My Sanctuary

And the poetic beast devours me.
Ravage on my drama

________________________

My Sanctuary

"The thankfully unreal"

Voices echo in the background

Exchanges of cordial greetings

Ordinary smiles

Acts with no meanings

like a stage kiss

The rotations of the moon

False tells of a never-ending

The rotations of the earth

Endure the pain

like a relationship book 

My heels are below my head

Enveloped by dust and earth

And I panic

Hard

to Soft

like quicksand

In my mind

The sun is shining brighter

Fingers lace fearlessly

And the light retires

But the retirement is quick

I wake

In my mind

An endless exchange

Eternal words of somethingness

The stage kiss fades

My soul crumbles

For I wake

In my mind

Healthful meals in

a clean abode

Smiles seem sweeter

My face fades into nothing

For once again, I wake

I wake

I am awake

The uneasiness felt

The air you exude

The smile that could pierce

Sighs that would last ages

The thankfully unreal

When Time Dents Reality

I dread that this day was consumed in an ignorant fashion. No moment was absorbed. Hours were slept off. Minutes of Mad Men were untouched. This phenomenon is what I try to stray away from. Is it possible to transit from a sleepy, tiresome life (note the paradox) to that which is more energetic and productive? The productive levels in my bloodstream are not up to par with my procrastinating tendencies--which to my amazement do not really equate to mediocrity. I even feel for the untouched .avi files in my Downloads folder. Thousands  of minutes (yes, thousands) of rich entertainment open to perspective analysis are wasted. Waste. Waste. Waste. If only a natural law of Physics would forever prevent that. I see the ironic linkage between resting and laziness. How can something so venerable be so silently unholy? Time itself is a monster in its own right. It speeds and mixes with space and dents all reality.

Rotten Tomatoes Could Get Rotten

"Expanding horizons" That is what I would like to call my new pastime. Every thing regardless of its relevance to life passes the time; I do say that "pastime" is a good-enough term. I should try exploring more directors and screenwriters. While exposing myself to different art forms and quality films, I contemplate on the helpfulness of sites like imdb.com and rottentomatoes.com -both of which are legit if you qualitatively seek a next film. 

The Internet Movie Database has a humongous database (hence the name) containing films and television shows of all eras. It has a Wikipedia flavor because most of the information are submitted by registered members (the difference between it and Wiki). You could be assured that the "masses" generally know what movies are worth the watch.

A contrasting site would be Rotten Tomatoes. Some well-rated movies in IMDB are poorly received in RT. RT houses a mixture of learned and pretentious critics. Emphasis on pretension. Movies are supposed to be evaluated on how the elements jive together to create an integral art form. Several critics account the littlest things and express their pseudo-sentiments with precocious words that were probably sought for in a thesaurus whilst writing the review. Thank goodness the criticisms are filtered. But I still do search on the reviews every now and then. I would not want to expect too much from a movie. I can get quite sentimental.

Anyhoot, let not these criticisms affect my eye on a good movie. Yes, my eye for aesthetics is a premature one but I beg to differ. I will eventually understand the social significance of each and every film. "Higher" critics do say that "low criticism" scrutinizes over the superficial elements of the movie. "Higher criticism" involves analyzing on the themes and issues presented in the film.

I'm 16. I'm turning 17. I have a lot of time. How often is it that a person of my ripe age searches for an academic undertone in media? If you would not call this academic, how about intellectual? There are several skills I would like to develop and film analysis would help me in achieving that.

Whatever Is Slowly Killing Me

I am picking a suitable wallpaper for my desktop. Black was the solid wallpaper I had for the past months. I experimented with showing the desktop icons and hiding them. None of the options could appease me. The blackness now seems blacker, blander and far too depressing. If they say that gray is a far more depressing color, I disagree. What color could define an abyss most accurately such as black?

I've been picking wallpapers based on my favorite movies and television programs. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Atonement. Garden State. Big Bang Theory. You know, the happy stuff. Unfortunately, the wallpapers in images.google.com are crappier than I expected them to be. I am reluctant to try searching for wallpapers of darker-themed media. I won't, though. Doing so would fail the purpose of my wallpaper-picking.

Oh, whatever. Here's what I end up with. A wallpaper non-related to my choice of entertainment media.

Wallpaper. Could it be a metaphor I represent my life with? Could the blackness of a background transcend into something else? I guess it does.

Blandness. We all hate that. But blandness is a matter of taste and preference. Some may think that a movie like Revolutionary Road is bland. I say not. In fact, it is too emotional to stomach -the very reason why I like it.

Well then, if blandness is a matter of taste. Then most of my life is bland. I don't mean it in an emotional way. I mean my choice of a lively life would involve mountain climbing and endless night-outs. If I were living that life, I would find that bland too. Even if I put an extravagant wallpaper or check every item on my "things to do before I die" list, there will come a point wherein I will get sick of every thing. I don't want that.

Haii. Whatever. Grin and bear it.