probably wouldn't be the stuck-up douche/cunt that i am.  facebook feeds my ego!"

-"on facebook i attack a lot of people through comments proving them wrong and putting them down about things. i must be really smart and better than them. i'm gonna act like a pantywaste to everyone now."

- "i'm just not gonna answer my phone...they should've texted me."

- "i'm not gonna answer my phone because i don't have the balls to tell someone i don't wanna go out tonight. i'm just gonna ignore them and text them tomorrow apoligizing that i fell asleep."

- "i haven't had literally 5-10 seconds to reply to your text for the next year, sorry for ignoring you...i've been too busy!"

- "instead of calling a friend telling them i'm upset and need some support, i'm gonna write these emo lyrics about being heartbroken in a status, or something really sensitive and negative about giving up. it's not like that's not gonna make it obvious my relationship/love life isn't going good, and now the whole city of jamestown will know everything going on in my life and have one more thing to gossip about."

- "i'm going to reassure you i still give a shit about you by leaving you a facebook comment that i miss you and we need to hang out again soon, even though i really don't miss you that much when it comes down to it, and will probably continue making no effort to make and keep plans."

- "i'm mad at her, i'm gonna delete her from my facebook when i get home,": TAKE THAT, BITCH! ("oh...cindy and john are facebook friends again for the 3rd time this week, must be they made up once again.")

- "i'm sick of creepy guys hitting on me on facebook, even though i accept literally every friend request i get, even if it's someone i have very few-no mutual friends with and looks like someone i don't really ever want to get to know...and have over 1,000 friends. it's not like i can delete and block people."

- "i'm really sick of the statuses this girl posts cause all she does is bitch, even though it was my choice to be her friend on facebook and i can easily delete her or just hide her posts."

- it's so much quicker and effortless to just like someone's comments or status than it is to take the time to read notes and provide full-on input and thoughts.

- "lol" which started as an im-ing word, is now used way too commonly and loosely: "i'm going to write "lol" after i tell you you're cute in a picture comment because for some reason it makes me feel less bashful." "i'm going to write "lol" after every other complete sentence i write to sound less harsh even though there's nothing even remotely related to humor in what i just said.  also "jk" seems to be a way to excuse your bashfulness, even though that perverted comment you just made has a lot of truth in it.

=shelly scene

today he remains a martyr, prostituting himself to older, wealthy, lonely women to fill in the emptiness in his life: the blood stains still on her hands.  they lavished the pretty boy with pearl necklaces and diamonds and heavy lust, but she had turned his broken heart to stone so he could never love again.  the bed was cold without her.  he remembered the nights she came home a wreck, intoxicated and high: the smell on her clothing unfamiliar, not his deodorant soap anymore.  mascara tears stained her face, her neck and arms covered in fingertip-shaped bruises: the deceit, her betrayl.  he quickly realized he could not hide her away from the world anymore, no longer could keep her to himself: they started to discover her and her beauty, boys were spoiling her with constant love, devotion and flattery, coveting her and it had brainwashed her.  once driven by love, now motivated by vanity and narcissism.  how she had lied about how she secretly lusted for the boy that lived in the downstairs apartment, she had written poetry about him that she kept stashed away in an old jewelry box she had as a little girl, with a tiny ballerina that dances and plays a soft song when you open it.  she still loved him, but not enough: and he cared too much.  she soon discovered there was an entire world out there that she had been missing out on for years.  she did not want to be tied down anymore: to have obligations, to be a posession.  she began to fall in love with every boy that told her sweet things, made her feel important: made her feel wanted and sexy.  she wanted them all.  she was willing to sacrifice a lifetime of loyalty for one night of intimacy.


once upon a time they had something beautiful, something real.  she was such a fool for throwing away the precious things they had.  even after many years he still wouldn't have ever given up what they had for anyone, or anything.  they were living proof fairy tales can be real.    remembering is a painful process that still haunts him daily: he cherishes the photographs: a timeline of events and still manages to find beauty in the biggest of disasters, the darkest corners of his mind, trying to cope.  her smile slowly fading to a half-smile and a frown.  they would board up the windows and laid in bed in drug-induced euphorias on rainy mornings, he would touch her face, trace her lips with his fingertips as the rain slowly fell outside and pattered gently upon the roof above.  they laughed beneath the white satin sheets, telling each other their deepest, darkest secrets.  the way he said her name after every sweet nothing he whispered in her ear to give it such significance. 


she began to settle for convenience: she was emotionally starving and sexually hungry. she picked up the crumbs and scraps that were within reach. she wouldn't stretch to take or she might strain herself, though she'd feel the pain of strain to shove away. she needed him at night, he protected her from the night's harm: but every morning dawn's first ray of the dimmest sunlight scorched her desire to ashes. her love for him was worn out but the fantasy in her imagination was visceral and alive and it brainwashed her: her mind was all that remained with life left in it: she was only alive in her imagination and lifeless in reality, but she wasn't dreaming about him anymore.  being alone with her mind was her biggest mistake every time, her imagination the devil's playground.  his hands were dry and chapped from the harsh winter, it was all too familiar. her lust floated away in the sounds of the romantic synths and epic strings and dancing candlelight flickering upon the walls. "the swelling will go down," she said, "bruises fade with time, but scars are forever..." she wished she could crush his fragile heart without the shards cutting her hands. the tiny cracks in the floor and walls began to emit small rays of dawn's sunlight, she tried to dwell in it for a moment, but she was bored with their reality and he was no longer the subject of her dreams. she began to seal the cracks shut with the pieces of her heart, one by one...


we resent people every day for not being capable of satisfying our own needs.


-shelly scene

she said don't shoot:

they laid side by side with their fingers adjoined gently - the side of his pointer finger gently rubbing hers: his other arm resting upon her delicate ribcage, her ribcage like butterfly wings.  they held one another tightly in attempts to ignore the draft sweeping in through the cracks of the ramshackle rafters - the red brick walls were stone cold to the touch.  worn-down votives and candlesticks surrounded them, releasing and burning the tiny glows of warmth that remained.  he wore a worn and faded burgandy, hunter green and black plaid tuxedo jacket with a black button-up shirt underneath - she wore her grandmother's antique vintage white wedding dress and veil - the veil still halfway covering her face.  one leg and barefoot wrapped around his - the other stretched and hanging off the side of the mattress: one white broken highheel dangling off the end of her foot.  light strands of cobwebs were tangled in her thick long black hair and eyelashes.  he had saved her from that dreadful, doubted marriage at the altar once again as they had run through the graveyard together in frantic escape.  two lovers, desperate and trying to stitch their blue hearts together into whatever satisfying mangled mess they could create and oddly call beautiful.  anything that could remind them the ability to love has not been lost forever.


she screamed at the top of her lungs through the splits, waiting for an echo.  any sound she could recognize.  he had saved her, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to go home or not and she knew he still loved the girl from his past.  the brittle bones of trapped birds' ribcages and skulls embedded in the insulation in the walls around them.

"we can do this forever, you know.  we can die just like this."  she told him as they laid hand in hand.  they'd find their wedding-clothed skeletons and eventually their bones grinded into dust, implanted deep within the squeaking and griding floorboards below, right next to the rundown olive green chair and antique rocking horse.  "we'll be the surface the next strangers come here to walk upon."  but his fingers started to loosen their grasp as she spoke the words.
 
but did they really love each other, or were they just trying to keep warm until they had the breaking daylight's heat?

"you can let our bodies go, you know.  i don't want to remember you like i remember her.
i wouldn't ever exchange your beautiful smile when we laugh together for this,"  his haunted memory replied.  the sound of her platform boots stomping hard down the narrow staircase still the most noted memory he held of her.  the contents of the anger she swallowed discharged forcefully and abundantly all over the steps behind her.  she was once so beautiful to him, but now only a rotten corpse he slowly and painfully watched decay.
"i've needed you this entire time, and we were only a thousand lovers away from each other," he whispered in his slumber as she hesitantly shifted her contemplative eyes from him to the splintered ladder leading down to the exit.  she felt so at peace where she was right now, but how would they feel tomorrow?  was it all worth it?  was he really looking at the ghost over her shoulder when he looked into her eyes?  the ghost calling him home.  she had to sacrifice a lot to be there with him every time: warmth, security, trust.

they had had their last dance that night.  she tried to say goodbye but he raised his finger to her mouth to silence her and just continued to hold her on the floor, gently rocking and swaying side to side as the piano music measured time and the walls crumbled around them.  they were the dancing dead, feasting on forbidden fruits on an elegant table decorated with antique victorian candlesticks and china.  seeing ghosts had caused her to believe, to dwell in possible illusions of hope.  their figures slowly vanishing as the dusty old grandfather clock ticked the night away.  the ghost of her rotten corpse still calling him over every angle he looked as he shifted his eyes in different directions.

she bent down and whispered in his ear, "whenever you watch the starry summer skies, think of me and dream were shooting stars.", and tossed the dozen red roses he gave her out the broken building's window, the petals fluttering through the autumn chill in the wind as they fell.  she abandoned him this time and walked home for the last time that morning - she'd never again allow herself to be seen under the 18 degrees below the horizon shade at astronomical dawn.  there was something about that morning that was different from all the previous mornings after they departed.  it was just something about the autumn sunlight as opposed to the summer's - just something about the shade that reflected differently off all the surrounding surfaces - something about the way it made her feel diffrecently.  she surrendered and traded all those aged summer nights for a young start - the morning, a new beginning.

-shelly scene (reinecke)