i'm heath.
i film.
i edit.
i write.
i eat.
i sleep.
I’m giving a little rough draft of the new story I’m working on. It’s about a guy named Jonny Franco. That’s really the only plot I have. Here’s a little bit of what it’s like:
My girlfriend just bought me a journal. She even wrote a special note in the back. I can’t read it until I finish the journal. I really don’t live an interesting life, so I’ll be about eighty by the time that I get to it. I guess with the years behind me I can reconnect with the past when I’m that age. It excites me.
Well, I ramble a lot, but this section is entitled “ABOUT ME” so I guess I’ll try to explain myself. I’m honestly not sure why I have to give myself a biography, but oh well. My name is Jonny Franco. I was born on the twenty-ninth of October in 1992, almost the start of the decade. It wasn’t awful growing up in that era. I miss of a few of my favorite TV shows. (not like I watch much TV now). The styles were crazy, though I never got into them. I always did my own thing as a kid. I can remember as far back as my fourth birthday. My older brother woke me up sometime in the morning. He seemed a little happy for me. It was funny because I didn’t even know it was my birthday. I was undoubtedly confused. I’m not sure what he said but it was probably, “Jonny, get up! It’s your birthday don’t ya know?”. The joy kicked in. I was four. Only one more year until I could go to school (it was actually two years because you at to be five in August to start, and I wouldn’t turn five until October). My parents came into the room, I think. It wasn’t my room, though. I mean I had a room and a bed, but I never slept in it. Me and my older brother always slept together. Something of a comfort thing, I guess. I’m pretty sure they told me I had a guest.
I made my way down the stairs. “The Red Stairs” was their nickname. We called them that because our stairs were overlayed with red carpet. It was entertaining sliding down those stairs, slamming in the walls. So much fun. As I walked through the kitchen and into the living I felt so nervours and excited. I could only make out a silhouette of who the figure behind the blinds of the door was. I twisted that golden door knob as if I was about to be given a check for a million dollars. Swung the door open and there stood my grandmaw. The sweetest old lady I knew, although she wasn’t even that old. In her hands she held a big box wrapped in red gift wrap paper covered with characters from a cartoon movie I was in love with.
“Hey, Jonny.” she said with the most loving smile. I smiled back. “Hi, maw maw.” She gave me a hug, told me congrats on turning four and the walked in the house. I was extreme excited to know what it was that was in that box. She sat my gift down on the counter in the kitchen. I pulled up a chair and, in my whitey tighties, I climbed upon the towering stool. My parents and my older brother were waiting for me tear into my new gift. I felt as if they were just as anxious as me. So I ripped apart that wrapping paper so fast and rapid. Even today, one of my favorite things about receiving a gift is getting to open it. When the paper lay upon the kitchen tiles in a billion and one pieces, I had my prize in front of me. It was a pirate ship with little pirate figurines. My brother was excited because basically that was a new toy for him, too. I loved pirates back then and my grandmother knew it. She was always so kind and sweet. I gave her a big hug and with a soft kiss on her cheek and my arms wrapped around her neck, I stared into her eyes and said, “I love you, maw maw.”. She replied with the same back to me. It must be a lot easier to gain love from a kid. Give them attention all year long and in their birthday, give them what they want. I was a true kid. I miss it being so simple.
Roughly, I made a shape of love
A novel of words
Ink on my palms feels fine
Dramatics and apprehension
Close the door to your emotions
Keep it locked, real tight
And they all say, “You’re prettier than that.”
So focused on disclosure
Upsetting and understanding
You’re natural and needed but still misleading your own guilt
You eat and sleep
You’re only a sheep in the field
This green, green grass isn’t as green on the other side
So you slip and slide and quietly lurk by
To get away from me
You sneaky thing
You think you always understand
But you could never stand by your intentions
And the best feeling was that which got the best of me
But I’m not crying
And I’d be lying if I said you weren’t golden
So nice and perky like a mistake I can’t throw away
A sunburn on my neck that peels and peels but never fades away
A novel of fucking words spoke out of my mouth
Fact or fiction, it’s no denying the ink on your lips
You drank it like wine
It goes down, down your throat
And you never seem to choke
It’s a rough shape you make on your face
It’s pleading with you
Hoping you realize
That you are you’re own demise
You’re biting your skin
And that ink is yours and only yours
It drips down
And when you wake up
You’re drowing and frowning
Surprise, surprise
It’s written all over your face
All over your face
And all over your face
You finally realize its written all over, it’s all over your face
It’s all over
So is the price you’re willing to pay worth the guts that you’re willing to tear apart?
You know where you’ve been
And you get what you give
Well I gave all that I had
And right now writing this passage
keeps me from the habit of overreacting
This just brings muse from memory
And damn, this room is spinning due to my lack of self stability
My sober intuition is steering me away from my deviant nature
Flawed by the past, yet ever so priceless
A diamond for an eye, I’d trade my heart in a second
And where is that golden spirit?
I’ve tried so hard to be good lately
Darling, you only reply blankly to me
“You wanna become a priest, boy? Tell me something holy, tell me something holy.
I said I’d never let you go but the water is getting cold
Sorry, Jack, but you’re sinking to the bottom of the ocean.”
Have you ever meant a word you’ve said?
And how was your day?
“Better now that I haven’t said anything”
You’re lying through your teeth, grit them ‘till you bleed
And as the blood runs through your lips and pours out your mouth
You just got what you had given
And I’m stricken but not smitten
This is only fuel for the artillery
It’s muse from the memory
I know where you have been
I was trying to describe you to someone
I don’t think I did a very good job
Words just can’t carry the way the light hits your face
And shines as bright as the sunrise
Or the weight that lifts gravity into my stomach
When a smile stretches across your fragile mouth
No, dear, I don’t think I can explain all of that
I tried painting a portrait of you
To show to the world
But I just couldn’t capture your beauty quite good enough
See, my hands are weak and fingers, they shake
So when holding a brush my focus shrieks and I lose my place
But I never lose the image of your face, it burns deep in my mind
Buried within a place I call my memories
I couldn’t forge a sculpture of your body
I tried to make it out of clay
And then I just stopped and walked away from the stand
I’m distracted now by the way that you move, so subtle
Your gentleness is genuine
It presses on my chest and sleeps on my spine
As if you were breathing down my neck
And this feeling, oh how it warms the fever in my head
I hold this pose, like the stature I was trying to create
I see our child in your eyes and it leaves me breathless
It leaves me feeling a new sense of love forming in my gut
Something I’ve never felt before
And I tried describing this on paper
And the ink runs of the page like a river flowing towards the sea
And the wind picks up and carries the leaves further from their homes
And the trees scream and cry that their children have left them
And I realized then that me and the trees are not so different
We are planted and then we grow, we produce seeds and eventually they leave us
And we wave good-bye in the wind, and then we sit and wait
We know what’s coming, but at the same time we don’t know what it is
We gave the end a name, but we never talk about him
We don’t want him to come, but we leave our doors unlocked
Because we know he doesn’t knock
When I’m asked what got me through this, I will say that it was you
My darling, my dear, I can’t describe or explain how much I love you
All I know is that I do, and that’s good enough
