The Movie in My Head

There was a movie screening in my slumberous brain this morning. It told of corruption and love, of abuse and insanity, of violence and retrobution, of falsehood and nobility, of wealth and addiction.

It could be called The False Enlightenment, or The Dark Deviance, or The Wasted Generation, or The Cavernous Youth, or The Divergent Intelligence. It could be called all those things, and more, if sufficient energies were expelled toward that end.

The movie in my head is rated NS(Never Show) because no eye will ever see it. Yet its dregs cling to my emotive garb like a stubborn stain that invokes one's memory. I, as the protagonist, murked through the mind-wrenching trenches of my scorched imagination. And a more colorful or vivid movie I have yet to behold.

The movie of my dream held intermissions. I would awaken in bed with its dialogue and its aesthetic qualities before me. And when I again drifted off, it would resume where it stopped. Thus the chronology was intact.

The movie in my head was a dramatic realism--I was unknowingly placed in disturbing situations, and my natural reactions were filmed. I think I shocked my live audience because no autographs were requested.

The movie had no ending and so could still be in production. The film crew undoubtedly waits for the moon to rise-for my body to rest.