I saw Alice In Wonderland a few hours ago ! :DIt was such a worthwhile experience because it was so beautiful, vivid, inspiring, captivating, and heart-warming. Not a single time did I grow bored. I didn't feel the same array of emotions that I felt for Avatar, but I did feel some neat emotions. Avatar got the brain engaged and focused. A.I.W. did this also.
Did I mention that Tim Burton is my favorite director?I know that I say I'm not into the media all the time, but who truly cares? Tim Burton is a mighty fine exception. Guess that make me a hypocrite. Growing up, I've always been different. I never really had many friends and I was always being picked on and made fun of for it. I would often play by myself and have conversations with myself.
What a lot of people don't really process about me is that I'm a devout Pagan. The commonality of gay people that I've come to know is that, if you are gay, you're not Christian... and if you are, you're damn proud of it! And we all know that pride promotes publicity. Since I'm not all open about my Christianity (Hypothetically), I assume people assume that I'm Athiest--or they really just don't think about it.
Not many people know this, heck, I don't think my own family knows this: but for the lot of my life, I've had encounters with the dead. I vividly remember talking to spirits, playing with them, and getting to know them at the age of 2-5. Later on in life, it dulled down until about age 13, when I hit what is popularly known as Psychic Puberty in the media.
What I'm saying is that, I've always had oddities and weird/deranged ideas and concepts. I've always been a rather unfathomable and precocious child. These early-on traits and personality patterns is what lead me to being such a fan of Tim Burton. I absolutely idolized Edward Scissorhands, but as some seemingly "tolerant" people say, "different strokes for different folks." Tim Burton's concepts have always fascinated and engaged my thinker.
When I got home, I did some catching up on Facebook and then proceeded to writing. I came up with some really crazy stuff. It turned into this random thing about a bridge, the river, candy, giraffes, rain-- it was intense. I think of Tim Burton as my muse--the medium in which my insanity is procured.
Lime-green grass bites
The bridge sighed with contempt and boredom. Its eyes were fixed on me, wondering when I'd cross. I sat there in the silence of my gathering; still, lonely, and jaded. There was a chair by the riverside with a laughing giraffe on it. Its eyes were thick, sullen, and dead. The yellow creature was miniature, about the size of my palm. Its long neck drooped and swayed as its voice came hurtling through the air. I smelled in the laughter, smiling, breathing. I felt as peace. But something was still missing.
"What's your name, sir?" I asked.
"Given." It glared at me.
"Why's a name like that yours?" I asked.
"Seventy-three people have told me the same thing. Why does my laughter escape my breath and waft into your mouth? Am I some delicious candy?" It seemed to me as if he were being crabby.
"No sir!" I exclaimed, examining the feisty creature. Its eyes were still sullen as ever and were now fixed on the river.
"Why does the river cry so much? Aren't there enough tears already?" It watched long drops of water float into the air in streams.
"I much like the rain, sir," I spoke. When the voice left my mouth, it became sweet music notes that were mysteriously melting into candy drops. As the goo cascaded from its permanent fixture in the looming air, it touched the ground, turning back into its initial morph.
"Why does the rain turn to gumdrops when the sun is hidden by the purple clouds?" came the now retired and sad giraffe. I thought for a second.
"Why am I here?" I responded. The giraffe smiled and looked toward me, growing into a senseless smoke. It grew amorphous and lousy. I was certain I was going crazy until it appeared on the lime-green grass before me. I was sheltered by an ominous willow tree that seemed to block out all forms of heat. The only thing that truly passed the other-wise impregnable tree was the soft breeze; a breeze which smelled of cotton candy and carrot cake.
"I don't know for certain why a person as ugly as you would be wrought," said the vapid giraffe. I flicked it.
"You're obnoxious." It tumbled and rolled until it hit a rock. It got onto its four legs and began treading toward me. I looked into the river hopelessly.
"We are here only to wait."
"I don't like waiting," I said, almost as if I were about to inquire upon a cry.
The giraffe laughed, "Patience is a blue that we all must bathe." It sat down with its legs extended. It gave a loud sigh.
"Mr. Given, sir, why does my skin seem so gray? When I look at the river, I'm as pitch as peach." On the side of the lime-green grass, my lips were as dead as oak and my heart felt as heavy as a freight train. When I went to pull some grass from the ground, it reached up and bit me. I yelped. When this happened, one of the branches from the willow tree grew a red and black flower. I saw many of them now growing. I gawked. The initial flower grew a neck, torso, and then arms and legs. The frail being jumped up from the tree and began accelerating towards me. When it landed on my index finger, the miracle dissolved into my skin, healing my wound. Mr. Given smiled when I tasted the pleasure. It was like licorice and lemon cakes.
"You're a very interesting, child," came the voice of the pointless giraffe. It studied me in skeptical jest. Time seemed like years when I was sitting by the river, watching the bridge. I knew it was only minutes on the clock, but what if it were wrong? I mean, how could it be right if time felt like years? If time were so accurate, why was my brain not?
Surely I was right over some man-made instrument. After all, a clock cannot speak or even make itself.
"Why am I so lonely?" I blurted toward the river in disgust. I was tired and jaded--tired of being obsequious and mindful. "I'm very much so tired of these restless routines. I wake up every day and walk my feet. Walk, walk walk." Mr. Given spit a cherry at me from it's gaping mouth.
"You are as mad as a chicken with its head cut on," came the giraffe in boisterous laughter. Its long tongue slithered while I was mesmerized by the weightless potted plants in the sky. Their shadows surveyed the land in wonder. One plant seemed to be cleaning its apartment, removing all the old worm statues from the soil and launching giggle-berries from its bored leaves. I chuckled at the silly idea.
"I think it's time to go," I uttered in dissatisfaction.
"So soon?" the giraffe frowned. It looked up to me in such a sadness that, I think, could have broken the taunting bridge over there.
"My mom is calling. It's time to mow the dishes and clean the lawn. She's very snippy about those types of things," I explained.
"Will you come back?"
"I'm not sure... but if I do, I don't want Here to be so depressing. I come to my mind for strength, support, and happiness... not this dry, jaded world." I vomited a little inside because I knew how vapid I myself was being. It was, what the Others called, not normal.
Mr. Given seemed like he could be notorious for instilling another to vicariously live his own emotions. I didn't like it, but then again--it was the only comfort I was familiar with.
lol that was pretty cool, very imaginative. It does a good job of getting your attention by being so very absurd xP
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