There once was a boy who had a very gruff father who didn’t believe in nonsense, especially magic. One day when the boy had the nerve to ask why, his father replied sternly, “Look around….there is war, death, famine…the worlds going to the dogs. How can you believe in magic in a place like this?”
The boy thought over his father’s question and he replied, “There is magic in the world. It’s just not what you think. It isn’t so obvious as a dragon or an enchanted mirror. It’s something not everyone has, but those that have it make the world better.”
“What do you mean?” the father asked.
“I mean creativity,” the boy responded, “because you see, story-tellers are in their own way witches and wizards, casting spells over readers or audiences with the right set of words or images. Artists are hypnotists, making things that are too beautiful to look away from. Musicians are sirens, creating music people can’t stop listening to. Actors are shape-shifters changing into people that can either be alive or dead, real or make believe. Creativity is magic father, and as long as we have it the world will be okay.”
His father shook his head and muttered something about “day dreamer” before going off to work and the boy just smiled because he knew he was right. Then he grabbed some pencils and paper from a drawer and went to go make his own sort of magic.
"Any love that is love is right." -Francesa Lia Block
About Me
- Cam
- I write. I act. I like glitter a little too much and live inside my head. Its pretty there. :)
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Place of Death by Cambria Covell
The obituary says ‘place of death, Hollywood, California’. It’s such a strange thing to see. Hollywood isn’t the place of death. It’s the city of dreams. People come with nothing but seven dollars or sometimes less than in their wallet and they leave with more money than god. They start off as that girl taking orders or that guy behind the counter and they leave as that face that shines brightly on the silver screen, like a beacon of what things can be. They start off as nothing and end up shooting stars that give people hope and make them want to lose themselves in worlds that don’t exist. It’s the place where James Dean still smokes cigarettes on the sidewalk as he waits to cross and Marilyn Monroe still walk the streets, blowing kisses at passersby. It is the place of dreams, hopes, fears and false immortality but it shouldn’t be the place of death.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Old Friends by Cambria Covell
Another body, the old man thought wearily with a sigh as he stopped his digging for a moment and rested against his shovel. After all of these years he should have been used to it. Death was something that couldn’t be stopped. Though death was what kept him employed that didn’t mean that he liked it any more than the next person.
Off in the distance, an owl hooted as it woke up with the moon that was rising. He could hear the crickets chirping and the sound of the cars from the high way as they made their way to their destinations. He sighed and forced himself to keep on digging.
For a while the only sound he heard was of his shovel picking up the dirt and dropping it six feet down. Then he heard the snapping of a twig, causing him to jump. Shock shot through him and he clutched at his heart in fear. “Jesus!” the old man exclaimed, dropping his shovel to the ground.
“Not quite,” said an amused voice.
The man looked up and found himself staring at a very good looking gentleman in his early twenties. He was dressed impeccably in a fine suit and reminded the man a bit of that film star he used to idolize when he was younger, Carey Grant. The man noticed then that the air had stilled and the grasshoppers were quieting. He stared at the younger gentleman as though he were meeting a challenge.
Neither of the two would speak first. So they just stood there, sizing the other up. “So this is to be it then?” the old man asked.
“Indeed,” the younger replied.
“Can I at least finish my job?”
“Your job is finished.”
The old man looked at the grave and he found himself staring at the body that had formally been his. Then he looked to his partner. “Would you mind?”
“Ah, yes,” said the young man. He bent down and grabbed the shovel that was on the floor then dropped it gently into the grave. Then he looked towards his companion. “Are you ready?”
The old man chuckled. “I’ve been ready for years, you could say.”
His partner laughed as well, dryly, and then together they started walking out of the cemetery.
Off in the distance, an owl hooted as it woke up with the moon that was rising. He could hear the crickets chirping and the sound of the cars from the high way as they made their way to their destinations. He sighed and forced himself to keep on digging.
For a while the only sound he heard was of his shovel picking up the dirt and dropping it six feet down. Then he heard the snapping of a twig, causing him to jump. Shock shot through him and he clutched at his heart in fear. “Jesus!” the old man exclaimed, dropping his shovel to the ground.
“Not quite,” said an amused voice.
The man looked up and found himself staring at a very good looking gentleman in his early twenties. He was dressed impeccably in a fine suit and reminded the man a bit of that film star he used to idolize when he was younger, Carey Grant. The man noticed then that the air had stilled and the grasshoppers were quieting. He stared at the younger gentleman as though he were meeting a challenge.
Neither of the two would speak first. So they just stood there, sizing the other up. “So this is to be it then?” the old man asked.
“Indeed,” the younger replied.
“Can I at least finish my job?”
“Your job is finished.”
The old man looked at the grave and he found himself staring at the body that had formally been his. Then he looked to his partner. “Would you mind?”
“Ah, yes,” said the young man. He bent down and grabbed the shovel that was on the floor then dropped it gently into the grave. Then he looked towards his companion. “Are you ready?”
The old man chuckled. “I’ve been ready for years, you could say.”
His partner laughed as well, dryly, and then together they started walking out of the cemetery.
Things no one knows by Cambria Covell
There are things no one knows
There are things no one knows
Whisper the ghosts
Whisper the ghosts
There are things no one knows
There are things no one knows
Cry the crows
Cry the crows
There are things no one knows
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Good riddance by Cambria Covell
High above the castle is the dead enemies head sitting on a pike
His eyes were plucked out that morning by an eagle that attacked it that night
Now the eagle flies nearby and lets out a cry that sounds like it says
Goodbye, good riddance and goodbye
The eagle lets out a cry
Goodbye, good riddance and goodbye
His eyes were plucked out that morning by an eagle that attacked it that night
Now the eagle flies nearby and lets out a cry that sounds like it says
Goodbye, good riddance and goodbye
The eagle lets out a cry
Goodbye, good riddance and goodbye
It is by Cambria Covell
It breaks your walls
It makes you fall
It makes you dream
It makes you scream
It makes you want to keep on breathing (or stop)
It’s there if the moons up
It’s there if the suns down
It’s a play
It’s a movie
It’s an old photograph
It’s the family’s pet dog or your old stuffed animal
It’s the lyrics to an old pop song you can’t get out of your mind
It’s the ticking of the clock as your waiting for that promised phone call
It’s a note on the fridge reminding you to smile
It makes you believe in things like fantasy, heroes, knights, happily-ever-after and prince charming
It builds you up and tears you down
It’s your friend
Your enemy
Your mother, sister, father, and your brother
It annoys, it destroys
It’s humanizing, equalizing, true, first, fast, broken
Obsessive, sometimes violent, and unrequited
Universal
It is the beginning
It is the middle
It is the end
It is love
love
love
love
Four letters by Cambria Covell
It’s a simple, four letter word
It’s very small and overused
But I’ve been thinking lately I’d be a fool if I at least didn’t try to say
I need you to stay
Stay
Stay
Please come back and don’t you ever, ever go away
Stay
Stay
Please come back and don’t you ever, ever go away
You see I haven’t been sleeping
And I’m not eating lately and the doctors can’t explain it
So they keep on putting pills down me
But it isn’t a pill that will fix things
So I’m asking you please stay
Stay
Stay
Please come back and don’t you ever, ever go away
It’s a simple, four letter word
It’s very small and overused
But I’d be a fool if I didn’t try and ask you to stay
Stay
Stay
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