11192 visits since 03/07/01 -=Mail/MSN=- sprained_soul@hotmail.com -=Featured Link=- Listening to 11.975hz - The official webcomic of #a!. 09/30/06 Cocktail Time Kill. 12/11/03 Conveyerbelt dreamscape. 09/24/03 Studded leather Envy. 06/26/03 Your very own anything. 02/11/03 I am part Hamlet, part eunuch. 11/17/02 I liked you better when I didn't know you. 10/13/02 No one likes you and you're going to lose. 09/13/02 I'd sell my soul for a Klondike Bar. 09/12/02 From lonely to only. 06/14/02 Spoonfulls of sidewalk wisdom. 05/11/02 Spontaneous human combustion on a bus. 03/24/02 We are all there is now. 03/18/02 Know what I'm talking about? 03/11/02 I wonder what it's like to be dead. 03/07/02 Lights off, Insanity on.			Lights off, insanity on     Sometimes I sit an stare at my ceiling at night, looking at and through it like it was a window or a mirror. Inside my head there is an old and malfunctioning projector spitting my life onto the ceiling, playing and old 8mm film with scratches on it. Sometimes the film breaks in places or gets too close to the bulb, causing it to burn but somehow it always gets re-threaded and starts again, despite my screaming objections. The film in my head plays like a two-dollar matinee shown at one of those old theatre houses that used to be around before they were bulldozed to make room for Starbucks and GAP stores. The movie looks like an apathetic art school film project done too quickly by a distracted and uncaring student who was concerned only about making it depressing and abstract. It's a torture fit for matyrdom, I close my eyes and squeeze them so tight it contorts my face but the projector replaces the ceiling with the back of my eyes. I can't make it go away by myself and you can't make it go away either. Sometimes the movie itself gets hazy like someone spritzed hairspray on some of the cells, sometimes the film is shaky and out of focus like someone was having a seizure. The film runs like fast-forward in spots but will often project one image for hours on end, that particular image being one of only the most graphic and heart-wrenching type. The actors in the movie are flat and uncaring, none truely emote themselves, no one delivers their lines at the right time nor does anyone stay as cast members for very long, making it hard to stay attached or even care about about what happens to them. The movie makes me have an unnatural hate for the director, loath seeing it every night and wish all the actors felt the same way so they would refuse to appear. The scenery is drab and repeating, like one of those cartoons where they use a looping background to save money and time. There is no real plot, just random un-scripted events and plot twists that are along the same lines of predictable daytime soap operas where you know 'who done it' before they actually do it. I hate the movie but I can't make it stop, I hate the scenery but I can't change it, I hate the actors but they won't leave until they get their cheques and I hate the director most of all but I can't fire him, he has a contract. The film will only stop when the director's 'artistic vision' has been satiated so he never budges from his director's chair while he barks orders or complaints. He is one of the worst human beings I know. As I lay there at night, I wonder if someone who had never met me would like the movie. Would it win any awards? I imagine someone cuddling up on their couch, hitting the play button and within 20 minutes returning it to wherever the rented it. I think that movie-goers would boo the theatre, vomit in the isles and trample small childrens in their rush to exit the room. The demand for a sequel would be about as high as the demand for a feudalist America. "We want a king to rule us like dogs and we want a sequel to this movie or at least a TV series based on it." You can't really love a film of your life, you can only envision how much better it could have been or complain that you didn't have the right settings, actors, materials and funding. The movie in my head doesn't make me care or change my perception of anything; it makes me want to claw out my eyes, scream louder than a bomb and send a bullet at the little man in my head that keeps the movie playing. I don't want to see how it all turns out, if he gets the girl or saves the day or realize his dreams. I want to see the film end. I want to burn the reel and smash the projector, hang the director and torch the set. I only want to see it end. I live to see it end.