The In Crowd - Rydon"If all our life is but a dream
" Brendon sings as the crowd dies down from cheering after I said, "Our next song is Northern Downpour!""For diamonds do appear to be" Brendon pauses and throws it to the audience,"Just like broken glass to me." The thousands of boys and girls sing.By the middle of the song, he throws me a smile. I give my best attempted smile back as I sing, "Sugar cane in the easy morning."By the time the concert ends, we make our way to the side of the building to say hello to some of the fans. Some of their faces screaming in enjoyment, others drowning in happy tears. I give out my best smiles for photos, my best signatures for the young 14 year old's arms. I see old faces and some brand new ones
too bad at this point I feel so out of tact about everything.Zack says, "Alright guys time to come in!"The crowd of kids that probably spent hours in line all say, "awwww" almost in perfect unison.I give my last waves and hugs to the kids.We then make it t
Maggots, Little, MaggotsBreathe.Inhale.Breathe.Exhale.The candy-apple red frames shine in the sun. Gleam and break light off in your eyes. A punchy feeling swallows through to the back of your head. When it gets like this - the nights so bad, the mornings so raw, the afternoons so in between - you can't help but believe that one day, you'll both drown in the rain. Even if the sun is melting the plastic to his cheeks. He'll look at you. He'll say that wasn't all of this - it was worth it. To feel you. All over. Tasting all of you, what's your flavor?Everything leaves a good and bad taste in your mouth.Breathe.Twist.Breathe.Sigh.In your mind, he feels like daydreaming. His skin is made up of mid-afternoon ADHD symptoms. Smooth and tight. Soft and salty. Bitter in the sense that, oh god, he'll never ever come back if he dies. If you die. If you drown under the rain, soaked to the yellow-green grass. He feels like - oh man, he feels sugar-coated. At least his mouth is. Two sweet, sweet, plump lines of a
Panic.Ba-boom. Ba-boom.I am alive- the painfully irregularbeating of my puzzledheart tells me so -but I feel like aghost,Ba-boom.lost,confused andwandering -(something is wrong)Ba-boom.my leaden handsstretch out to try totouch a reality that isjust out of my reach and I blink- and blink and blink and blink and blink andstop blinking, goddammit -in a dazed attempt todispel a fog thatonly I can see.I am a black and whiteanomaly on acolour TV andseconds(or are those hours?)pass me by like snow flurries -I watch them go,Ba-boom.but the spell breaksand in that momentsensation strikes me like a whistlingbullet between the eyes.Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-My heart stops.Panic ensues.Boom.
Worlds of StringYour parents would ask each other what on God's green earth possessed the two of you to be friends. Your parents with martini glasses half empty with their third or fourth of the night, an olive floating around in the glass like somebody's eyeball, they would even ask you what the two of you were doing with each other. The real answer was, well, since your parents were chummy, didn't it mean that the two of you had to be friendly to each other?The world seemed to actually start when you met Ryan. He was this little boy with brown jeans and a plastic gun holster. His cowboy hat threw even your four-year-old brain for a loop. Then again, Ryan told you that you had grape juice on your shirt. So, things pretty much evened out. And you and Ryan had gotten along ever since. He let you use his finger paint to streak across your chubby cheeks when the two of you played Cowboys and Indians in the summer. The world seemed to actually start. Memories built up in the back of your head and gushed