You are the largest untapped resource, faintly murmurs the voice of a friend.

When everything has been consumed and you feel nothing left to express, a strange science comes over your mind.

As long as you want it so bad, it's not gonna happen... So just forget about the miracles.

Wristcutters: A Love Story directed by Goran Dukic, is the story of a man who decides to end his life after a harsh breakup with his girlfriend. Unfortunately, he discovers there is no real ending, only a run-down afterlife that is strikingly similar to his old one - just a bit worse.

College is killing me.

I can't get to sleep at a reasonable hour.
It's not that I cannot sleep - I am always tired.
It's not that I have things to do or people to be with - I am practically alone.
I simply never want to sleep - but I always want to be well rested.

I don't remember who I am. I am spending all my time being who I am supposed to be. They are not the same person.

More by Mark Osborne tells the story of a lonely inventor, whose colorless existence is brightened only by dreams of the carefree bliss of his youth.

By day, he is trapped in a dehumanizing job in a joyless world. But by night, he tinkers away on a visionary invention, desperate to translate his inspiration into something meaningful.

When his invention is complete, it will change the way people see the world. But he will find that success comes at a high price, as it changes himself, as well.

I have faith that you’ll see it too

While we were doing problems
involving numbers and triangles
I looked at you
and your eyes turned and
touched mine
and I smiled
we kissed
and my heart jumped to yours
and our hearts danced
played
gleefully and whimsically
they ran through fields of rabbits
sunny days and starry nights
and then
when our lips stopped
hugging
my heart said goodbye
and your heart said see you soon
and I smiled
'cause I know
our hearts
love each other
'cause I know
my heart
loves you
I looked up back at the triangles and
couldn't wipe the smile
from my face
knowing you were sitting next to me
knowing your heart
is sitting next to mine

Your Heart Next To Mine by Calvin

I'm the "funny one" out of my friends. I don't think any of them realize how depressed I get.

During parties, I like to excuse myself, sneak into the bedroom, and insert dollar bills into people's pockets. It makes me warm inside knowing that I had just made someone's day.

While on my way to class this morning, I realized I really should be less careful when crossing the road.

http://www.nasa.gov/wav/123163main_cas-skr1-112203.wav

Audio emissions from Saturn.

I'm scared that my life will always be this dull.

Link should work now.

My mind has been going 100 mph, but for those few moments, nothing. In some ways, clarity, but in other ways, complete confusion.

Trapped by my own mind,
my own stream of consciousness.
Will it always be this way?
Wasting my life away,
as I wish for beautiful smiles
and remember better times
and try to forgot this emptiness
that's killing me inside.

Trapped by Calvin

You are why I write.

My head is a spreadsheet of experiences, preconceptions, and genes that rapidly fire and create additions, subtractions, and multiplications of how I view a person or event. As this guy stands next to me with bloodshot eyes and goofiness at the library 3 in the morning, my database of information in my spreadsheet quickly creates my perception and stereotypes of this dip shit but I hold my smug facial reaction in fear of getting capped.

I'm happy just because I found out I am really no one.

I can't do this, send help soon, writes a girl in a spacesuit staring at the moon.

Confessions of a Broken Heart

Everyday I just want to tell you everything: how I feel, how I want to be with you, how much in love I really am with you. But I can never tell you that you're everything to me, everything I ever wanted, dreamed, desired. I can't have you, and it kills me. Every time I pass you in the hallway and I see you my heart melts and you bring a smile to my face. What happened to us? We talked all the time last year in 8th grade, but now we barely speak. I know why I can't speak to you. The question is, do you? My reason is because every time I drift off into your eyes, I can’t breathe, all of time stops and every emotion felt is worth ten fold that of another time. I can't help it anymore, when you took me into the library in the 8th grade you told me you were glad it was me, and then you asked me to go out into the hallway. I have wondered since then why you took me out to the hallway, and if it wasn't for the librarian yelling at us, I would have kissed you right then and there. But I didn't, and that is my fault. If I had the chance to experience it again, I would have kissed you. But when you told me you were glad it was me, I was breathless, speechless, in a whole other world trying to gather whether or not it was real. All I wish for now is to know that you loved me even for that fraction of a second, because it meant the world to me. It may be years from now but one day we may run into each other and I just know I'll get the butterflies again like I did everyday you smiled at me. People may ask me one day how many times I've been in love and I'll say, well I've had my share of crushes, but I've only been in love once. So, thank you for making me fall in love with you like you did. And I know I'm just rambling at this point, and I can see the ink start to weaken, but some people may ask me one day how I would describe my first love. My answer: Romeo and Juliet, because that is the essence of true love and you made me feel true love. If you read this, listen for the girl who knows how Juliet felt, because this is her and I hope you find me before it's too late for this love to still last. Because I'm slowly fading away, and you're now just a memory to me when you walk past me in the high school hallway, but I still get the butterflies every damn time you smile at me, all I can do is smile back, and cry inside saying, did he ever love me? Did he love me like I fell so deeply in love with him, that at times I think I will never recover? So I sit back and do nothing, because I can't do a thing. Please, please, the only thing I can ask of you is that when the next girl falls for you don't break her like you broke me.

-Kristen

P.S. It's dangerous to confuse children with angels.

Anonymous online confession

Don't panic

This is the first day of my life.

I feel as if my life is a documentation on thermal paper - it will eventually fade.

I may not have the best knowledge on the problem at hand, but I certainly have a pair of ears, he pointed out to her.

She took in a deep breath and let out a sigh. I am so scared of anyone finding out how lonely I am. There was a pause - she hesitated. I have shut everyone out completely.

He stared directly at the green gems hidden behind her glasses. It was then, sitting around the fire in the chilled forest, his eyes attached to hers, that she realized she had spent her whole life searching for what she really wanted when all this time it was right there in front of her. She had never felt more alive than in these moments.

Their eyes connected for a long period of time before it was broken with his smirk. He looked away in embarrassment while she continued to stare in question. They both understood now that not everyone had been shut out.

She smiled. Then it faded.

I'm not much for looking forward. I mean, I don't have much. There's you - his gaze had shifted to the fire, but he redirected back towards those gems on the mention of him - and I always have my family. But do I really have them? she asked with desperation, Are they really there? At the end of those two questions her eyes dropped to the ground as if depression had pulled them down.

He leaned over towards her and put his arm around her shoulder to comfort her. Her gaze continued to stare at the ground. They huddled for warmth beside the embers of a dying fire. Spring's not here yet, he whispered through his shivering lips.

I never thought this day would come. I mean, come on. Does anyone plan this far ahead? Where do I go from here? What do I do now? I know no one - I have friends, I have people I can talk to on a daily basis, people I can call, but who do I really know? I know only what they show me - and I show them only what I know about myself. If I can't even understand myself, how can I understand anyone else? I do nothing - I move from activity to activity from bed to bed from day to day. This is my life. You are told stories, you know? Books, movies, television shows. All about this part of my life. How exciting it is! The adventures, the people you meet, the wild and crazy things you get yourself into. But... this point in my life which I've been waiting for for so long, been told so much about and had so much anticipation toward? Anti-climatic.

The last words of her speech trailed on throughout the trees around them. Then silence approached and enveloped them - not a whisper was spoken from the trees to the two of them. They were complete in just sitting and thinking. No pushing forward. Just sitting, being.

He rested the side of his head on her shoulders while rearranging her wind-distorted hair. Something about the crisp quiet night air refreshes, he whispered towards her face. She looked up at him and again they stared into each other's eyes.

This is what I'm supposed to be doing, right?

By Calvin

Of everything I've accomplished and everything I'm capable of, the only things I've ever wanted will only exist in my head.

I have great potential that I will likely never reach; my brilliance will go to waste. The smallest failures frustrate me greatly and cause me to loose sight of what is important. I have doubts about everything - I lie and claim I do not. I day dream about what it would be like to be someone else.

I walked a circle around town today holding onto nothing. I had no idea where I was going, only where I had been.

That was my morning.

I decided to do something today, so I went to a party. I don't like the party atmosphere because I feel as if I have nothing to contribute. I don't enjoy much of anything that goes on - most of the activities actually irritate me or stand against my values. So I stood to the side remaining a ghost.

Occasionally while walking around it would get crowded, so I would let people go first ahead of me all the time. I figured I wasn't going anywhere.

People approached me and I approached people, eventually leading to awkward conversations about current events and ridiculous happenings. Throughout all of the conversations I had a single thought burrowing in my mind: I wonder what my life and mind will be like when I'm 80.

That was my day.

Fifteen minutes ago, while everyone else was sleeping or partying, I was sitting outside planning my life for my future kids.

I sit outside and think, then come inside and write. Sometimes, I look into my screen and my depth perception goes away and I lose the sensation of where I am sitting. Even when I am not searching or looking or typing. Just sitting.

That was my night.

I'm out of my mind.

While struggling for meaning and purpose in progress, there are no answers, only choices.

Yesterday I finally told you what I have felt
for you
and that I feel it again and again
for you
and that I have been unable to stop
for you.

I thought crushes were
beyond me.
It seems that I was wrong
and I now wrestle with my feelings.
What would everyone say if they knew?

You were simply
in the
wrong place
at the
wrong time
and I was too close to you for too long.
And all I get from it is a
longing
I can’t satisfy
that you
won’t fulfill.

Maybe you’ll forgive me
somehow.

You turned your back to me.
Your back was
insightfully blank
yet clearly had thoughts and ideas on it
just now
in this abruption
it was unclear of its stance
its rights and wrongs
its standards
principles.
Like a chalk board
once covered with knowledge meant to inform
choices ahead
now blank
in this abruption.

You understand.
You said you were sorry for not noticing how I felt
despite me trying to tell you all the time.
Now you know.
It has taken a load off of my mind
and hope is not far away
visible from a telescope now.
From the heart
now.

But I’m so afraid of dying
again.
To feel cold and dead
again.
I can see death
so close
and yet
I steer into the storm onwards.

Please
don’t leave me alone.
Solitude kills me
and
unlike storms
yet
like death
I want you so much.

Why do all of my vices come to hunt me?

Unlike Storms by Calvin

I lost the only thing that made sense to me

I find it very hard to relate to people my age — So I just keep quiet. I stay away from people because I don’t feel a connection with just about anyone. I could align myself to be like them but then I wouldn’t be myself. And when I do, I can't do it for very long. It gets to the point where I become tired of myself and the person I’ve turned into. So I crawl back into my little cavern and live in solitude. Am I introverted, or am I different?



Anyone But You by Keegan DeWitt & the Sparrows

I miss being missed,
I desire to be desired,
I want to be wanted.

How much more of this can I take? Do you know how badly I need saving?

These children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds are immune to your consultations. They're quite aware of what they're going through

Dear Mr. Vernon: We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it is we did wrong, but we think you're crazy for making us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us: in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, The Breakfast Club.

What? I don't care. That's fine, don't worry about it, really. What? What? I really don't...

The film Texas Snow is about two friends who discover a newfound affection for one another and their struggle to keep their relationship a secret from roommates and ex-boyfriends. But, when the forces keeping them apart are no longer there, the two find themselves questioning whether what they've been feeling all this time is love at all.

For more information:
www.texassnowmovie.com
myspace.com/texassnowmovie
film score: http://keegandewitt.com/

The most spiritual human beings, assuming they are the most courageous, also experience by far the most painful tragedies...

...but it is precisely for this reason that they honor life, because it brings against them its most formidable weapons.

If you really love me
then lets make a vow
right here, together.
Right now. Okay?

Okay.

Alright, repeat after me.
I'm gonna be free

I'm gonna be free.

And I'm gonna be brave.

And I'm gonna be brave.

Good.
I'm gonna live each day as if it were my last.

Oh, that's good.

You like that?

Yeah.

Same.
I'm gonna live each day as if it were my last.

Fantastically,

Fantastically,

courageously,

courageously,

with grace.

with grace.

And in the dark of the night, and it does get dark,
when I call a name

when I call a name

it'll be your name.
What's your name?
Nevermind,
let's go.
Say it.

Let's go,

Everywhere,

everywhere,

even though,

even though,

we're scared.

we're scared.

'Cause it's life.

It's life.

And it's happening. It's really, really happening...
right now.

I stepped outside and felt the crisp night. Sharply cold wind chimes dared to flow to my ears. I looked up at the stars.

I never tell anyone about my dreams. My real dreams. I used to share them - the real ones, the most common ones - but according to everyone I share them with, I have some of the most screwed-up dreams. They all involve me in surreal situations, being told not to do something, then doing it, then having absolute insanity ensue. Sometimes, I have flashbacks of my past in my dreams where I relive a situation except I'm not who I am and I do things that I would never do and it never works out well. I wake up hours before I need to and sit outside in the cold - because I'm so afraid. I lay down and stare at the stars usually just to calm down.

Out there in that chill before dawn, with the dim glow of the old streetlights, I secretly realize that I am being slowly driven insane by my life. And it’s not just the dreams.

sad dude is mad for a hot chick

I have a huge crush on a guy friend of mine. He’s incredibly handsome and brilliant, but he’s horribly shy and insecure from being picked on for years by people he calls friends. I think its created a trust issue in him, and I also think that he might like me but he’s just too insecure or afraid to go for it. I get more of his attention than any other girl we hang out with. I’m not some raging hottie or anything, but I’m definitely more popular and outgoing than he, and I think that my social status intimidates him. Perhaps he thinks my interest isn’t genuine? Still, I love being around him even if he’s not into me, because it’s just nice to think (even if it’s not true) that someone enjoys your company or trusts you more than they trust others. I feel powerful in my effect on him and I love finally feeling like I have some sort of influence on him - just that my opinion means something to him, he trusts me, etc. We don’t talk about much, but I feel comfortable in our silence, and I realize that it’s more his fault than mine. Sometimes I’m just dying to lean over and rest my head on him. I look through some of these “sad dude is mad for a hot chick” confessions and I wonder if any of them are him writing about me.

-taken from online confession forum

The harder I try to be a good person, it seems the more I screw up. I try to help people, but I alienate them even more.

He muttered his way across the cafe,
mumbling through people eating
and talking, the chatter of lunch,

and stalked up to my table, and he said
—no, not said, something more like squeezed
or clenched, strenuous and painful—

Will you stop that.
Will you put your pencil
down, and stop touching it, stop moving

it, moving and shaking and twisting
it. Will you stop. Stop.
I wonder about him sometimes, worry

at him, turning him over and over,
considering his edges and angles:
When he walks down the street,

does he stumble as the traffic stutters
forward, brake lights flashing like strobes?
What does he do with the contrapuntal

staccato of children at hopscotch,
the herky-jerky rhythm of play?
—I imagine little girls in braids and t-shirts

looking at him with blank stares raw
as skinned knees as he pleads
his muttering commandments.

But on that day, stubborn
with surprise, undismayed by the jaw
of his fervor, I said, No.

He stared, fastened by wonder
and agitation, his fingers moving, nervous digits
tying and untying themselves, fretting

at some insoluble knot,
but I said, No. I said, Don't Look.
Just don't look, I said.

Christopher Cunningham

There cannot be a God because if there were one, I could not believe that I was not He.

People often ask me if I have any words of advice for young people.
Well here are a few simple admonitions for young and old.
Never interfere in a boy-and-girl fight.
Beware of whores who say they don't want money.
The hell they don't.
What they mean is they want more money. Much more.
If you're doing business with a religious son-of-a-bitch,
Get it in writing.
His word isn't worth shit.
Not with the good lord telling him how to fuck you on the deal.

Avoid fuck-ups.
We all know the type.
Anything they have anything to do with,
No matter how good it sounds,
Turns into a disaster.
Do not offer sympathy to the mentally ill.
Tell them firmly:
I am not paid to listen to this drivel.
You are a terminal boob.

Now some of you may encounter the Devil's Bargain,
If you get that far.
Any old soul is worth saving,
At least to a priest,
But not every soul is worth buying.
So you can take the offer as a compliment.
He tries the easy ones first.
You know like money,
All the money there is.
But who wants to be the richest guy in some cemetery?
Money won't buy.
Not much left to spend it on, eh gramps?
Getting too old to cut the mustard.

Well time hits the hardest blows.
Especially below the belt.
How's a young body grab you?
Like three card monte, like pea under the shell,
Now you see it, now you don't.
Haven't you forgotten something, gramps?
In order to feel something,
You've got to be there.
You have to be eighteen.
You're not eighteen.
You are seventy-eight.
Old fool sold his soul for a strap-on.

Well they always try the easiest ones first.
How about an honorable bargain?
You always wanted to be a doctor,
Well now's your chance.
Why don't you become a great healer
And benefit humanity?
What's wrong with that?
Just about everything.
Just about everything.
There are no honorable bargains
Involving exchange
Of qualitative merchandise
Like souls
For quantitative merchandise
Like time and money.
So piss off Satan
And don't take me for dumber than I look.

An old junk pusher told me -
Watch whose money you pick up.

William S. Burroughs - Words of Advice For Young People

As it turns out, today was just one more in an endless succession of days...

...where the desire to wake up and get out of bed marginally outweighed the desire to never leave.

This is not worthy of a title

I am the most pathetic, worthy of nothing, useless, undeserving, living compilation of atoms that exists.

I can't manage to get anything right.

Who am I kidding? I have even less to offer.

Nothing ever goes right and I need to decide what to do about it.

I can't sleep.

I can't think clearly.

I am prone to things to go wrong.

I can't sleep.

God, save me.

As I stood outside in the cold night controlling my visible breath, I realized my life has come to a single focal point: my heart is slowly breaking.

Compliment

I remember the first time
you named me “Good morning.”

And how, the night before,
you considered my ceiling,
where the passing cars outside
the passing cars outside
the passing cars outside
cast their shadows and liquid lights
through the slats of my blinds.

You said: “Hey Romeo--
your CD player is skipping again...
but your ceiling’s like fireworks for poor folks!”
And I liked that.

I like the tall pauses you take
when you tell your nephews knock-knock jokes.
And I like your theory
that men and women’s shirts button on opposite sides
so that couples can get dressed facing each other
after making love.

You seem to season your seasons,
your days, your time
with rhyme, not reason,
I’ve seen you. Daily. Nightly.
I’ve watched you housebreak a puppy
just by asking politely.

And your remedy for insomnia?
Is to pile every pillow and blanket into the tub
and you nap there like you’re taking
a patchwork bath,
and I said once: “Oh--I wish I had a PICTURE!”
and you said: “Oh--I wish you and I had HOT SEX,
YOU gave ME a PEDICURE,
and then ELVES showed up at our doorstep,
with a PIZZA, to tell us JESUS just built a TREEHOUSE
in the backyard, and he’d like to meet us both,
so HOP IN HOTSHOT!”

You’re weird,
with a capital “WE.”
And I’m grateful, I marvel,
you’ve helped me hammer
some of my worst manners into manhood,
but I still admit--I like the way your shorts fit,
and how, overall, you’d call me “smart,”
even though sometimes
I do really stupid shit.

And I like how you giggle with your lips closed
like you’ve got a secret little moon in your mouth.

But I’m not insisting you’re some kind of goddess,
(I know you’re suspicious of unspecific love poems).
You’re more like a sunflower,
growing in the courtyard of an old folks home--
you mean things to people on a daily basis,
and this petty poem won’t explain
just how “my favorite” your face is,
(but I wish I’d been your bathroom mirror
the day they took off your braces).

You’re so pretty.

You’re like a vivid video game
and I’m the idiot kid
just trying to get to your next level--
I like your right-shoulder angel,
Hell, I like your left-shoulder devil.
I admire the lively deeds you do.
So if you come through a doorway again,
in a thrift store poncho,
or a drop-dead evening gown,
twirling and asking:
“Well, whaddya think?”
I’m gonna tell you:

“Shit howdy, Sunshine,
sit your fine self down!
If you’re looking for a compliment--

I think you’ve come
to the right place.”

http://www.shopliftwindchimes.com/

There's too much. And so little feels important. What do you do?

Borrowed from xkcd.com

I need to get a grip on myself. I can see disappointment and sadness in their eyes sometimes now. It's killing me.

I hold my breath and count to ten as images pass through my head like neon lights glowing blinking flashing screaming on the corners of streets of a never-ending city day as a man nearing the end of his days falls down as a crowd gathers around him and he says he is sorry and tells them he is dying but they don't give a promise back but he still tells them he's been watching this world pass him by all his life believing that one day someone will stop for a second and finally be interested in the things he has to say but even then as he tells them this wish they do not care to listen for they are on their phones dialing 911 and emergency and children start crying while moms cover their eyes and dads act like heroes and a few tears are shed for this man on the corner of a neon glowing street night and day while somewhere else there lies a tear on the ground from a woman in an airport with her luggage busted and things astray as she collects her papers her words her thoughts her dreams her wishes as they are all over the ground and people step over and on them and don't care to help her for she is not on their want list their need list their help list for she is a woman who is crying in an airport for the things she has lost while there is a man on a street corner dying for the things he has never had they all think in their minds but if they knew this man could change the world with his hands behind his back he could change someones thoughts someones ideas someones structure then they may listen to him as he lays on his grave and tells the world he has never been loved even now as he is dying and he just wants to speak to someone to tell to someone that he is the place a person falls to when life gets hard he is the shoulder the keeper of secrets the kindness through their pain he is the wisdom the knowledge the prophet of everything when things go wrong and he doesn't know what it means to be loved he doesn't know how it feels to be loved but the people huddled around him do not hear his whispers they only hear their bosses yelling their spouses demanding their children complaining the media threatening and the sound of the tears hitting the floor from the woman in the airport who has lost all of her things who would tell a passing stranger her favorite word is melancholy for that is how she has been her whole life because of the strangers who pass her by the strangers who are frightened by such a word who are shocked by such a word who don't know what to do with themselves the moment they hear such a word and all they think about are their forming opinions of her because of her favorite word as the man on the dying corner whispers one last time he can see all of their faces change as worry consumes them and all they want to do is escape.

By Calvin

Funny how easy it is to write about something you hate.

My life has reached a point of such utter boredom and misery that I begin to sob over my discontent reality, because, truthfully, I have never been happy or loved. I've read such messages from people who crave attention and excitement, but when you murmur these sentences and mean it, you truly understand the word agony. If you can justify your own death, what makes you hesitate? I only have my rationales now and this is sad. My whole life has been my acknowledgment of the world around me, the systems and manifestations, the pain and happiness, which I all recognize, but this exterior shell of wisdom has become completely helpless against the nihility in life. What can I do? Do you understand?

If you had an hour to live and could only make one phone call - who would you call, what would you say, and why are you waiting?

Feel Good Lost by Sean McElwee is about a group of friends who convene on an apartment rooftop in Los Angeles. On this night, they share front row tickets to the end of the world. As they spend their last moments alive together, love will be shared, hearts will be broken, and connections will be made.

http://myspace.com/feelgoodlostmovie
film score: http://keegandewitt.com/

Can I tell you something? Before I tell you, though, you gotta promise that you're never going to tell anyone.

Dance Party, USA by Aaron Katz is about two apathetic teenagers who drift aimlessly from one day to the next until they finally meet each other. They make a daring connection when one confides in the other about their dark past.

http://myspace.com/dancepartyusamovie
film score: http://keegandewitt.com/

Are you sick of me yet? Are you sure? 'Cause I'd understand if you are.

Quite City by Aaron Katz is about a couple who form an unlikely connection when their paths cross late at night on an empty subway platform. They share twenty-four hours together. A delicate yet generous film based on the spontaneity of relationships which offers hope for intimate connection in a world that grows larger by the day.

http://myspace.com/quietcitymovie
film score: http://www.keegandewitt.com/

Are You the Favorite Person of Anybody?

I want to be swept off my feet, you know? I want my children to have magical powers - I am prepared for amazing things to happen.

Me and You and Everyone We Know by Miranda July is a poetic observation of how people struggle to connect with one another in an isolating and contemporary world.