Prose, poetry, fiction, and rambles from people with a bit too much time on their hands.

Dusk

who are You
to come down from
Heavenly Gates
and name me Filth

who are You
to create and then
proclaim Broken
that which you designed

who are You
to demand of all
praise and love
by threat of Damnation

who are You
to make from
endless dark Peace
a bright ball of pain and suffering

who are You
who can be angry
jealous and selfish
yet Perfect

who are You
to hand out Forgiveness
when really
You must be forgiven

who are You
to create Hope
and then remove it all
with Divine Destruction

who are You
Hypocrisy
Monstrosity
Catastrophe

who are you
Nothing to me
for Nothing
is all I have Faith


The storm beneath the quiet

“Thanks for comin’ out here.”

It was cold. A cloud of visible breath rose from his mouth into the starless night.

“I just wanted to say a few things, you know, about us.” There was something in his voice when he said ‘us.’ Something like uncertainty.

“Sure man, anything,” his friend replied, not showing any signs of uncertainty. His friend wasn’t just a friend though. He was a best friend.

“Okay, so, uh…” he trailed off, suddenly forgetting everything.

“Take your time buddy,” his best friend said, ever patient.

“Of all the friends I’ve had, none have ever given me such a profound sense of respect.” His best friend shrugged it off, “Of course, that’s what friends are for.”

“But…” He trailed off again. His best friend just looked at him this time.

“Remember when I’d spend the night here, way back when?” he said suddenly. They were standing outside his best friend’s house at the time. A gust of wind started up. The surrounding trees made whispers in the dark. He crossed his arms and shivered.

“Yeah, we’d stay up all night playing video games,” his best friend recalled, smiling.

“And I would always get too loud and excited about whatever we were playing, and I’d always wake up your mom, who would complain about my wall-penetrating voice,” he laughed, “and I would forget that whenever I lost a life or a race or whatever it was. Your poor mom hardly got any sleep whenever I was there. Or, here, I mean.” He looked at the ground and kicked his right toe into the moist grass beneath his feet. It didn’t really help him think. He didn’t know why he did that sometimes.

“Is this all you wanted to say?” his best friend asked.

“No, I…well whenever we were done playing games you would get in your bed and I’d lay on your couch and we would turn out the lights, leaving a crack in the door and the hall light on so it wouldn’t be too dark. But we wouldn’t sleep. We would talk to each other about everything we were thinking about or going through, be it religion or girls or school, as I stared at the ceiling. I can hardly think of other times in my life where someone would just listen to me so…honestly and completely, you know? And I would listen to you too. The conversations we’d have were so simple and true and we didn’t really care about all those little implications and junk that people worry about all the time in the real world when they talk to another person, see? I guess what I wanted to say was that I really miss that. Of all the things I miss about home these days, that’s one of the things I miss the most.” He looked his best friend in the face, smiling in a somewhat sad way.

“I guess I miss that too…” His best friend looked down at his feet.

“So, with that in mind, I wanted you to know that I’ll always love you as the best friend that you are to me. No matter where we go or where we end up, or whatever choices we make, I’ll love you and respect you. And if you ever want to talk to someone who will listen to you, who will talk with you like we used to, I’m just a phone call away. Always, as long as I’m not dead,” he exhaled, feeling relieved.

“Right. You know you can always call me too, bro,” his best friend grinned. “Now you know it’s freezing out here. Wanna get inside?”

“Yeah, just one more thing. Do you really consider me to be your best friend?” he muttered quickly.  He was somehow anxious.

His best friend’s eyebrow shot up in a look of confusion. “Of course not.”

There was a moment of silence and stares. The eyebrow stayed up.

“I kid, I kid. Of course I do, I always will.” His best friend replaced the ridiculous look with with a simple half-smile. “Forever.”


It’s nights like these where it never stops. As the residual alcohol from the night’s ventures flows through my veins, I can’t avoid contemplation. What’s worth it? I always scramble for some answers and I always end up with the usual fare. Friends, family, love and all that. But is that it? I mean I’ve pretty much always had a loving family and friends I’m stuck to worse then glue (in a good way)(no really, like the best way possible). It’s just on nights like these that I feel like I don’t really love anyone enough even though so many people in my life really deserve it. I should think about them more but somehow I don’t. It seems like I could drop into some void away from everyone I know and just be apathetic about it. That scares me. The worst part is what I’ve done to the few women in my life. I always start out with good intentions, just wanting someone to love. But then I end up ditching them or fading out of their lives as soon as I come to the conclusion that it won’t work out anyway. Being as afraid of confrontation as I am, I don’t even try to explain. I just leave. What kind of asshole does that? I do that to friends too sometimes when I feel like being antisocial or I decide that spending time with them just isn’t worth it to me. Growing up I tended to think of myself as a nice kid that should be liked and all, but really I’ve just been this passive jerk my whole life. I guess it’s the result of a combination of fear of people’s feelings, awkwardness, pessimism and misguided priorities.

I’ve also always felt like there’s someone out there special I just need to find and hold onto and I’ll learn my lesson and my life will straighten out in this area. But how can that ever happen when I’m like this? I’ll probably just get nervous and avoid them or make some lame excuse like I always do. Just so I can be comfortable being like this because I’ve always been like this.

And here I am writing about me and my problems. Sure, these problems are essentially about how I am with other people but this whole thing I’ve written is just too selfish.

You shouldn’t read it.


Wandering and Wondering

I think therefore I am.

Some like to say that this is all we really actually know. They say that since all of our information is given to us by our brain, we have no solid proof as to whether or not our world actually exists. Sure, we can reach out and touch something and ‘feel’ it, but all we are doing is receiving an interpretation of what our brains have received from our nerves. Who’s to say life is not an invention of the mind, that reality is as real as a dream or a nightmare?

But we think, and that means that we at least exist; we are some sort of entity with an active conscious. There is also a gut feeling we all have, something else we ‘know.’ At some moment in time, my mind, or whatever drives my conscious, will critically and absolutely fail; I will die. Being a conscious, all I have ever known is existence, so no amount of evidence or speculation will reveal to me without a doubt what will occur when this failure happens.

Maybe religion has the right way of it. Perhaps there’s some conscious greater than mine which is the origin of everything I have ever ‘known’,  a conscious that created me out of its own righteous ‘goodness’, or maybe just curiosity. When the body I have been given fails, a spirit from within me will rise to meet this great thinking entity that floats outside of reality and I will be judged on the quality of this spirit or ‘soul’, which is actually me, my conscious. I will be helpless and powerless to control the fate of my after-life.

Maybe everything is in fact a dream and death will just be the end of a story. I will just be borne onto another reality or my life will repeat like a broken record, and I will never gain awareness of this. I will just go on existing and re-existing until the end of time, entirely oblivious of what is really driving my reality, if anything at all.

Maybe just before the light leaves my eyes my conscious will become acutely aware of its mortality and frantically fight to revive its dieing engine: my brain. My life will flash before my eyes and I’ll see everything I’ve experienced, every person I’ve known. But this will not last, and I will sink closer and closer to non-existence. Finally my conscious will be reduced to a child-like state, crying and crying and crying for the comfort of life or just someone I love. Then I’ll lose all grip on thought and it’ll be as if I never existed and pain and love and everything else won’t matter anymore.

I would like to hope that in my last moments my mind will cling to my conscious, that I will fall into an everlasting shelter frozen in time where I will know that I am dead, where I can reflect on my life and create any new world or scenario I care to imagine. I will be able to fondly recall everyone I have ever loved. A perfect dream. A heaven where I am my own god. Everything I could ever want.

Or perhaps it will be like dreamless sleep. I’ll close my eyes and my conscious will simply wonder off into oblivion, hoping against hope that the darkness will end and I’ll wake up to the morning sun of a fresh new day.

I should probably just stop thinking and go to bed.


thank you for smoking

An acoustic guitar rings quietly into the ether.

It is out of tune, a veteran of various hands and various songs, its wooden body chipped and lacking the sheen it had while rolling down a Chinese conveyer belt. A low voice hums, adding melody to the noise. It is Marshall’s; he sits merely five feet away from the two other figures basking in the singular light of a fluorescent bulb, basting in the hot summer night. The three are sitting on a familiar old porch, its creaky wood bearing the weight of a bench with floral print cushions, a few lawn chairs and a tiny fold-out table, enough to hold up a few empty bottles.

Marshall, the singular presence that he owns, sits alone and cross-legged on one of the old plastic lawn chairs, perpetually noodling away at the guitar, old chords he barely remembers how to play.  The tunes that escape his throat are more guttural noises than melody. “I’ve just about kicked that self-depreciation habit of mine.” Simon mentions, half-lying, as he swallows a volume of lukewarm ale from a bottle he’d been holding for about fifteen minutes. He readjusts himself on the second lawn chair, watching a moth flutter towards the sterile light illuminating the scene.

“Really now?” A third, feminine voice, cuts through the heat. She is the figure lying on the bench, lengthwise so as to not allow for anyone else to intrude on her comfort, staring at the paint above her. “Last I checked on you, you were wallowing in the pits of your own inexplicable despair.” Marshall hits a dead note and grunts, half chuckling at what he just heard. “Last I checked…” she turns and faces the boys, resting her head on her hand, and her shoulder on the flowers, “Last I checked, you were crying on your bathroom floor.”

“Were you really?” Marshall scoffs, pausing again to reach underneath his chair for a beer of his own.

“I’d rather not talk about it, really.” Simon burps as softly as he can, hoping the others would ignore his slight bit of being improper. “Mia, I fucking told you that in confidence, anyway.” She shrugs and reaches towards the floor for a pack of cowboy killers, made heavier by a butane lighter. “Seriously?” Simon says to her, “I thought you quit.” After a pause, Mia shrugs again. She tosses them to Marshall, who immediately lights one up. “There’s something different about me now, I don’t really know what’s quite changed but I know it just might be for the better.”

Marshall savors his cigarette, the embers falling lightly between guitar strings. “Does that mean we’ve run out of things to talk about, now?” He places the lighter back into the pack and tosses the bundle back to Mia, who catches and opens it again. “Shit, if we’re not listening to you bitch about life then what’s the point of talking outside past midnight?” He grunts a laugh, “Guess this means we actually have to start enjoying each other’s company, now.”

Mia laughs alongside him while letting out a drag. “You know, Simon, something has changed in me too.” Simon, meanwhile, had been emptying his bottle at a greater pace. “Yeah?” He replies, half-wincing, awaiting the punchline. “And what exactly has changed?”

“I’ve taken up smoking again.”


Bookworm

You’d often sit in the living room chair
until the early morning.
Reading about things in which
I had lost faith years ago.

Sad and confused,
I would come talk to you.
You cared so much,
worried so much. I hardly understood.

Now, I’m around these people
I don’t even know.
And in the darkest night of my life
I forgot about you, I was entirely empty.

I think I understand.
I want to break down and plea.
Mom, I’ve been bad
and I want to come home.

But I won’t because,
well, you would smile and know
that you are right about everything.
And you know I can’t stand that at all.


A Half-Remembered Dream

I made this in October and didn’t want to post the script for a few months after it was finished. And now is the time. Link to the final product is in the title. Enjoy.

A Half-Remembered Dream 
by Joshua James
INT. MICAH’S HOUSE – BDEROOM – DAY <>
Micah sits alone ina messy bedroom. His eyes are open but he isn’t looking at anything.
INT. MICAH’S HOUSE – DEN – NIGHT ##BLACK AND WHITE SEQUENCE##
Stillness.
Micah crouches over the body of a girl with a pool of blood seeping from the back of her head. He cannot see her face.
MICAH (V.O.): What just happened?
INSERT CUT <>: MICAH GOING THROUGH HIS MONRING ROUTINE, READING, WATCHING TV, DOING HOMEWORK ONLINE.
MICAH (V.O.): Start witht eh basics. Who am I? Im’ Micah Johnson I’m an intellectual. No, I’m a college student. A community college studnet. Okay. You know who you are but who is she?
INSERT CUT <>: MICAH SITTING OUT ON THE PATIO WITH ONE ARM AROUND THE GIRL. SHE RELAXES HER HEAD ON HIS SHOULDER.
MICAH (V.O.): Is she my girlfriend?
INSERT CUT <>: MICAH IS CLEAING BAKING SUPPLIES OFF THE COUNTER AS THE GIRL WASHES DISHES. THEY’RE LAUGHING ABOUT SOMETHING. SHE SPLASHES WATER AT HIM. HE SLAPS HER ARM WITH A SPATULA.
MICAH (V.O.): No. That doesn’t feel right. Maybe she’s a friend. It feels different from taht though. It’s like I’ve know her my whole life.
SHE TURNS HER HEAD TO FACE HIM POISED FOR A COUNTERATTACK. AS SHE TURNS HER FACE IS REVEALED.
MICAH (V.O.): What happened to you, Kathryn?
RAMONE (O.S.): What happened to her? Micah, what happened to your sister?
Micah stands as he sees Ramone walking down the hallway. The young man reaches down to check her vitals.
RAMONE: Talk to me, man. What happened?
MICAH (V.O.): You’re Ramone.
MICAH: That’s what I’m trying to figure out.
RAMONE: Well, part one of the mystery is solved. Your sister’s dead.
Ramone rises to his feet quickly and hits a wall with all his might. He begins to pace.
INSERT CUT <>: RAMONE AND MICAH WATCHING TV, PLAYING VIDEO GAMES, TALKING, ARGUING, HUGGING, WRESTLING.
MICAH (V.O.): I’ve known you more than half my life. You’re family. You care about her as much as i do. Why am I so mad at you then?
INSERT CUT <>: RAMONE, MICAH AND KATHRYN WATCHING TV TOGETHER. RAMONE SAYS SOMETHING TO HER AND SHE LAUGHS AS SHE SLAPS HIS ARM.
MICAH (V.O.): We’re all friends. You’re like a brother to me…
INSERT CUT <>: RAMONE IS LEAVING THE HOUSE. HE GIVES MICAH A QUICK HUG AND ANOTHER TO KATHRYN BUT SHE HANGS ON A FEW SECONDS LONGER. THEY SMILE AT EACH OTHER BEFORE HE LEAVES.
MICAH (V.O.): …and to Kathryn. Aren’t you?
INSERT CUT <>: MICAH AND RAMONE PLAYING A VIDEO GAME.
MICAH: Can you look out for her while you two are up there? Keep her out of trouble.
RAMONE: Of course, man. Whatever you say.
MICAH: Ramone. I mean it, man. It’s her freshman year. She’s the best girl that ever lived but she can’t always see the truth about other people. I need you to keep her safe.
RAMONE: Okay. I understand.
KATHRYN ENTERS THE ROOM WITH A SODA FOR BOTH OF THEM. SHE PLOPS DOWN NEXT TO RAMONE.
Micah looks toward Ramone who has now crouched down next to the girl, cradling her head in his arms.
MICAH: If you told me to protect your sister…
INSERT CUT <>: MICAH WALKING TO HIS ROOM AND HEARING VOICES COMING FROM KATHRYN’S ROOM. THE TWO SIT ON THE FLOOR ACROSS FROM EACH OTHER. SHE TAKES HIS HAND, LEANS OVER AND KISSES HIM.
Ramone turns to see Micah and notices the paperweight in his hand.
MICAH: …what would you do if I decided to kill everything we stood for?
Ramone sets Kathryn donw slowly and begins to rise.
RAMONE: Micah, you don’t want to start this. I don’t to finish it.
INSERT CUT ##BLACK AND WHITE SEQUENCE##: MICAH WALKING TO HIS ROOM AND HEARING VOICES COMING FROM KATHRYN’S ROOM. RAMONE TOUCHES HER FACE. SHE TURNS AWAYS.
KATHRYN: No. This doesn’t feel right.
RAMONE LEANS OVER AND KISSES HER.
MICAH (V.O.): How can I trust you with my life if I can’t trust you with hers?
INSERT CUT <>: KATHRYN SITS AT THE TV WITH MICAH.
KATHRYN: There’s something I have to tell you. I’m dating Ramone.
HE DOESN’T REACT. HIS EYES NEVER LEAVE THE TELEVISION. SHE WAITS AND FINALLY LEAVES.
INSERT CUT ##BLACK AND WHITE SEQUENCE##: KATHRYN AND RAMONE TLAKING IN THE DEN.
KATHYRN: He hates this. I knew this would happen.
RAMONE: That’s okay. We don’t need his approval.
KATHRYN: But I don’t want him to hate me.
RAMONE: That’s alright.
RAMONE GRABS HER AND TRIES TO KISS HER. SHE RESISTS
KATHRYN: No, Ramone. Stop.
RAMONE: It’s alright. Just let me-
HE TRIES TO KISS HER AGAIN; GRABBING HER STRONG, TRYING HARDER TO PRESSURE IT.
KATHRYN: No. Stop it, Ramone. I mean it. Stop. Stop!
SHE SLAPS HIM AND RAMONE IMMEDIATELY SHOVES HER BACK. SHE STUMBLES AND FALLS, THE BACK OF HER HEAD LANDING ON THE HARD SURFACE. RAMONE SEES THIS AND BEGINS BACKING AWAY.
MICAH (V.O.): Traitor.
Micah lunges at Ramone who redirects him away from teh girl. They fight for a few brief moments with Ramone fending off the barrage from his old friend until he finds an opening to get control of him and pin him down.
RAMONE: What is wrong with you, man?!
MICAH: You killed my sister. What do you think is wrong with me? You took me away her innocence. Everything that made her special is gone. Every bit of faith I had in you is gone. Everything I stood for is gone. You betrayed me. I might as well make sure it stays that way.
RAMONE: You think I killed her? Why would I ever kill her? I loved your sister.
INSERT CUT <>: KATHRYN TAKING HOLD OF RAMONE’S HAND FOR THE FIRST TIME, LISTENING TO HER TALK, READING CHILDREN’S BOOKS TOGETHER, HOLDING HER AS SHE CRIES, COLORING WITH HER.
RAMONE (V.O): She’s always had a special palce in my heart. You guys have always been like a family to me but Kathryn was always a different part. My other half and that held true through the laugher, the tears, the arguments. Wtih everything that has ever been, the way I’ve felt has always been teh same. I could never hurt her.
Ramone takes his paperweight and throws it to the side.
RAMONE: At least not the way you could.
MICAH (V.O.): Clarity.
INSERT CUT <>: THE GROUP PREPARES FOR A PICNIC, KATHYRN SHOWS OFF HER NEW DRESS TO RAMONE AS MICAH FINISHES PUTTING SNAKCS INTO THE COOLER. RAMONE SMILES AND SAYS SOMETHING TO HER. SHE KISSES HIM. MICAH LEAVES THE ROOM. KATHRYN FOLLOWS.
KATHRYN: What’s so wrong with us? Can’t we all be happy? The three of us together.
SHE WAITS FOR AN ANSWER BUT IT DOESN’T COME.
MICAH (V.O.): The things we don’t say, sometimes are the most damaging.
KATHRYN WALKS BACK TO THE KITCHEN. RAMONE IS BRINGING THINGS OUT TO THE CAR WHEN SHE WALKS BACK IN THE ROOM.
KATHRYN: I think I’d rather stay in today. I’m tired.
LATER THAT NIGHT, MICAH IS WORKING AT THE COMPUER. HE PICKS UP A PAPERWEIGHT AS HE IS LOOKING THROUGH A BUNCH OF JUNK FOR SOMETHING. KATHRYN WALKS TO THE FRONT AND STARTS TO WALK BACK UPON SEEING HIM BUT TURNS AROUND AGAIN.
KATHRYN: You know, I can’t be without you. I’m not that strong. I need you. I’ll always need you but I need Ramone to.
MICAH: Shut up.
KATHRYN: I love him, Micah.

FADE INTO:

##BLACK AND WHITE SEQUENCE##
MICAH: Shut up.
KATHRYN: I love him. I’m in love with Ramone.
MICAH: Shut up. Shut up.
KATHRYN: I’m in love with Ramone. I’m in love with Ramone. I love him. I love him.
MICAH: Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! Shut up!
MICAH JUMPS TO HIS FEET AND STARTS TO SHAKE HER. SHE TRIES TO FIGHT HIM. HE PUSHES HER BACK.
SHE TRIPS.
THERE IS STILLNESS IN THE ROOM AS MICAH APPROACHES. HE KNEELS DOWN AND SEES WHAT HE HAS DONE.
MICAH (V.O.): Sometimes we lose that which is most important to us by accident. We can deny it all we like but people can’t help what they feel. Anger and love are all part of the same thing. Truth. We may try to live blind to that but our minds will find a way to reveal it to us.
INT. MICAH’S HOUSE – BEDROOM – DAY <>
Micah sits in his bedroom, thinking.
INT. MICAH’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – DAY <>
Micah walks out of his bedroom and starts toward the restroom. He sees Kathryn asleep on the couch and stops.
MICAH (V.O.): It’s simply the way things are.
He opens his mouth.
CUT TO BLACK.
END.

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