Life with him is... strange, to say the least.
Before I met him, my life had precise order, and it functioned perfectly with everything around me. I never got in trouble; I never had to experience trying to fool the cops. I never had to do anything that would be harmful to me and my own personal health.
He has an infectious personality that has managed to suck me into this dark world of his, and now that I'm here, he is refusing to let me leave. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not.
Everything in his world is black, movie-screen cinema with surround sound, even though no sound is used. It's a cheap horror flick that costs a lot to make; It's a multi-billion company run by two people. It's falsified hope and dreams in a duffle bag. It's a vicious love spiced with burning hate. It's a demented childish dreamscape painted in blood and gore.
It's us sitting in a blackened movie theater, watching corpses on the screen acting out commercials and previews; the trailers of life.
Horror, action, drama, comedy, romance, sci-fi, fantasy--all rolled in one.
We are the actors in the play that he is directing in his twisted head. We are the souls he keeps in the file cabinet of his fantasies. He flips through the alphabetically labeled markers and pulls out the names of the people he wishes to see, to touch, to hold... to love.
"Who am I going to like today?"
Flip, flip, flip...
"Undecisive."
The trailers end. We're watching the movie of his life.
It's loud, no sound. It's bright, no color. Bad acting. Dubbing. Subtitles. English... French... Russian... It's hard to understand. Confusion... pure.
We watch the colors flip and turn and scream out to us, then the screen dulls to black with a spotlight in the center where he stands watching us watch him. Laughing at us as we laugh at him. Crying for us..as we cry for him. Screaming with us... as he fades away.
It's a technological breakthrough.
He is the superhuman computer that will end the wars and bring us all to peace. He is the machine that the human public is not quite ready for. He is the advancement that scares millions.
"Well, it's ready... but... are we?"
His world is a blackened nightmare that we jerk awake from in our beds at night, tear-stained faces and soaked in sweat.
It's a threatening atmosphere that appears comforting on the outside, but in actuality is a torture-chamber inside.
It's a masterpiece.
It's a famous painting hanging on the walls of an art museum.
Dancing colors of blue and black, red-rimmed in a bowl of nothing.
It's fast edits, images, nightmare sequences, and flashbacks; all played in slow motion.
He's hired a drunken cameraman to film his life for us.
The 16mm camera twists, turns, climbs, runs, falls, shifts, shakes, and zooms...never actually getting a clear shot of him in his finer moments... only the negative. It gets close-ups of blood stained clothing, anger-filled eyes, trembling hands... nothing more... nothing less.
He's in an independent low-budget film that has a hundred-man crew. The film has plot, and purpose...but loses attention at the sheer appallment of the cinematography. Horrid filmmaking with eye-blink editing and cheesy sound effects that consist of screams and liquid gushing noises.
It's a rated-R movie that has X quality to it. Levels of perversity and abraisiveness that would sicken someone of the norm. It's an art form that expresses the need for misanthrope, insulting everyone in the painful process.
It's neurosis.
It's a form of nihilism that well surpasses that in the standard history books, making it almost utterly unwatchable.
It's the sympathy toward the actor that dies with tears in his eyes as he cries out to a loved one.
It's the hate directed towards the enemy.
It's the grotesque images playing on repeat, dancing across your 19-inch television in a sick horror sitcom that they show on HBO at three in the morning, right before the pornography.
You experience a stunning visual-sensory overload.
Through the epileptic-seizure hold, techno music blasts through broken speakers to fill the room. Its strobe-like dancefloor rhythm will catch you at the opening sequence, demanding your attention until you fall asleep.
In the beginning credits, the dark movie is dedicated to some unknown lifeform, an epigram being the curdious reminder of said person.
"To whom it may concern..."
... will be the opening of the movie...
"Dedicated to..."
... will be after the short, witty poem.
Included will be a short three-lettered name standing out violently on a white screen, the letters in bold, black lettering.
Hope you enjoy the movie!
This person with the three-letters in their name will be sitting in the theater, crying as the movie progresses, laughing at other times. The action of laughter will be uncalled for, and will recieve dirty looks from dead-eyed patrons sitting in burned seats that smell of blood.
Sitting in the fourth row, you will hear a critic comment on how pretentious this movie already seems to be..while a woman moans slightly behind you at the image of the star of the show. She'll move her hand down and touch herself at the seemingly mastubatory offerings of the movie. On the screen, the main star is watching you, and only you. He pays no attention to the woman trying to gain release from the questionably erotic sight, and he only watches you...the person with the three-lettered name.
The woman's screaming behind you; the critic is commenting...
... "This definitely has potential."...
And the room fades to black.
The screen is illuminated brightly, the person sitting in a wooden chair, staring out of the screen and watching as the people begin to fade into nothing. You sit there, still.
His world has sucked you in again...
... sucked me in.
He's watching me from the movie screen again, smiling that small, wicked smile of his. I know i'm lost yet again...
I've seen this movie countless times before.
As always, it was powerful... wild... inventive.
Self-indulgent.
Seductive...
His world is all of these things.
And I am living in it...
Now you know what life with Heero is like.
You either like it, or turn it off in the first ten minutes.
... Just like a movie.
--End
Before I met him, my life had precise order, and it functioned perfectly with everything around me. I never got in trouble; I never had to experience trying to fool the cops. I never had to do anything that would be harmful to me and my own personal health.
He has an infectious personality that has managed to suck me into this dark world of his, and now that I'm here, he is refusing to let me leave. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not.
Everything in his world is black, movie-screen cinema with surround sound, even though no sound is used. It's a cheap horror flick that costs a lot to make; It's a multi-billion company run by two people. It's falsified hope and dreams in a duffle bag. It's a vicious love spiced with burning hate. It's a demented childish dreamscape painted in blood and gore.
It's us sitting in a blackened movie theater, watching corpses on the screen acting out commercials and previews; the trailers of life.
Horror, action, drama, comedy, romance, sci-fi, fantasy--all rolled in one.
We are the actors in the play that he is directing in his twisted head. We are the souls he keeps in the file cabinet of his fantasies. He flips through the alphabetically labeled markers and pulls out the names of the people he wishes to see, to touch, to hold... to love.
"Who am I going to like today?"
Flip, flip, flip...
"Undecisive."
The trailers end. We're watching the movie of his life.
It's loud, no sound. It's bright, no color. Bad acting. Dubbing. Subtitles. English... French... Russian... It's hard to understand. Confusion... pure.
We watch the colors flip and turn and scream out to us, then the screen dulls to black with a spotlight in the center where he stands watching us watch him. Laughing at us as we laugh at him. Crying for us..as we cry for him. Screaming with us... as he fades away.
It's a technological breakthrough.
He is the superhuman computer that will end the wars and bring us all to peace. He is the machine that the human public is not quite ready for. He is the advancement that scares millions.
"Well, it's ready... but... are we?"
His world is a blackened nightmare that we jerk awake from in our beds at night, tear-stained faces and soaked in sweat.
It's a threatening atmosphere that appears comforting on the outside, but in actuality is a torture-chamber inside.
It's a masterpiece.
It's a famous painting hanging on the walls of an art museum.
Dancing colors of blue and black, red-rimmed in a bowl of nothing.
It's fast edits, images, nightmare sequences, and flashbacks; all played in slow motion.
He's hired a drunken cameraman to film his life for us.
The 16mm camera twists, turns, climbs, runs, falls, shifts, shakes, and zooms...never actually getting a clear shot of him in his finer moments... only the negative. It gets close-ups of blood stained clothing, anger-filled eyes, trembling hands... nothing more... nothing less.
He's in an independent low-budget film that has a hundred-man crew. The film has plot, and purpose...but loses attention at the sheer appallment of the cinematography. Horrid filmmaking with eye-blink editing and cheesy sound effects that consist of screams and liquid gushing noises.
It's a rated-R movie that has X quality to it. Levels of perversity and abraisiveness that would sicken someone of the norm. It's an art form that expresses the need for misanthrope, insulting everyone in the painful process.
It's neurosis.
It's a form of nihilism that well surpasses that in the standard history books, making it almost utterly unwatchable.
It's the sympathy toward the actor that dies with tears in his eyes as he cries out to a loved one.
It's the hate directed towards the enemy.
It's the grotesque images playing on repeat, dancing across your 19-inch television in a sick horror sitcom that they show on HBO at three in the morning, right before the pornography.
You experience a stunning visual-sensory overload.
Through the epileptic-seizure hold, techno music blasts through broken speakers to fill the room. Its strobe-like dancefloor rhythm will catch you at the opening sequence, demanding your attention until you fall asleep.
In the beginning credits, the dark movie is dedicated to some unknown lifeform, an epigram being the curdious reminder of said person.
"To whom it may concern..."
... will be the opening of the movie...
"Dedicated to..."
... will be after the short, witty poem.
Included will be a short three-lettered name standing out violently on a white screen, the letters in bold, black lettering.
Hope you enjoy the movie!
This person with the three-letters in their name will be sitting in the theater, crying as the movie progresses, laughing at other times. The action of laughter will be uncalled for, and will recieve dirty looks from dead-eyed patrons sitting in burned seats that smell of blood.
Sitting in the fourth row, you will hear a critic comment on how pretentious this movie already seems to be..while a woman moans slightly behind you at the image of the star of the show. She'll move her hand down and touch herself at the seemingly mastubatory offerings of the movie. On the screen, the main star is watching you, and only you. He pays no attention to the woman trying to gain release from the questionably erotic sight, and he only watches you...the person with the three-lettered name.
The woman's screaming behind you; the critic is commenting...
... "This definitely has potential."...
And the room fades to black.
The screen is illuminated brightly, the person sitting in a wooden chair, staring out of the screen and watching as the people begin to fade into nothing. You sit there, still.
His world has sucked you in again...
... sucked me in.
He's watching me from the movie screen again, smiling that small, wicked smile of his. I know i'm lost yet again...
I've seen this movie countless times before.
As always, it was powerful... wild... inventive.
Self-indulgent.
Seductive...
His world is all of these things.
And I am living in it...
Now you know what life with Heero is like.
You either like it, or turn it off in the first ten minutes.
... Just like a movie.
--End