online portfolio; visual diary; information and inspirational scrapbook.
included but not limited to streams of consciousness, and the expressive byproducts thereof.
Everyone wants an Oscar worthy romance but never takes the chance to make some b-roll.
I never see you in my lens. I’ve never seen your audition.
I’d rather Hollywood curb the magic and keep those schemes;
let those loves remain on screens
than in the dreams of you and me.
Everyone wants to fall in love, but while at the playground never expects bruised knees.
Well, guess what, gravity doesn’t discriminate,
time waits for no man,
like going to the beach and complaining about sand in your ass – how dare you.
It’s expected – and to pretend like it’s not the same is playing games with your mind –
the heart does not control bodily function,
your legs were meant to get you up when you fall.
So get back up again.
Every outtake, every blooper, improv, ad-lib, deleted scenes
are beats for my heart song – I’ve fallen for the nuance in your love,
your stellar performance. Your actor’s repertoire
– every moment in my eyes is a home movie for my mind to play
I get to see my favorite actor – you could be my star.
You could be a star.
So keep on acting superstar, like every heart break ain’t the same
like every heart break don’t feel the same,
just a different face, a different set of lips a different set of hips, another repeat of the same old sex,
re-runs of your favorite day time drama playback of your real life soap opera.
Same shit, different actor; same shit different body; same shit different smell; different shit, same heart; let it go before you start again. Different faces different roles, different feels different back stories, different facial expressions to fall in love with write songs about for the end credits kind of fall in love and hit a wall and act like you don’t know how to walk in love in love style love.
Everyone wants that Oscar worthy romance
big screen love, that everyone else dreams of.
But never wants to play the part of, well…
Everyone wants an Oscar worthy romance
but never takes the chance to play the part of leading role, rather keep the two bit part of some blurred out extra in the post production seat filler in the back seat of the restaurant just on the edge of the frame a face in the night a stranger
– a bump in the cobblestone a cloud in my coffee
and cigarette smoke you’ll float and become the sky –
Out of sight and out of mind.
I’d rather Hollywood keep those schemes than live in dreams of you and I.
excerpt from For Your Consideration, Eliot-Ray, 2013.
it dies and comes back more beautiful than the last
every time it spreads its wings
I feel like I can soar, in your presence, in your arms, keep me grounded each time. We share the same sun, moon, and stars, but on separate highs and obviously different skies.
You are the ashes we could rise from, display a patterned light like a prism from the sun you’re on the move again - escapades at bars, ducking romance because you’re too scared to love from afar.
Yet you bring it back to life every time you had the pleasure, the want, the need, to have to be around me. Then stay around me! You die and come back more beautiful every time.
It comes back and feels stronger than the last, much closer than the last, an air much colder than the last, much like the winter doesn’t last, but still holds over in the body like the last.
Should you come around don’t be surprised to find a metaphorical grave where we lived, I won’t be here on this plane in spirit or emotion. When your plane makes it’s way across the ocean, I won’t be apart of this groove you lack the rhythm for the motion.
Catch the notion? I don’t think of you as often, my empire hasn’t fallen due to your absence – but what were you in my world before since you still haunt me so?
I couldn’t have been more vulnerable, fresher. More raw, practically naked in love, naked to your world. But still fully clothed. But still fully clothed. I don’t even know what you smell like let alone what you taste like – the cold winter air stunned my senses I could hardly get a whiff should I be close to you.
We stood on this same intersection like so many nights like so many chances we put up so many fights, like so many nights underneath these same city lights. All I ever wanted was a piece of you.
On this college square would I dare to kiss you? Over and over and over until I had no lips, until I lost my grip. That hit or miss we never got.
All I ever wanted was a piece of you. I call us phoenix syndrome.
We die and come back. It comes back and feels stronger than the last, much closer than the last, an air much colder than the last, much like the winter doesn’t last, but still holds over in the body like the last.
excerpt from For Your Consideration Eliot-Ray, 2012