A manifesto for a more wondrous age.

I’ve lied to you. After making a post declaring my goals for this website, as well as outlining the posting schedule, I abandoned you. I disappeared, cold, in the night. While I was away for work, I had intended to queue up enough posts to maintain the site while I was gone. This did not happen.

While this website is for entertainment and enjoyment, I take it seriously and want you to know that I find this sort of desertion unacceptable. I’ll do everything I can to avoid such a scenario in the future.

Given all this, we are back. Posts resume this week. And let me be the first to say, boy, they are a doozy. Strap in.

While I usually send out a newsletter on Sundays, I wanted to make an impromptu Metachromatic post about my absence, and what I was doing.

As you may know from my about section, I am an independent gaffer based out of Chicago. What this means is that I set lights for cinema. Over the past two and a half weeks I was out in Indiana gaffing a feature film.

The biggest change in my lifestyle was the culture shock of coming from Chicago to a small town in Indiana. While only separated by 4 hours of road, the cities (if the term still applies, to either) couldn’t be further apart. They are diametrically opposed.

Despite all its flaws, Chicago is a city of options and opportunities. There are countless places to go, things available to do, etc. Walking around in the Loop, you can feel the energy of the people. The city is alive.

I am used to living with no roommates, and yet found myself here living with almost 20 people for 2 weeks straight. In a situation like this, privacy is all but destroyed.

The decision of what to show or hide of yourself to your peers is stripped from you. All actions become public.

Humans are social creatures. We tend to congregate together and crave interactions. I enjoy a conversation as much as anyone else, but I also need solitude. In the city, there are too many people to pay any mind to you. In the town, you can’t get away.

One of the calmest moments came during a break on set. I had just finished eating dinner and had almost twenty-five minutes to spare. I left set and began walking North, trying to find somewhere to be alone. I went six blocks up before running into a small Vietnam War memorial. It was an empty pavilion, with two benches, and only one of the three lights on. I sat down on the bench, took out my notebook, and wrote this poem.

The streets buzz
with bugs and lies
as the sun escapes
and the moon hides
in the twilight.

A fire a block away
grows gently on the garbage
it feeds, rising
to the occasion.

Birds swarm, near misses,
like atoms in fusion;
a murmuration, alive,
unsure if they should fight
or flee.

It’s quiet now, relatively,
and maybe somewhere
across town,
a Father puts his Son
to sleep until dawn.

I read it aloud twice. Not my finest work. But I liked it all the same, clichés and everything. It did for me what all writing, especially all poetry, means to do. Not provide an escape, but rather to force you into the reality of the moment. To face your everyday with the tools you need to survive.

Sometimes all you need is a break and a poem to do that.