| (no subject) |
[Jan. 17th, 2006|05:28 am] |
Here is the third in the series of 6 plays i will be working on. This one will probably come soemtime soon, maybe over the summer. The concept of the play is that as an audience member, you dont sympathize or feel for the actors or the charactors, but what makes you really care and what the story is really about is the surrounding, the set.
Working Title: The Apartment (i know its bland, it will be changed)
The play opens with an empty lit apartment, as lights come up a couple enters the scene. Each of them are carrying their luggage. The set already has some furnature, and in addition 2 men follow the couple carrying a coffee table, and other various items (tv, painting, personal belongings, moving box's, etc.). The movers leave and the couple embrace and rejoice in the buying of their first apartment together. The landlord knocks on the door and enters. He inquires as to if the couple finds the apartment to their liking. They respond that they love it although they are curious as to why they got the apartment so quickly and at a reduced rate. The landloard responds by telling them that the room has a lot of charactor. The last tennant was an elderly man with no family who passed away. In his will he left his furnature for the next tennants to do want they wanted with. He gives his regards and heads out to take care of some things.
The couple giggles and hugs and steps into the bedroom (off stage) to unpack.
[BLACKOUT]
Its the middle of the night. Furnature has been moved and set up to show the obvious change in time of a few months. The top of a ladder leans agains the window as a dark figure climbs up and opens the window. He and anothe figure crawl in the living room and stand up. Quietly they get to work collecting their loot. they fill 2 pillow cases and set them by the window. Right before they leave one of the men walks over and picks up the television he unplugs it from the wall and turns and walks away with it. Forgetting to unplug the cable his mistake is soon realised as the cable rips right through the wall straight upwards and leavs a giant hole.
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 12th, 2006|03:08 am] |
Play Title:
Young Capone:
Young Capone will dive into the story of Alfonso Capone (a.k.a. Al Capone). It will be a historical play about the early life of the young Chicago gangster. The play will encompass some of the most significant events in the early years of his life from fighting with his teacher and quitting school at the age of 14, to joining two separate gangs: the Brooklyn Rippers and the Forty Thieves Juniors. It will show how an early life of crime landed Capone a job as a bartender and bouncer at a bar, The Harvard Inn. Here he got in a knife fight that left him with the cheek scar that would give him his infamous nickname “Scarface.” The play will follow the gang leader up through his rise in Chicago and through the St. Valentines Day Massacre (the first 20 years of his life, spanning from 1899 through 1929). It will show the torment of a troubled and enraged teenager who finds his own form of peace through the act of leadership. Writing this piece will take a great deal of historical research into not only the life of Al Capone and those around him, but the whole time of the 10’s and 20’s in general. A constant work in progress this one will be the most advanced of my writings I have planned as of now. |
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| working synopsis for play: |
[Jan. 12th, 2006|02:13 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  artistic | ] |
This is a brand new story that I came up with today. I will be writing it into a full screenplay for film about an hour long hopefully more. Its a love story taking place in two different timeframes at the same time. This is/will be my first attempt at writing a love story and is a major break away from my usual dark comedy or serious dark stories. Please be kind but at the same time make sure you comment and let me know what you think. I am looking and hoping for come comments that will help me in the creation of this piece and the changes that are needed to get a good response from it.
Play Title:
Love over Time:
A 20 something girl (Elisabeth) moves to a new town and gets an apartment. She has just gotten out of a very bad relationship and is starting her life anew. A few days later she is wandering down the street when she sees a used book store. Inside she finds a diary over a hundred years old. Compelled by the look of the book Elisabeth buys it from the store clerk and takes it back to her new home. Upon opening it she finds that the diary was written by a young man about a girl. Instantly sucked into the story she realizes that the writings of events that seem very real are actually about a fictitious girl. It's the story about the girl of his dreams. Upon deeper reading she notices something creepy. There are stark similarities between the girl she is reading about and someone she knows very well...herself. Although this diary was written over a hundred years ago it seems as though it was written about her. It even goes so far as to have a sketch of this "dream girl" inside the pages with a likeness almost exactly to hers. Is it possible that the girl of his dreams, the girl this man dreamed about so vividly, with such detail, was someone destined to live over a hundred years later? As Elisabeth looks deeper into this book and deeper into the relationship of this 25 year old man and his perfect woman she falls in love all over again.
( WARNING!: Spoiler behind this cut. If you want to save what happens at the end of this story for when its completed, do not read. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 14th, 2005|06:03 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | LotR marathon! | ] |
Im on a dryspell like hardXcore woah.
Like seriously this is all i have come up with in the past months
put me in a box
let my body decay
dig up my bones
so i dont fade away
put them on the mantle
for all your friends to see
what i once was
became destany
Its a chorus, i know it is, i know how it sounds, i have the melody for it and everything, and it sounds pretty bad ass if you ask me. But i cant for the life of me get the rest out. AHHHH I hate it.
Well tell me how you think this sounds so far and possibly ill find my inspiration for the rest of it. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 19th, 2005|05:43 pm] |
so i know a lot of people have been wondering why i havent posted much to here and why i havent written anything as of late. So here's an update as to my art and whatnot.
I havent been writing much in the way of lyrics and poetery as of late. I havent found the inspiration to write poetry as of late.
What i have been writing as of late is something entirley different. I am working on a script for a one act play. as bits and peices get finished i will be adding them to here.
other than that i have been doing a lot of spray paint art for the upcoming renniscance fair. i will be posting those pictures to PunkFrodo tonight |
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| Resolution |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|08:57 pm] |
Resolution
1/1/2005
This will be my new years resolution
To finally care
To give a shit
Transplant this foot from your mouth
Just as the television told you to
The artist’s battleground
An operation of sorts
It all brings rise to new ghosts
New meanings
New beginnings
Ultimately: new endings.
The record skips one last time,
The needle must be too dull now
The trap that has been set
Has now sprung into full action
Breaking the neck of anyone who trips it
If only walking a mile in one man’s shoes
Could give us the perspective of 6 billion |
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| untitled |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|08:45 pm] |
(If I slit my wrist twice
Don’t you know it for you good
And if I slit my wrist twice
Just know it’s because I should
So I’ll slit my throat with the words
You’ve been screaming at me
Now I’ll slit my throat with these words
Just let me be)
I just want you to know
I’m addicted to you
I hope you’ll say before I go
Your addicted to me.
And I just want you to know
I’m addicted to you
I hope you’ll say before I go
(That Your addicted to me______.)
I’ll close my eyes
I’ll just let go
I’ll lean back
And then I’ll fall again
I’ll close my eyes
Just one more time tonight
I wanna hear you scream those words
(I’ll always love you)
{I’ll close my eyes
I’ll just let go
I’ll lean back
And then I’ll fall again}
And if that is all I can give you from now till the end
then I promise you I gave you my all
How can you tell me that you never thought twice about it,
without looking back at all.
{I’m fallin down again
We’ll all fall again}
Patience is a virtue
That you will never own
My breath is running out of sympathy for you
And I saw her standing there
Crying on the ground
And I saw her standing there
I loved you far too long |
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| revolver |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|07:45 pm] |
Steve Fekete & Heather Schlosser
Coldest steel
Pressed between
These tightened lips
Feeling all of you
Pulling this trigger again
Generously offering
A new puncture to exhale from
Your bitter barrel
Placing everything
Into perspective again
A new portrait to betray
Witness this descent
Watch this fall away |
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| sleep a sleep |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|07:41 pm] |
I will just lay here and I will dream of you
And I will just breathe in and I will think of you
Sleep a sleep for me sweet nothing
Dream a dream for me sweet darling
I know I’ll be dreaming of you
Although we are not together on this very night
I look up at the starry sky
And know we are close
We are sleeping together under the same very moon
And we are dreaming together about nothing
I will just lay here and I will dream of you
And I will just breathe in and I will think of you
And oh, If I could just breathe you in
And hold you there for eternity
Because you mean the very world to me
And all I want is for you to be happy
No matter what that means for me and us
I will always put you first
I will just lay here and I will dream of you
And I will just breathe in and I will think of you
I love you and I know that will never change
Between you and me, I hope you feel the same
For as I am sleeping here so far away
Just know you’ll be running through my mind
I will just lay here and I will dream of you
And I will just breathe in and I will think of you
So sleep a sleep for me sweet nothing
Dream a dream for me sweet darling
Because I know I’ll be dreaming of you
If I could just breathe you in
And hold you there for eternity
Because you mean the world to me
I will just lay here and I will dream of you
And I will just breathe in and I will think of you
This is just a little note to tell you I Love You
And tomorrow is a new day again
Yours truly |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|07:40 pm] |
Worship at first radiance
6/18/04
As he gazes into her eyes he is misplaced in perpetuity. Mislead through infinity. The perfume of wax and the savor of her flesh create the most perfectly immaculate moment. Is he dreaming, he knows he has been up an extreme amount of time, could this all be a cerebral joke? It seems his senses are reeling with luscious binary. Closing his eyes and shaking off the summer dew of nervousness he looks back up and is once more met with those same gorgeous pupils. Is this how it is supposed to happen? Didn’t they just meet? As the thoughts cross the threshold of his mind they are pressed right back out through the other side. She was stroking his face. He could feel her flow like the river in his wrist; the waterfall of his neck. If you slit it you would find not red, but her tears. This feels strangely like home to him though it is amazingly new to both. Existence is nothing more than a series of well-placed pawns, if you have the correct strategy you gain the liberty to create and hold many wonders. This year’s resolution; don’t let the strategy get in the wrong hands. For the life of him he cannot remember, what made him he was wise and he’d never compromise? So he lets her in. He shall consort as long as consorting is style. He permits her in. A strategically placed kiss from her makes him say screw strategy. And he plunges in the water while trying not to slip on the ice. But he allows her in. Was it wise? Define shrewd. Can you use it in the form of a sentence? Place of origin; none. She wraps her arms around him; he thaws under the contact of her flesh. As he bites his lip he can feel her tears flow upon his tongue. He swallows hard; savoring every last drop. Now all he has to do is breathe. Night is almost over, she is sleeping next to his flesh, the night is almost over. One breath at a time, but the sandman refuses to overtake him. He keeps biting his lip. Is this remotely feasible? Can he just collapse into emotion this strong so incredibly sudden? Especially after what occurred last time. Is this wise? Emotion says yes. Don’t listen to logic. Logic says yes. Logic is a genius. Face it, your in worship. |
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| Evil |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|07:19 pm] |
Evil
Speak no,
Hear no,
See no,
Do no,
Why no,
Have no,
Want no,
Need no,
Live no,
Love no,
Accept no, |
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| martyr |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|07:09 pm] |
Sitting there staring at the clock
You watch time fade away
Does it make you happy
To see me this way
Cracked hearts and Split lips
The taste of blood
On my tongue
It all Brings a smile to your face
I am your martyr
You make me the lamb
Slaughtered for the wool
You wear on your skin.
And the blood, it flows like water.
And it rips my heart away
And the blood of the martyr,
It was spilled today
why is this the way it had to be
why cant there be another way
{why____}
just drop down, just get back just let it go
it will all flow back, it will all be good
we will all see the light of day again
What will you do
When the time comes for you
Who will you make you martyr
Who will you drag down
And the blood it flows like water
And its drained away
To follow after again and again and again
And the blood of the martyr
(guitar riff)
{it was ripped________away) |
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| The Muse |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|06:50 pm] |
The Muse
3/29/
Her eyes they
Tell the story of the one hundred poems
Of all the hard times
The bad times
The rough and the sad times
To look into that soul
Feel the need to take her up
To rock her cares away
To be one hundred and one
And though I barley know your name
If you’d just speak it
I would know your name
The key to the future
Is held in your heart
To call on a unicorn
Is against this world
The muse in her form
She is a perfect creation
Formed in the creators image
With hair of the wind
Your eyes they
Control me in this story of one hundred and one
They Tantalize me
Mesmerize me
Hypnotize me
To look into those eyes
To feel naked in the presence
To know you are helpless
yet alive one hundred times over
And though I barley know your face
If you’d just smile
I would know your face.
The key to the future
Is held in your heart
To call on a unicorn
Is against this world |
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| Untitled just for your sake |
[Oct. 27th, 2004|11:01 am] |
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And so maybe it's true that i don't deserve you. I gave you up once on a night of feelings and breakdowns and now the winds scream, "what now?" They are of change and at the storm window. Do you let them in or me? will you put a red or black veil over your heart? It is a decision i cannot make for you. But what if i did? What if i had? What if we find ourselves in the convertable with the top down? Tin cans rattle as the shattered glass reveals itself; growing back together in the pane. It's too late now. The brick is already back in the hand. |
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| Braids and Beautiful Browns |
[Jul. 8th, 2004|10:45 am] |
Braids and Beautiful Browns
7.5.2004
The dame with the braids in her hair plays an acoustic dream as Annie scratches lyrics on a tablet. “Forever” is mumbled in melody and harmony; as in how long one could remain in existence surrounded by such a place as this one. The flow reaches its peak and the Angel without wings takes to the sky of purest blues. The rain has subsided; the heat is now in control of all thought. A scream in the distance gives listeners an inclination of time. Three hundred and sixty days have been paid off completely in braids and the beautiful browns he gazes into now. No better time to get to know the smile than eight hours spent on a monosyllabically named tree. Britain, Ohio, Texas, Wisconsin. They all spell H-O-M-E to me. But only one of them feels like it. Now the stone which the builder rejected has become a five hundred acre farm. Only this one feels like it. |
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| Love Letter |
[Jun. 17th, 2004|06:21 pm] |
He is doomed
Life has proven itself one more time
Destined to be alone in hatred
So once again he wallows in self-pity like the scared dog his soul had proven to be
And he sits down and writes
So here it is
A last note
To the last girl
To break his heart again
“Dear Lover,
This is my final goodbye.
So long.
I hope you have a good life.
Live happy
In a big house
Raise a family
And name one after me.
“Dear Lover,
Just know
I am not over
Nor will I ever be
This cut will fester and never heal
Now that I am gone may the memory never fade
Never die away
May you never let this die
”And if that is all I can give you from now till the end
Then I promise you I gave you my all
How can you tell me that you never thought twice about it,
Without looking back at all.
“And I hope
Deep inside
You may feel the way I do
When I say the three words
‘I love you’.”
And he signs
“Sincerely yours,
Just another Van Gogh”
And so he folds the letter,
And he places it in the bottle
This will be found
When he is gone
And if one day of happiness is worth a million days of loneliness
He would be lonely forever for just one more day
And he seals this shut
As he seals his lips
And he shuts his eyes
As he just lets go
Sealed with a kiss
He lays on his back
And he listens to the words
Realizing how much it is right
‘And in the end,
The love you take,
Is equal to,
The love you make.” |
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| Alone |
[Jun. 3rd, 2004|10:32 pm] |
Ok, so the following is the first piece of poetry that I ever wrote. It was written for a 4th grade class poetry project. Enjoy!
Alone
4th Grade (1994/1995)
I’m all alone,
Alone,
Alone.
None to talk to, none at all.
Not even a bear,
A kid,
Or a ball.
I’m all alone
In this deep,
Dark,
Quiet forest.
What?
What’s that I hear?
It’s a voice,
A voice,
A deep,
Dark,
Swirling voice,
Calling me,
Oh me,
Yes me.
Now,
Now I have someone,
Someone,
Not the bear,
The kid,
Or the ball.
Who is it?
Who is it?
Why it is,
Oh me,
Oh my.
It’s only the wind.
And again I’m alone,
Alone,
Alone. |
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| Untitled |
[May. 18th, 2004|12:27 am] |
So here I am
Going through old notes from you
Realizing what I did
To tear this to pieces
And all I can do is wonder
How would things have changed
If I had been more
If I had ever finished those stories,
Or realized what this meant
If I wasn’t so young
Or know what I know now
But there is still time
Even if you never know it
I will keep this in my mind
For the right time
For the perfect time
Will we ever patch things up
Will life ever go back two years
Or emotions that we both had
Will they ever turn to fears |
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| Going Home |
[May. 17th, 2004|03:13 pm] |
Going Home
4/18/2002
I woke up this morning before the sun had begun to rise. With no light in my room I had to feel around for my clothes. It was a fairly small room, squarish in shape. My bed was on the far left corner, right next to the window. All four walls were bare and painted off-white. There really wasn’t any place, let alone any room, to put any personal or sentimental belongings; not that I would have any if there was any room. No, after living here this long personal possessions were merely memories. The tall ceiling had a single light with a chain cord hanging down, but that had burnt out last night. “Oh well,” I said to myself, “It’s not like I’ll be needing it after today anyway.”
No, there isn’t much here that I will be needing anymore. You see, today is going to be a day to remember. It will probably be the best day of my entire life. Today I will be moving out. I tidied up my room a bit; making the bed and straightening out the dresser. After I finished with these chores I turned towards my door, leaving my single room behind me. Today was the day I could finally go home.
Walking towards the shower room, I thought about how it came to be that I moved to this place five years ago. I remembered when the three of them came to pick me up from my previous home. It was much better than this place. It was two stories, and built on a two-acre lot. I miss that home greatly. The three of them showed up very early in the morning. It was probably around 5:00a.m. I had seen them many times before, none on such a personal level. I had never actually talked to them, and I wouldn’t have considered them to be friends of mine. They calmly and politely explained to me why I was moving, and where to. Confused, I went with them. I didn’t remember anything of what they had told me. I kept telling them that they wanted to relocate someone else, but they told me once again I was the man they wanted.
It took almost a year for them to actually get me a room here. It was a very long monotonous process. They kept insisting it was me they wanted here and not someone else. They finally got me in here. I didn’t think I belonged here. Actually, I knew I didn’t belong here.
It took a while for me to meet new friends. Most of them weren’t like me. They all had different stories and interests, and I had mine. However, there was a group of guys I did become good friends with. The group consisted of five other guys other than me. They were all very accepting of me as “the new guy.” We would get together on occasion and play our weekly game of poker or euchre. They were a lot of fun.
I was now out of the shower. I got dressed into my nicest clothes, and brushed my long black hair. It’s kind of funny, before I moved here I would have never even thought about having long hair. I drove a 1968 red Corvette, and wore a suit to work everyday. But all that changed overnight. I heard on TV about the search to find the right person to move in here. I never thought it would end up like this.
I finished brushing my hair and put it in a ponytail. I turned and left my room to walk down the hallway for the very last time. As I exited my makeshift home, I looked back and remembered the long journey to this stage. It had taken over five years, and every step of it was going to be worth it.
As I walked down my hallway for the last time, I saw the people that I had grown with and learned to live with over the past five years. Each of them reached out and touched me on the shoulder. Each told me a bible verse or two, or a favorite memory. Although I didn’t like all of them, they all had helped me in their own way. Had there have been one that wasn’t there for me, I might have died years ago.
I then began to approach my friends. The first one I came to was Larry in room 416. He gave me a friendly hug and told me he would miss me. I told him that I would be able to see him again someday, and we both smiled. The next was John. I first met John when he moved in here. He was a tall man with shoulder length brown hair. He reminded me to be proud as I entered my new room, and to be polite to the people escorting me there.
Next I came to room 421. This was the room of Erik. He had been my best friend for these past hard years. I told I was going to miss him greatly, and he told me I was the lucky one. I got to move out and finally go home. Lastly, I reached Michael’s room. Michael was an older man with gray hair and a beard to match. He told me to be humble when I met my new landlord, and to tell him thank you for allowing me to return home. I told him I would and hugged him.
I continued walking down the hallway behind the two men escorting me. I remembered the faces of the people I was leaving behind. Some of them I didn’t recognize because they were new here, but most of them were familiar to me. They all had gazes in their eyes. Each pair of eyes was looking directly at me. Looking at me not as if to say hello, or to say goodbye. They were all saying, ‘you will be greatly missed,’ and, ‘you are the lucky one.’
After what seemed like the longest and most difficult walk of my life, I reached the end of the hallway. I walked into my new room for the first time, and the last time. It was about as big as my old one; only in my new room one of the walls had a two-way mirror on it. The three other walls were not painted they were plain cement. The only furniture in my new room was a single wooden chair in the center. I sat down in my new chair. Surprisingly, it seemed extremely comfortable.
Now, as I sit in this wooden throne, I look up at the light on the ceiling and five words manage to escape my lips. Those words are, “Finally, I can go home.”
At 7:45a.m. on Friday, July 13, 2001,
James Schaffer was executed at the Louisiana State Penitentiary.
It is said that his last words were,
“Finally, I can go home.” |
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