simplicity
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The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent
Recently I had the privilege of viewing the movie The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent. A movie with everything I didn’t know I needed in a movie. A movie made for the delectation of movie watchers of multiple genres. At the beginning of the Journey, which lasts 1h and 47m, the viewer is introduced to a thirsty, struggling Nick Cage trying desperately to obtain an acting role to keep afloat in life. It leads to an amusing breaking point at his daughter’s party. It is here he gives a speech that starts off as any loving doting father who embarrassingly loves his daughter, but quickly turns into a drunken nosedive of a rant, exhibiting his struggles and hardships for all. This leads to the further deterioration of his personal home life.
By simplicityabout a year ago in Journal
Genre's of Cognition
Sweeping requiem I've been here before Tiptoe out of darkness and into a scene white walls lead me to an empty room A bed with white linen, a mirror with a white frame embellished with carved gold lace, and an empty white crib No people, no laughter, no sounds of chatter Sweeping requiem I've been here before Tiptoe out of darkness and into a scene A passenger in a car speeding down an empty road at midnight in the desert Air on my face from the cracked window Smiling, laughing, and free no worry of crashing Sweeping requiem I've been here before Tiptoe out of darkness and into a scene A prince and his queen with a loyal court Finest furnishings Sweet lips kiss on my hand, my forehead, blushing at each sweet word said Sweeping requiem I've been here before Tiptoe out of darkness and into a scene A space odyssey unknown forces and forms Glowing gasses and lights and technological might Sweeping requiem I've been here before Tiptoe out of darkness and into a scene I'm being chased, followed and stalked like a gazelle by a lion Under attack by an ever-present force Running, running and hiding. The palpable fear stunning. Sweeping requiem I've been here before Tiptoe out of darkness and into a scene I trace the books on the shelf a compendium of worldly knowledge. The bed with white linen, a mirror with a white frame embellished with carved gold lace, and a crib Just down the hall A room with white walls, airy sweeping blue curtains A painting of a tree in indigo and a rocking chair I always stand in the doorway, nothing to say. Staring in a room, as if I know this space, this room, while I hear an old comforting tune Waiting for someone, what feels like a Millennium.
By simplicityabout a year ago in Poets
Modern Stories of Atlas
As I enter the living room, I hear the familiar blare of the T.V.. A Suns vs Spurs game is on. My mom is working in the Livingroom and watching the game. Occasionally, I hear her say something to the T.V. in frustration or joy. Barefoot, I'm dancing around the upper Livingroom, as I did back then, and jumping on a chair that could fully spin around. For some reason, that day, I sit on the long-step down to our Livingroom and watch. I saw the players on the court and the seats full of fans. It was all so fast-paced and exciting. After 5 minutes my mom is explaining little bits of what is going on in the game. After about 20 minutes I'm rooting for the Suns. 30 mintues I tell her "I don't like that guy", a player who had just fouled a Suns player, and possibly also because he was out working my team. If my memory is correct, it was David Robinson I said that about. The next time I would say that, it would be about Patrick Ewing. That guy always bothered me when he was on the court. My mom laughed and smiled. Now, when I think back to that memory I recognize amusement in her expression when I say that. She responded "Who?". She started saying numbers on the jerseys. I got up and pointed him out on the T.V. and repeated the number after I decided I knew what number it was. I was young. After pointing out the culprit her smile widened and she said, "Really. Why? Yeah, he's good". We both smiled and continued watching. The first time I saw him play is stuck in my memory along with the feeling of frustration for my team. It took a lot back then to sit and be still for an entire game, but I watched the whole game that one day way back when. That's the day I became a fan of the NBA. It's also the first time I realized my mom, a woman, could be as informed and hold her own in a conversation with any man or woman, on sports. She is a fan with a pure love for sports and more specifically basketball. This moment, so small, would have an immense effect on me. I'd reflect on it when my mom was stuck in a hospital due to cancer. Days I needed a distraction from reality. She could still make me smile when I heard her asking nurses if they were laker fans. If they weren't, and they cheered for the team against them, especially in key games, she'd ask them to leave. Most thought she was kidding, I knew she wasn't. Cancer was frustrating enough! If they were fans, she'd have them stay and watch a bit with her. This reassured me she was still in it. She had strength in her still. I hadn't lost her. On days when I had a great day, and my teams won, it seemed that much better. As if god was reassuring me that everything was meant to be fine. The Suns, the Nuggets, and the Lakers all bring back memories of my mom, as well as the places we moved to. Always followed by a feeling of normalcy in a new strange place. A part of home. A possibility of hope. A hope that could be achieved, unlike so many other forms.
By simplicityabout a year ago in Confessions
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