Poem By Michael Matsuda
The blank white washed wall. Covered in posters, it looks a little more elaborate than before. Consequently, it appears more appealing but no matter how hard you try to hide the wall with paper, beneath it is still that sad stale plain wall.
Sometimes, if you fixate your eyes to that wall in the pitch black of the darkened room only set aglow by the computer monitor, you can see it become animated. The wall starts to move inward, shapes are formed by the uneven coating of paint that move with life. However, everyone else will look at this wall and see nothing.
Why is that?
The wall plays cinematics of the future, cinematics of the past, and maybe even cinematics of the impossible. It is not the wall that plays tricks nor is it your eyes, it's the over active mind that won't turn off for a good nights sleep. The eyes see what the mind sees. Therefore, your unimaginative imagination just over-analyzes concrete details with an unfortunate twist. Happily ever afters are only seen in fairy tales and children's literature. In real life, those are seldom and very few. The imperfects of the overlapping fragments called memories resonate on the pale wall. They are nocturnal visuals that fade away as rays animate a new day.