I am not just limbs, glued together,
with basic motor skills and the ability
to differentiate right from wrong.
I am not just a kid, or a boy, or a man,
or a New Yorker, or a thug, or a poet,
or a consumer, or a statistic,
or an artist, or a worker, or a jock,
or a writer. Nor am I Fotis.
I am whichever way my heart wishes to beat.
I am whichever way my mind wishes to think,
I am however my eyes choose to see and
my hair decides to fall on any given day;
I am the actions I take out of pure anger, rage,
love, or passion and the doubts I have when
I have finally been calmed down.
I am a microcosm of the beauty that surrounds me,
the epitomized entity of all that is good in the world.
Or, better yet, chooses to be good.
Evil is in my blood, which is why I bleed.
Labels are for products.
You cannot itemize my existence.
Until I took it upon myselfTo raise the armrests on Either side of my seat toMake it a throne. And now
It is myKingdom.
I love the way that our souls play,like sparks, speeding, crashing into each other,giggling all the while, all when we lookinto each other’s eyes.I love the way that you can make me smile at inanimate...
I hate you.I have signed my resignationfrom your voluptuous ways. You have influenced me past repair.You have taken the expansive horizonthat is characterized by my thoughts,and crudely focused it on one ray of light.You meant this ray of light to bemy ray of hope;instead, it is the reason for all of my indemnities.You have destroyed a productive and potentially valuablepawn to a flawed society.You have destroyed my dreams.Thus, in me you have createda vendetta for my corpse,that now lays bloodied in your devious hands.
Scene opens with Frank, younger man with eyes that tell us that he has seen more than he should have in his time. He sits on a solitary chair in the center of a room with few furniture arrangements. His hair falls in his face as he speaks, so he is constantly brushing it back. His glasses are always sliding off of his nose, so he is constantly pushing them back. In his hand he holds a clock. He is speaking to himself....
I fell asleep last night,
and when I awoke, I was dead.
My eyes opened, and all I could see
was an infinite darkness.
I could hear the devilish silence
calling my name from a distance,
and I wept; was I a bad soul?
My heart was still beating,
my chest was still rising
with every breath,
but I was dead.
Like the rest of the world,
I had no voice.
There were no thoughts in my mind,
I was dead.
But then I woke up, and saw the Sun,
and I wanted to draw him.
I wanted to write a story about him.
And I smiled, for I was alive after...