westley

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Fame throwa pass out the gold, but it's raining non-stop digitized black and white on the security channel, which is all the more weird 'cause I can hear the water soft-tapping the trees in the back yard - leaf after leaf after leaf, and down to the ground, soaking all the forgotten pine needles, broken branches, etc. - something reminiscent of early-man pre-dawn strangely juxtaposed with the here and now of current technology. There's a tree just beside the pool wrapped with little white softglow christmas style lights. It stands festive melancholy overlooking the tables and chairs where people would be clamoring if it weren't four in the morning. These are the dead hours that go unnoticed, but I'm no stranger to haunting the nowhere spaces - always sulking listless through the nonexistent times.
There's a small portion in the back of my mind where all my thoughts of something long since lost have thought themselves out again and again on an endless loop until they eventually took the form of something like dark matter - they became entities unto themselves - they grew and grew to the point where my brain could no longer afford to sustain them - they caved in on themselves and left a void. I can't remember what their point was, but I know something's been bothering me - something keeps pushing me forward to some non-goal that I'm hard pressed to realize.
There's a song playing on an internet radio station. It's sad and going nowhere. It's acid jazz for lack of a better word. It's vibrating up from nothing, making no point whatsoever, yet it's saying everything I meant to say. There's a piano that keeps fading in and drifting out. It's telling the tale of motion. Someone is moving - their image is flickering on a wall slightly distorted by the curves and crevices of cold cement blocks - it's a movie that no one's watching. They're on a subway. They're on a bus. They're going through empty towns. They're going nowhere. It's a different day but they have no way of knowing. Yesterday looked just like today looked just like tomorrow looked just like next year and they've lost track well into death which gave way to birth which started the process of a string of days bleeding into each other on an infinite loop and it's hard to say who's talking about who at this point.
There's a person sitting in an empty room where candles flicker late into the night. They're watching the Movie That No One Watches. They're saying nothing. It's the Movie's Director. I take the seat beside them and smile. I'm tired and my eyes are burned out red. The Movie's slowing down until it becomes a collection of still images that imply the essence of everything. I feel like a cat curled up and sleepy. There's a brief flash on the screen and the action continues. The Director's gone. I'm watching the security channel again. The music's in sync with the wind making sleepy ripples across the pool's surface. There's the sparkle of lights reflected on the water. Today fades into tomorrow.