my way

waiting for rod serling to appear

in season 2, episode 43, mr. serling introduces the carters, a pair of newlyweds who are driving through a small town and stop at a diner for lunch while they wait for their car to be fixed. at their booth is a little napkin dispenser-mounted devil's head, who for a penny will reveal your fortune on little strips of paper.

on a lark at first, but with increasing intensity as the fortunes deliver, don and pat push in penny after penny. and soon, the devil's head reveals the ultimate truth to them: they will never leave this town. they are trapped.

the couple freezes in fear. trapped in this town? never able to leave it? but how? why?

and just as don reaches for another coin, pat stops him. no, we won't ask. we're going to leave. now. don's hand pauses with the penny in mid-air. he wavers, then looks at pat. you're right, he says. and he throws down the penny, grabs pat's hand and they drive off together.

and just as they do, another couple rush over to the table that has just been vacated. they are disheveled and wild-eyed. the man reaches into his pockets and pulls out a handful of pennies. why can't we leave now? when will we be able to leave? will we ever be able to leave this place? will we ever make it out?

he doesn't read the slips of paper out loud. but the audience knows the answer each time. as the final shot closes, we see their silhouettes, huddled in the corner of the booth, shoulders slumped in defeat.


I want to be like pat and don. but I can't seem to stop from digging out more pennies, and I'm growing more wild-eyed and desperate with each fortune strip. help.

shawshank

*sigh*

it's been raining and grey this whole time, and as much as I'd like to think it's not, I can't help but feel like it's a sign.

break in the clouds

I think it's a sign. I'm pretty sure. Although, to be fair, I've been pretty poor at reading signs of late. And I'm not so certain I know what it means.



[Update: it turned out not to be a sign after all. just a mildly hallucinogenic allergic reaction.]

too late

today I came across a letter written me by M, during a time when I thought my promises would take hold and melt away the endless calvary of tomorrows marching over the horizon, aiming themselves directly at me. it was a time when I thought I was strong enough to fight for ideas like forever, and that my intentions were pure enough to bind me to the future when they'd be cashed in.



it exhausts me to read it now. all that expectation. I want to climb into my bed and go to sleep, breathing in the warmth of yesterday's sunshine, thick and heavy and tasting of the ocean. I almost picked up the telephone.



instead, I folded it and tucked it away, between pages 121 and 122. I'll take it out again when I'm a better person.

fantom brooser

when I was younger, I bruised so easily that people were always afraid of being accused of hitting me (as if I would let them). some days, I'd just wake up in the morning looking like I'd taken a vicious kick in the arm or ribs. I would tell everyone I had a phantom bruiser. he never hurt me, just left me with a dotted break of broken blood vessels, floating up like one of those mystery pictures coming out of a dot matrix printer. a lite-brite pixelation of purples of greens.

look who paid me a visit last week: