brocoli meets indian red

David's Happening

David had a very poor memory. Nothing really stuck in his mind. He didn't know what to do. So he started playing memory games to exercise his mind. He started reminiscing the day whenever he had time to himself. He was happy.
But then his mind games fell out of habbit. He forgot to play and he forgot to reminisce. Then it really got to him.
He started thinking about not forgetting. He started to try and remember everything. He was overwhelmed by nothing.
He thought of the previous years of his life. How every now and then when his father yelled at him for not having his room clean he would then walk up the 14 steps to his bedroom and empty everything out of it. Empty everthying out of his memory.
He would throw away pictures, he would throw away notes, he would throw away old toys and clothes, cds and all of those little things he kept in the drawers and on the shelves in his room because he just had to have it.
He started his identity over every couple of weeks. Soon he began to keep things simple. Keep things plain. Everything that represented him soon withered down to a default setting.
These were the memories David now thought of. Memories about not having memories. How discouraging he thought.
So he tried his best. But once again he tried to hard. When he read books he looked up every word he didn't know and wrote down the meaning. But it only helped him to turn the next page because never spoke he only listened. He never put into practice his thoughts but oh how he wanted to. Now it wasn't a matter of wanting to remember anymore, it was a matter of dealing with the fear.
How low he felt.
Every night he died and every morning he was resurrected again to deal with a day of listening and observing but never a response or action. He didn't want to speak because he didn't want to depress. He didn't want to bring anyone down with his problems. He didn't want to tell everyone how he thought the world should be. No one likes a pessimist he would say to himself. These were things he didn't like either. He didn't like hearing about other people's shitty day at work or talk of how the world blankets peoples eyes from what is true.
This is what killed him inside. This is what made him fearful.
But he new his purpose.
To be the eyes, ears and conscious of the Creator of the Universe. At least that is what all of the books told him. But like a child hiding a secret to keep their parents trust he never wanted to speak what he saw and felt.
Memories are what David loved but did away with unconciously. And he wished he could start all over, but the life he lived told him otherwise.

grade school smoker

There are a lot of people that carry paper where ever they go. Most carry it in their pockets to keep it as close to them as possible and to make sure they never leave the house without it. And most don't carry pens to accompany the paper. I assume that they use the paper in other ways. Perhaps they have incredible skills at folding. I on the other hand would rather carry firecrackers. But then again I am a more visual kind of person. I learn my lesson better when the destruction is immediate and it blows up right in my face, seconds after I light it.

one lighter left

They each sit in their own chair, behind their own desk in the same human container. A box of shelter that keeps them warm and safe. They both have paper. One writes with ink. The other with lead. They each decide to write a story. The thunderstorm of brain activity starts to explode in their minds. One strong enough to destroy an entire town the other strong enough to charge a cell phone. Their eyes stare wide and white. They both forget about their bodies and float in the kosmos. Five feet away from each other in the gross world yet in two different universes. Together they can change and create a world. They need to find a common ground. Sound and Time.

A Crayola's Hobby