Clidus

His sideburns curl like the weeds attached to an unattained fence, but barren is the desert on his face. A supernova occurs as his fro grows further out into space. He wears his Boston Celtics jersey everyday with his orange head band to encompass his brown supernova. He lacks yet two inches from being six feet tall. Feeling a bit underachieved in his height as to his friends, he constantly alerts people he is not as vertically challenged as they are. He burns gasoline in a Chevy K5 Blazer painted Mountain Dew green. He always has his emergency Dew in his back pocket at all times. He idolizes the Pixies and knows U-Mass to be the greatest song ever. His friends consistently make fun of how white he is, even though they are all white too. His best friend is Shneekers.

Loosin my Mind.

Kyle and Karl are driving in the carpool lane. Its pouring out side, the temperature is in the low sixties.
Camera angle is whatever the director thinks is an excellent idea.

Karl: It wasn't what it looked liked.
Kyle: The weather is fine.
Karl: You need to let me explain.
Kyle: Well, I already know.
Karl: You do?
Kyle: Yes, the clouds they get all puffed up.....their built to spill.
Karl: You can't go on pushing this out of your mind.
Kyle: Did you watch the Raiders game last night.
Karl: No, and you know where I was.
Kyle: I did, I do?
Karl: What I've done is wrong, and I need to make amends to you.
Kyle: Just let it go and don't ever bring it up again.
Karl: Kyle I want to make it up to you.
Kyle: I've never been sorry, I've just been caught.
Karl: What are you saying?
Kyle: Whats to say your any different?
Karl: No, I'm......
Kyle: What? What? What? I've known about this for years.
Karl: I don't know what to say.
Kyle: Then don't say anything at all.
(Hours pass.)
Kyle:I smell bacon.
Police Office: Hey you cannot drive in carpool without a passenger.

Camera pans out as Kyle starts to yell so loud the whole earth hears it.
I really like the Vanilla Skies idea so kind of steal it, but don't make it obvious.

Biting his lip, he got up again. Clint had been fighting Karl for months. Laws that had been set by society meant nothing. Clint found Moses's an eye for an eye law pleasing. But when it came to revenge he wanted it to be delivered and not just served. What had Karl done to provoke so much anger upon himself? It was simple, Clint's brother Seith was the leader of a band of anarchists known as the Eyes. The Seith Lord had told Clint he didn't like this Karl. Karl was one of the founding brethren of the Eyes.

Karl was sent away at the beginning of the Eyes, on a mission to find means of funding the brethren. While traveling to his appointed sector the pilot had fallen asleep, space travel has always been rather boring. With cruise control left on they stumbled into a atomless hole. Squeezing the ship through the hole into the future. Immediately they were overtaken by the Tablords. Without any thought the Tablords ejected every member of the Eyes into space in luxurious styrofoam coffins. Except Karl, he told the Tablords he knew something they wished they knew they knew. Knowing something they already knew had never once been used in as a bribe in space. He demanded a Stryker and a .42 caliber Wrangler pistol. He left the Tablords a locked time box that could not be opened for 89 days. He road into the moon set out of sight.

Karl had been 87 days free of Tablord control when he found the location of the Eyes. Never once did he self proclaim himself as a leader. In two days the Tablords would deem Karl untrustable and come after him. Fortunately The Eyes were in J.I.B.B.S territory and what J.I.B.B.S stands for no one knows. Jibby: noun, Jibbies: plural, and that is what they are called. Jibbies were hated by Tablords because they drank the Coka cola. Jibbies despised the Pepsi cola. If bystanders of this Holy War of soda ever voiced their opinion to these great armies. They would find themselves in the obituaries without a reason of death. Leading their neighbors to believe they had committed suicide. Karl riding his Stryker into the Eyes's ghettos had some big ideas.

Intro

I’m a reader am I not? I'll admit it, I hate reading, but I enjoy the blissful sound of music. Writing and reading are both excellent, with writing you practice skills learned while reading. I appreciate other people’s works of literature, but at the end of the day I long to create more of my own work. I've been a writer of musically enhanced text since I was 12.


Most of the writers I've studied have a lot of let downs in their life. Isac Brock and Kurt Cobain both songwriters grew up fatherless in trailer parks. Isac would take pictures he drew from elementary school as a kid to his mother and she would tell him that there was nothing new. A friend’s mom told me she went to school with Kurt and said he was a total loser. It seems to me, to write something that means something to anyone. The writing needs to be felt and not just made up. You have to find a place where your soul, pencil, and paper come together to create an amusement to the mind. The place is your muse it can be a memory, a place, or anything that makes your words jive.


You have your ideas and I've got mine. I feel people want to believe all writers are respectable. I've known since I was young, you take the good people with the bad. Could you ever be made clean if you were never filthy? I've done my share of dumb things, but I don't go out and do stupid things on purpose. Social status means very little to me, but I hate disrespecting my last name. Writers are people just like us, they’re within us, and they just need to be found.


I won a contest once for poetry, but I cheated. I didn't realize I was at fault until after the teacher got the book. I was reading it and got the idea hey that sounds like one of those red neck jokes with a few lines changed. Good thing red necks don’t read poetry written by Jr. High kids. After that I've written mostly lyrics. It’s hard though everything seems like it's been written before. It takes a lot of time to write something good and it’s worth every second when you’re done.


As I find myself getting older, I've found myself content with simple things. I don't need something big happening in my life. I've notice I enjoy just sitting on the porch drinking a coke. As I drink my cola I notice the world around me, moving as to what seems to me like a conveyor belt. Are we all just products going through the motions, to one day be put into our boxes we call coffins?


"For the same reason no one ever pointed a telescope at the sun" -The Clash
I've always liked that quote it’s the idea that something’s just won’t be done, that can be done. I wonder what would happen if I gathered together enough courage and enough stupidity to point a telescope at the sun. I doubt I will ever do it but, it reminds me just because people say no one’s ever done it doesn’t mean it can't be done.