Choice

So my art class was charged with creating an animated short film. Each person will do different stills and we'll make it into one movie. To start with, everyone had to do a storyboard with sketches. Guess what the story is. Yup. Zombie vs Lightsaber.

Do I See?

My house has consumed me.
I live on the second story, in the right wing.
Your left from the street.

From my window I gaze, contemplate.
And yet, I never leave.

-Almost a poem by Oscar Lowe


These window fingers are iron bars
This door is gnashing teeth
The hours wasted away inside
Bring solace and relief

When life takes over all your time
You learn to love the stress
But when you never leave your bed
What's the reason for getting dressed?

-A poem by Oscar Lowe

An Evening Well Spent

So my art final for this half of the semester is two drawings, both about light. One is drawn from life, and one is imagined. Here's what I came up with.




And.




Have a super evening!

Lock and Key

You're a member of a very exclusive club.
We call ourselves "Lock and Key."
We meet at an undisclosed location at random hours.
Even we rarely know where we are.

We know everything about everyone, all the time.
We are sworn secret keepers.
We hold that which grips your heart gently in our hands.
We hear every whisper that leaves your lips.
We caress it and soothe it. We give it a home.
It is in our cage. They all are.
We would never share it though, it is only for us.
Our ears. Our eyes.

Humanity cannot escape the atmosphere of sound.
We reflect that burning desire to be known.
We accept that need to be discreet.
We've felt the pang of remorse.
We've enjoyed a warm sigh of relief.
Come join us in keeping the world alive. Known.
Know everything but speak not a word, is our motto.
We could never reveal our secrets.

But we often talk about eachother behind our backs.
Petty theives in white garb.
Pathetic.
Empty.
Join us.

Adequate

I'm mired down by the musing of tall grass.
I'm so distraught over the simplistic hour's pass.
I'm overworked and so under control
I'm bored to death, and it's taking it's toll.

I feel like I could be so much more than adequate, for you, for me, for them. I could represent you in such a stronger light. I could create wonders in the mind with quick words and cut glances so sharp you might just die of anticpation. But I instead live a life riddled with simplicity. I am a humble creature, choosing not to ignore the work to be done, but to simply allow the world to take me.

I let my microcosm of space, this little corner of earth I call home, engulf me. My petty worries are nothing compared to those of the grander scheme. But I could never leave. Such work to be done. I don't think I'm any more or less happy or fulfilled than I could be. I just think that you deserve more. So I'm working on that too. Twelve noteboooks of songs to get enough cash so I can buy my way out of this town for everyone that I love.

Your Lover Left You

They're setting up out in the fields tonight
They're dropping the canvas in the cool moonlight
They bend the metal into Ferris Wheels
They've got the molten process down to a feel.

They'll light your ashes but in fair return
They'll blow them into the sky and let you watch it burn
They set the stars in place and you come alive
I don't know if this town can take so much excitement.

But me, my girl and you might have to go down
We'll see who'se invited and we'll mark the sound
We wrestle our pride and fight off going inside
And we break down fast like immitation strung up lights.

We step real careful down the grassy hill
We watch the Carnival and count the time until
The gates are closed and then we'll make our move
We'll say, "Take us away, please just take us with you"

This town can't handle noise and flashing lights
But for two rotten kids we might do it alright.
As for your lover who has gone astray?
These carnival lights shine and keep all the cold hearts away.

Opposites

Some nights, I do like to stay inside. It's human, really. I'm just so tired these days and I feel bad for letting people down but I absolutely must let the sleep overtake me. And yet, on the nights when I need it most, the wild creatures I've befriended and become, sit outside my window and torment me. They won't let me leave them alone. They won't let me quit now. Some kind of friends they are. I'll quit when I'm damn well ready to.

I'm absolutely sure nobody has ever felt like this before.

I'm sure of it.

This Merry Old Town

...is ghostlike and empty.
Full in the daytime, but the tide drags it out in the dark.
Into the sea with all you own, at least one day, eventually.
What a notion that we will all be in the water soon.

So I suppose, while our days are still here to be had,
We should celebrate every evening with lights and music.
So that when the waves come to take us back into the earth
We can at least light up the ocean floor, and show those fishes what's what.

Sometimes I Seem to Be Things

Sometime, at night, we are a crowd of monsters in the dark.
Sometimes, we frolick in the emptied park and we sing.
We bound in great leaps and we play on the swings.
And we are as big as our dreams and as fun as everything we love.
We spend hours away at places that, during the day, are dull.
But at night, when we are creatures, are overflowing fountains of immitation and imagination and all of the best parts of shiny teeth in the dark.

We make shadow puppets of humans and laugh at them.

We bring bag lunches, and take juice breaks.

We roar like birds.

We growl like grass.

And we have a merry old time, until the day should come.
Then, when we are done, we run back home into our beds.
Then, when we rise, we are wholly human again.

But we still smile with a wild passion.

Clean

What? You want to stop? No, you're not allowed!!

Of course that was my reaction, whole hearted and honest. I apologize now, in retrospect I suppose that could sound a bit harsh. I like how in retrospect, we feel bad for honesty. Only lies are acceptable. But to keep with the truth of the matter, you absolutely cannot quit on me. You are so great, at everything. You can do anything you want, you've got more than potential or talent or ideas. You've got a life nobody else can compare to. You radiate light and can speak to clouds and I wouldn't doubt if you knew it but didn't care.

But some of us do. So don't you quit on us now. You're a damn fool. You're off in your own head. You're a kite and you're flying off by yourself, and I couldn't hold you here with a chain or a rope or a fist. I swear to god, you're a fool if I ever met one. And that's just what people these days need. They need a hopeless dreamer and a big heart and potential. Be a starving artist, at least for the rest of us who are full up on the monotony of life. Please. Please be what we'll never admit we live for.

Honestly? You're perfect.

Will it destroy you in the end?

Well, I'm going to stop being honest now.

At least you know we all love you, right?

Straight Talk

My blood feels extra warm tonight.

Perhaps it is thick, flowing healthily through my veins with a renewed sense of purpose. I think more likely my tumor has given up on killing me and just started trying to replicate my function. What is my purpose in life? I still don't know. But I have a heart that beats and that's more than he has. So maybe we're sharing blood now and all that is fine by me as long as it's co-beneficial.

I seem to work for two hearts, eating for one stomach but living in two times. At once, I feel planted, heavier persay. I feel grounded, not of mind, but of body. I cannot leave this place, even if I want to.

Life can consume you if you let it.

But that which defeats me, simply feeds me further.

And I am insatiable.
But I also feel very versatile, like my two hearts could gush gallons more than before. A singular man with two ties to the world. I could make you cry.

But I do not let go of my ailment, I revel in it.

I will not be just another fool.

I will be a perfect gentleman, and remove my parasite with such grace as you've never seen.

And then I will eat it and see how it feels about that.

Quiet Moon

Here I am, every night, digging two by two foot holes in my yard. Why, you ask, sir passing me by? Well besides the fact that I don't recognize your stride in my part of town, I suppose you're trustable enough. Honestly I just love telling people.

Just a year ago I was madly in passionate love and I wrote a seemingly endless slew of love poems. Sadly, that relationship ended in tragedy, so I buried them all in a bottle in my yard somewhere one evening, at roughly 2:25 am. I was in quite a fit of emotion, so I don't quite remember just where though.

The thing is, and get this, I am in another relationship now!

I have those feelings again but I forgot how I expressed them so eloquently before, when I was wholly open and purely devoted, devout, I suppose being the right word. So every night at 2:25 I dig just one more hole in my yard until I can find it, or until my yard is all one big hole.

I do suppose it could have been washed away in a heavy rain, it does flood here...

Well that's thought for another night once my digging is done, good morning to you sir, and I'm happy to make your aquaintence.

My name?

Oh my name is Unbridled Youth, thank you very much.

And I return to my selfish shoveling, simply searching for expired expressions of immitated feelings, transposed unto another host. For I feel quite strongly almost constantly, so honestly I just need a lover to promise me they accept all the affection I have to give.

This is how I thought about us before, and now that you're not part of us, I still don't feel much different about it all. One day you will find meaning in these things, for my hand is balled tight, gripping firmly at your heart strings.

Someone will love me for all the elegant words I can say.
Is it you?


The Quiet Moon mocks me, laughing at my simplicity of mind and deed. And yet I tap merrily to the beat of my shovels unearthing my past beneath dirt until my fingernails are as black as my ambient skyline.

I Feel Just Fine

*New Happiness Coming Soon*

Why Do You Keep Telling Me What's Real?

12:00
Stopped writing your letter, will resume tomorrow.

12:35
Fall into my sheets, coiled close like a serpent and a cape and everything warm and comfey combined.

3:09
Awaken to a strange light, and tiptoe to my brother's window.

And that's when I observed them, every single animal was leaving.

They were going in line, en route, to the top of a hill on just the other side of the woods at the edge of town. Quietly, in no rush or order, but in such a fashion like might never be seen again.

Twas strange how unsurprised I was, that at the end of the day, the creatures are the innocent ones. They get taken to, what might literally be, greener pastures.

I caught a glimpse of the Savior of the Animals and he looked at me and I felt alright. No remorse, not pain persay. He just spoke, continuously, with all of his body, with every motion and gaze. And I still felt alright about what he told me.

I knew that it was time to go to bed again, and he bid me farewell and promised me good tidings should I ever need to call his name.

Funny thing is, I didn't.

The woods whisper to me just fine already. So when my day comes, I think I'd like to be set out on a boat, into the big pile of oak leaves, and see where the rings of the trees can take me. Down into someone else's sky, I suppose.

Goodnight to the creatures outside, and I'll see you soon.

There Thrice Was

There thrice was a girl, for she needed me only thrice, who'se life was rife with burdenous strife. In the daytime she smiled and seemed so alive, but the night hours revealed the wrinkles in her eyes. And she lied through her teeth, so they dulled all the while. No more whites to her name, she operated in grays, until she found a boy who told stories that might soothe her sullied hopes.

How nice to be needed, and all cautions heeded, I sped of to save this soul of such sorrow. I told her a story that started last night and lasted far into tomorrow. The characters were flawed and all fumbled with claws to paint in soft pastel colors. There was a boy and a well, and a dreamer who fell (into a deep sleep), and even one tale about lovers.

So this girl who was lost now found purpose at cost of attachment to the tale-teller lips. But in all of my dreams, such fantastical things could never have come to exist, without some prodding from the mind of a girl passing time trying to cheer the whole world up by herself. So I'll take one for the team and devote my midnights it seems, to making her smile and laugh.

100 Posts

"An Origional Tyler Poem,
Summarizing Every Blog Up Till Now"
I tried and failed to be a ghost
Inside one hundered single posts
To write about her every night
And keep that image well in sight
I clenched my teeth and wrote some rhymes
That fade with stories, and now 2 dimes
Replace my 20 pennies.
What a joke.

Through other's eyes I seem to gaze
Into a world, and quite amazed
Find that it is not so unlike mine
And my nervous fingers, like bones, do grind
On asphalt streets, in perfect lines
For every tale, yes every time.

A picture is 500 words
Nothing to me, not much to her
I drew a face and the forest heard
And he smiled back sir, quite absurd.

What monsters could lurk in my head
Before I fall into my bed
And fear the glory in my dreams
Reserved for others, or so it seems
My wrinkled nose and darkened eyes
Gaze proficient tales and creative lies
I quote the artists that I despise
Because I envy them.

So hold on tight for another round
One hundered loves left to be found
Let's start again in another town
The Midnight Press can run things now.

Nirvana

I know this guy who lives underground
He really likes roses, or so it seems



I could use a friend to say they love me
I'm gonna make a sound you won't forget
Afterwords I swore that I would haunt you
Now I'm just way too tired to give a shit.

-"I Was A Cage"

I'm A Mechanic

Act I
I'll break it once I build it
So I'll mold it from it's pieces
Feel it shaking when I breathe it come alive

Then it stumbles and it topples
Watch it rust to worthless bobbles
And I hold it in my hands and watch it die


Act II
Smokey pipe of great creator
Whisps with fumes of constant thought
He contemplates and masquerades her memory
As a soldier jane, a work of art.

Goodbye young soldier, though you did fight hard
You only played your part
Through grim bones and lymestone
Now it's off to the scrap yard.

Yayy Mark!

One day while hiking in the woods, Mark met Valgor, The Giant Evil Troll of Decption, Trickery and General Misdeedyness.

Valgor turned out to be a very fine fellow and, as a matter of fact, he and Mark played a rousing game of Backgammon.

On the way back home, Mark stepped in dog poop.

How To Mistake One Person For Another

Have you ever met one of those people who seems like some other people? They look like two of your friends mashed into one?

Well let me tell you, I am one of those people, and I am not two of your friends mashed together. I don't know what bands you like, and the fact that you refrence an inside joke involving the term "moose pants" that makes no sense, really offends me.

Maybe I have a personality of my own, like a normal human being, huh? Maybe I have had life experiences and everything you assumed about me on first glance was as much a stereotype as any sexist comment about whore tattoos could be.

Don't look at me like an alien now, don't look mad. Is this how your friend would react? Wouldn't you feel worse if I was actually someone you cared about?

Well then, I guess I'm not. And I guess that's what I've been trying to prove to you this whole damn conversation.

Get it?

Hold Your Tongue Love

It seems to be getting away from you.

Well you're not the girl I met at the show
18 months and 12 years ago
We grew like vines and now that we're old
We hold eachother up, safe from decay
For even just one more day
I don't regret a thing.