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Stop, repeat, play the tape back, cut to the scene I love


When I found the low light to be as warm as the rising sun


And we stepped on each other's toes and I failed to believe


In anything that hadn't to do with you and me


But as time is wont to do, hours passed, and left me on the shoulder


Fast forward to memories I haven't yet forgotten


And we're not even close to the figures we use to be


One broken, one lost, both parties present but at tremendous cost


Maybe I'll pour another drink and meet your eyes over glass


Sing a song I wrote that was already about you and I in the past


Try to save the pieces, put this puzzle back together


Knowing that the picture on the box couldn't mend me now


Even if we could find every jigsaw part to fit


It's still just the double exposure of me apart from you


Nursing bottles all the way to the coast


And back again, without the heat of your breath so close


I'm not the thing that shattered you, not the rock nor the arrow


But I watched the avalanche play its tune in F Sharp 


While records spun mute like scorched ballerinas


What is it that I'm trying to bring into the grave with me?


A semblance of closure, maybe, or knowing I'm not just another hornet


In the swarm that pulled the skin right off your frame


Until all that remained, was a skeleton that couldn't change


And never would

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Each morning I awake to spitshine the back of my hands


And every night I dream of killing myself in foreign lands


Amongst spruce trees and juniper flowers 


The tips of my shoes scraping the buds of better plants


Craning their necks towards the sun, naked in showers


As I perpetually float above like a heavy ghost


Born to lose my way, born to meet the rope


There's telephone lines running from here to there


Beneath the silt and the muck and the mud inside me


My guts are a coastal town once the typhoon came through


Lovers floating face-down, lightly tapping the corners of buildings


As the saltwater makes a choir of forgotten islands


Maybe amongst dried brush and tumbleweed


I can swallow sand until my stomach bursts


Nothing that ends this miserable dream ever hurts


Awaking to repeat, repeat how every animal eats


While the hounds dig a hole for my whitewash bones


My skull is always smiling, even when I regret being born


Like some curse placed upon a drunken braggart 


I never asked to be brought to this place, to be torn


All I asked was to be left to die and die alone


But each morning I awake to make better plans


And every night I dream of killing myself in foreign lands

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CONTRIBUTE HERE


==


EVERYONE W/ A CAMERA: RECord your unique stories and experiences for this Q&A:



  • What would you try and save if your home were on fire, and why? Would you just let everything burn?


==


Thanks!


 

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Beginning in the 1960's, the United States Navy started working with over 19 different species of animals to devise new methods of naval warfare, recon, and enemy detection. Eventually, after studying certain species of marine life (including sharks and even coastal birds), the naval scientists settled on the idea that the bottlenosed dolphin and the California sea lion were the best candidates for the job.


Teams of these animals are currently being used by the Navy for underwater mine detection, swimmer rescue, and even to recover objects lost at sea. However, due to the secrecy of this project, it's been rumored that these animals have also been trained to plant explosives alongside enemy ships, locate and report the location of enemies through sonar technology, and even destroy enemy craft (including submarines) through kamikaze-style explosive attacks. 


The U.S. military has never denied training marine life to harm or kill enemy combatants and, recently, new rumors have arisen that new technologies (such as sonar-jamming and poison darts) have been developed for specific use by dolphins.


In the same vein as Dr. N's Pigeon Spies, a Pennsylvania dentist named Lytle S. Adams devised "Bat Bombs", which consisted of a canister housing over 1000 hibernating bats. These canisters would be dropped from a high-altitude, and as the air warmed, the bats would awaken. At 1,000 feet, the canister would open and the bats, each with their own small incendiary device, would fly in a 20-40 mile radius and nest in wooden Japanese buildings. A time-delay would cause all the explosives to detonate at once and start thousands of relatively small fires. 


Bombs have also been planted by other animals throughout history, such as horses, mules, and even anti-tank dogs.


All this information was found on Wikipedia, links below:


 


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_dolphin


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animal-borne_bomb_attacks


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bat_bomb


 

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We don't play lightly the piano we stole


Smashing the keys to escape from the sound


The sound of open mouths and mold


Pristine in the wake of a nuclear breeze


Watching the colors splash around inside our heads


You can hear the ringing in your ears


The sound of a sickness you can't sweat out


But you can dance at your funeral, you can sing


We can be anything but alive

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I can surrender to it now, the way the water moves


Like turbulent measures of your hair around my elbows


Around my neck, around my hands left on display


There's light above the surface that splits in the river


Infinite rivulets of the sun bifurcating into spindles


While we move unaware through curses and last calls


Now we awake to fingerprints on old brick walls


Just to prove to us that everything existed how we remembered


And we can stay that way for as long as we want


Let them turn the power off and shut close the gas mains


We'll shower in the rain on the roof


And we can light candles to make our daily bread


It may not be perfect, but we can live how we want to


Instead of finding that our patterns can't align


To a city built upon neon light and misguided voices


It's the beauty in being alive with you


That we may write our own lines for a stage we erected


In honor of the way our knuckles weave together


When we don't even notice we were holding hands


As if it were the natural state we were born to save


They'll tell us we're fools, that so many have tried before


But we can rise from that sunken blue


And say that fools are all we ever wanted to be


Right before we lock ourselves up for another eternal night


Even if another few hours is all we'll ever need

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Jud had a huge problem with the bowling ball of a woman at the supermarket. She kept switching lanes with her cart, bashing into aisle displays and sample stands. When the emergency generators are the only thing putting out a current for the backup lights, it's real easy to slip on a miniature hot dog or a cup full of half-melted gelato. And this woman, she's barreling through the CRACKERS & SNACKS aisle like a bull through the gate of some arena. Eager and willing to bulldoze her way through any and all bystanders who stand between her and her multi-grain delights. 


The only thing Jud needed was batteries, but they'd sold out of D's within an hour of the blackout being reported upstate. When the power actually shut off, Jud was in the parking lot listening to golden oldies and smoking an ancient joint he found sandwiched between the passenger seat and the emergency kit beneath it. Jud sang along for a while before deciding he actually needed to get some things before the store was emptied like a sick stomach. There was already a mob of shoppers practically running for the automatic doors. The first woman to make it, while Jud was watching anyway, slammed face first into the sliding glass. 


No electricity, no slidey, lady, Jud thought. 


In the ELECTRONICS department, in a dim ray of light from the emergency bulbs, Jud could only find 9-Volts and AAA's, and no one uses those anymore. At least, not for anything you really need, like a damn flashlight. But Jud was already in the store, he thought, might as well pick something up. His low thrumming, stoned-out brain was interested in the flashes of snacks and fruit juices it was producing.


Jud walked by an abandoned sample stand and ended up eating the equivalent of six granola bars before deciding he needed two more boxes of the chocolate chip variety. He wasn't even using a cart, just juggling items in the crooks of his arms, like a drunk cradling a baby. He picked up baked beans and bacon, a bag of limp romaine lettuce, two dated issues of Cosmo, a six pack of "gourmet" ginger ale, and ten individually wrapped dill pickles.


And it wasn't long until Jud found himself, in the middle of balancing all of his loot, behind the woman who resembled a wrecking ball trying to swat a fly. Bouncing back and forth from shelf to shelf, dumping box after box of pasta and tortillas and sleeved cookies into her already overflowing cart. Even in the weak, fluorescent light, Jud could see the sweat gleaming on the froggy woman's neck. He could hear her puffing and grumbling despite the chaos of people panicking around them. She's heading for a seven-ten split, Jud thought, giggling. 


At the end of the aisle, the balloon woman made a sharp left, turning the cart enough to let Jud see her most prized possession. A cinder block sized package of D batteries, enough to fill twenty flashlights. Another shopper, unseen until it was too late, broadsided the bowling ball woman's cart, sending it onto its side and spilling a year's worth of food and batteries onto the floor.


"You maniac son-of-a-bitch asshole!" The bowling ball woman.


"Oh my god, I am so sorry! Here, let me help you with..." The shopper.


"No! No! You just get out of here! You're just trying to get my stuff before it all ends!"


"I'm not! I swear! It's dark in here and I didn't see you!"


"You know, you sinner! The world is ending and I'm not going out hungry, now get away!"


"Jesus Christ, lady!"


"Exactly!"


The shopper, who seemed an alchemical combination of amused and genuinely upset, grabbed his cart and ran a line straight through the bowling ball woman's dumped goods. Somewhere beneath his cart, a poor bottle of Italian dressing got caught in the line of the wheel and sprayed out across the tile floor with a weak deflating sound. The cap rolled along the aisle until it landed at Jud's shoe, dripping oil and vegetable bits everywhere. Jud, in his high-ass mind, thought it was the perfect time to run by and steal the bowling ball woman's batteries. Make like a con man and disappear without a trace into the anarchy of the bum-rushed PRODUCE GARDEN, maybe make a run for the SPORTIN' GOODS department and hide in the rubber ball pit. It was the perfect crime. 


But Jud stopped himself, him holding all of his delicious foodstuffs, and thought, "I can totally eat pickles in the dark."

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EXT. OLD WESTERN TOWN, NEVADA


An OUTLAW, clad in a black duster and black hat, stands in the center of a dirt thruway, a crowd has gathered on the porches of shops and saloons. The OUTLAW points his large revolver in the air and fires. 


OUTLAW: Come out you yeller-bellied, old coward! It's time to face your demons!


An OLD MAN makes his way through the crowd and emerges in the open space around the OUTLAW.


OLD MAN: Quit yer hollerin', ya dreaded varmint. It takes a minute for me to get places nowadays, and I don't hear no good anyhow.


OUTLAW: You heard well enough to steal from me and mine, and the Wiley Gang don't take kindly to ancient farmers stealing what's ours.


OLD MAN: It ain't yours anyhow though, Wiley. You blew up that nice U.S. Treasury train just the other day, and you took that gold. Killed a nice train conductor toos, from what I heard. 


WILEY: Hey, now! We didn't mean to hurt that fella! He just... he just... wouldn't stop trying to slap me!


OLD MAN: So, what now? You want to put our trigger fingers where our mouths are and duel this out? Is that it?


WILEY: Yes sir, I believe I do. Draw your weapon, old-timer. Let's settle this like the men we are.


OLD MAN: Well, alright, just hold on a damn tick.


The OLD MAN returns into the crowd, disappearing into the people. A few moments later, he emerges with a poorly assembled hunting bow, a quiver of makeshift arrows on his back.


OLD MAN: Just remember, you wanted this, Wiley! (Nocking an arrow clumsily on the bowstring)


WILEY: Wait... what? Where's your pistol, ya damn fool?


OLD MAN: Well not all of us are spry enough to rob trains every damn week, Wiley. I sold my sidearm for these here boots, and some of Marla May's delicious goat cheese. Thank you by the way, Marla May, it was a meal made for kings! (Waving towards a girl in the crowd holding a basket of bread)


MARLA MAY: You're very welcome, Mr. Garland! I'll have a fresh slice of blueberry crumble pie for you later if you feel like stoppin' in. 


MR. GARLAND: Well I'd be much obliged, my dear! There's nothing in this world as sweet as Marla May's...


WILEY: Hey! Hey! Have ya'll forgotten we're conducting a duel here? Has that fact been lost on you simpletons? 


MR. GARLAND: They're not all simpletons, Wiley. Hell, MacArthur helped invent the revolving bank door, didn't ya, MacArthur?


MACARTHUR: Sure did, Mr. Garland! Ask anybody! I'm a board-certified genius!


WILEY: Shut! Up! We're doing this thing now! No more distractions! The next person who talks besides me is getting a mouthful of lead! Ya hear me!


The crowd goes instantly silent 


MR. GARLAND: So, Wiley, this is what you want your legacy to be? Defeated by an old man with a shoddy bow and arrow?


WILEY: I'm the fastest gun west of the Missippi', old man. I beat Bogart and Ruffland and Tenneson and Bad Bill Bullocks. I've shot down sheriffs and pinkertons and lawmen alike. You'll be dead before you even draw your bow, I am the baddest, worstest, most dangerous crimina...


VOICE FROM THE CROWD: Bad Bill Bullocks died of a heart attack before the duel even started!


WILEY: That's it! Enough! Keep the damn gold, Garland! You folks can't help but ruin what was turning into a pretty pleasant day! Geez. I'm going to Bixby and I'm never coming back! Find yourselves another damn outlaw to pester!


WILEY walks away crying, limply dropping his pistol in the dirt


GARLAND: Oh, come on, Wiley! We was just kidding! Come back, hey! I'll even give you first shot! 


The crowd stands still, not sure what to do


MARLA MAY: Anybody want some pie?


 


 


 

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After 5:00 PM, it's ill-advised to get on the subway. 


Rush hour means you're going to be packed in with about seventy other strangers, shoulder to shoulder.


You'll see people carrying their groceries, newspapers, iced coffee, babies, take-out. 


It's the perfect time to size up someone's diet before deciding you want to eat them.


I mean, I only eat people who shop at Whole Foods, that way I know what I'm eating. 

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Tender moments don't ever last, even when we wish they would. They are made in error by beliefs that flee as fast as they arrived. Building upon the moments that were wasted before them. And the greatest story ever told is one that has no ending, but we ended ours a long time ago. In hours that never saw the sun for what it was. In minutes before we leashed the light to the back of our necks and burnt the illness straight from our skin. Like kerosene made into transfused blood, everything inside me is on fire. Crushing the aggregate from the shells of lesser creatures to create colors not found in flowers. We're too far chemical to ever be considered human again. 


It's shoulder blades. It's the white dust at the corners of your dehydrated mouth. It's men made to think we were better under papal prophets. We're ten thousand years of liars condensed into the gemini pair of closed mouths. Led down the path that ends in the inferno. It's how your fingers bend. It's the way light refracts through stagnant water. It's the algae we inhaled while we convinced ourselves we were beautiful. It's death.


I've tainted the veins that run through me like rivers, until the tips of my fingers turn black with tropic rot. Never to be saved by herons or heirlooms, by family, by thought. We drag ourselves from the beds we made to keep us safe, into a space where only the dead should lay. But each morning, we see fire in the sky as it returns from the other side, and for a moment, it's easy to believe this is how we are supposed to be. It's the lie that runs within the oils of our skin. Hiding just beneath the colored iris of your eyes. Like a thief who never stole a day in his life, I am useless to the forces I've sought to despise. The enemy of my enemy is the love of my life. It's the water we pulled from the desert, it's the river grown wide.


Castrated the sound of my own heart leaking. A bastard form wasted, a drowned man left sleeping. I don't want to be survived by anyone. I want the lights to go out. I want the door to close. 

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(As Day Glo mentioned, this is really long, but I put a lot of content in there so writers could edit incidents together as they see fit.)


 


A caveman strikes a piece of flint on a rock to start a fire inside a cave, walks over and begins chipping away the last bits of a crude wheel.


NARRATOR


Since the invention of the wheel, there's always been false predictions about what was to come next, or how long it would last. At some point, someone probably said, "A wheel? What in god's name would we need that for?" As long as humanity continues to invent, there will be those of us who say, "What we have is perfectly adequate already!" For instance...


 


TEXT ON SCREEN :1877


Erasmus Wilson sits in a pitch black room holding a small candle, suddenly bright fluorescents kick on and Erasmus panics, blinded.


NARRATOR


In 1877, an Oxford Professor by the name of Erasmus Wilson claimed that after the Paris Exhibition of 1878 closed, "Electric light will close with it and no more will be heard of it.”


 


TEXT ON SCREEN: 1878


A group of dirty, old-school paper boys stand around texting raunchy emoticons back and forth. Sir William Preece facepalms.


NARRATOR


Sir William Preece, Chief Engineer for the British Post Office in 1878 said, "The Americans have need of the telephone, but we do not. We have plenty of messenger boys."


 


TEXT ON SCREEN: 1883


Lord Kelvin lays immobile in a rickety hospital bed, an array of x-rays showing broken bones.


NARRATOR


Lord Kelvin, president of the Royal Society in 1883, shouted “X-rays will prove to be a hoax!".


 


TEXT ON SCREEN: 1901


H.G. Wells runs around screaming inside a submarine, banging on the walls.


NARRATOR: Even the most imaginative of minds had trouble convincing themselves that wild inventions would become commonplace. Science Fiction veteran H.G. Wells once said, "I must confess that my imagination refuses to see any sort of submarine doing anything but suffocating its crew and floundering at sea.” A mere eleven years before the U.S. launched submarines that could cross the Atlantic.


TEXT ON SCREEN: 1903


A horse pulls an old Model T Ford through a field. Horace Rackham sits on the hood with reins, smiling.


NARRATOR The president of the Michigan Savings Bank, Horace Rackham, tried to advise Henry Ford's lawyer not to invest in the Ford Motor Company by claiming, "The horse is here to stay but the automobile is only a novelty – a fad.” Now there are 786 cars for every 1000 humans in the United States.


 


Timelapse of Earth becoming more industrial.


NARRATOR


Some folks even became major players in the industries they swore would never last.


 


TEXT ON SCREEN: 1916


Charlie Chaplin sits in a full theater with his face in his hands, the audience laughing around him.


NARRATOR


Actor Charlie Chaplin, who would later become a producer and director, claimed, "The cinema is little more than a fad. It’s canned drama. What audiences really want to see is flesh and blood on the stage." The irony is palpable.


NARRATOR


Well, he wasn't entirely wrong.


 


TEXT ON SCREEN: 1932


Albert Einstein sits on a bench as an atomic bomb goes off in the distance. The "Beast" from History Repeats Itself #1 sneaks behind him and smiles.


NARRATOR


Even the stereotypical figurehead for the word "Genius" had trouble imagining the possibilities of the advancement of scientific endeavor. Einstein was once quoted as believing, "There is not the slightest indication that nuclear energy will ever be obtainable. It would mean that the atom would have to be shattered at will." And that was coming from the guy who's consistently, and wrongly, accused of inventing the first atomic bomb. E=Mc2 did play a part in it, but that was never Albert's intention.


 


TEXT ON SCREEN: 1946


Darryl Zanuck stares blindly at a static television, drooling, a bowl of popcorn in his lap.


NARRATOR


Darryl Zanuck, a film producer at 20th Century Fox in 1946, condemned television to a young death, claiming, "[Television] won’t be able to hold on to any market it captures after the first six months. People will soon get tired of staring at a plywood box every night." Luckily, they aren't made with plywood anymore, Darryl.


 


A more advanced shot of the world industrializing.


NARRATOR


The New York Times posted that a man-made rocket would never leave Earth's atmosphere, Simon Newcomb said that a heavier-than-air flying machine would never get off the ground, and Thomas Edison said that Alternating Current was a waste of time. The world now tells us that we'll never invent hoverboards, that future scientists won't be able to revive cryogenically frozen subjects from stasis, and jetpacks are futile, stupid inventions. 


And if history is anything to follow, it's telling us that we're closer to jetpacks than we ever dreamed of. 


 

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Sectioned off by the way the orchestra swells in the night


Like the crystallized version of our failing lives


It's nothing we couldn't cure by singing in the light


Time passed though, and nothing sings anymore


And I am damned to remember that I can't be saved


Friends like jackals who've heard me rant and rave


Only to shut the curtains on the approaching day


When I felt we were sound enough to be brave


But there are some paths that I could never pave


I've bound my own wrists to the reckless


And I've prayed to mean more than my bones ever did


But even with a voice like mine, I'm still just skin


Not even the body that I ever wanted to live in


So betray me and bury me, stick me and run


I'll make a canvas out of cement, paint out of blood


What a sound to follow into the cemetery


What a sight to hold once everyone leaves me behind


And I'll keep breathing, if only to spite the air


My hands will keep weaving, if only the loom would care


You hold me like a cicada trapped in amber


So that you may marvel at the way it sounds


Let my mouth be hardened shut, for I am running out of nouns


Turncoat, blacken my lungs with poisons


Kill me before I make any more noises


Violin arms grinding against lifeless husks


Until the song I fought to keep turns lifeless and rusts

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So this wasn't edited exactly how I wanted, but it turned out okay. All work done in After Effects, completely CG. 

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