Theme Song of the Day, Jan. 9, 2011

(Note:  Thought I posted this earlier this morning, before the story, but it was sitting in my drafts, waiting to be submitted.  Shameful.)



Ellie Goulding --- Your Song


Thought about you a lot today....in a perfect world, where I was a better man, this really would be your song.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Living The Visual Life

I've been hearing about the Sartorialist for a while now, and finally decided to check him out for myself.  Scott Schuman has worked in the fashion industry for years.  From the fashion heavens of Seventh Avenue, showcasing high-end designs from Helmut Lang and Jean-Paul Gaultier, he has always been connected to the cool and stylish.  Then he got the idea to leave the showrooms behind and focus his energy into creating a blog that displays photographs of those really cool everyday people who have their own unique sense of style.  Five years later, he is listed among Time magazine's top 100 design influencers.  I believe this short documentary clearly helps us understand why.




I love watching him watch people.  You can see the eagerness, sense the appreciation.  There is passion in his eyes.  He has that artist's determination, scanning about searching for something to inspire.  I believe this is what helps him continuously be able to find such wonderful subjects to photograph.

"You could ask most chefs.  And they would need 5 ingredients, 1 pan, and a stick of butter, and they can make the best meal you've ever had, and I think that's really where most photographers would like to get to..."  ---- Scott Schuman

Luckily for us, Scott has learned to present to photographs akin to five-star cuisine.  Our eyes can't help but feast.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Save Me: Prologue

I've started a whole lot of stories.  Possibly too many, because I stumble across collections of pages and scratch my head trying my best to remember when they were created.  I read back over the lines, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning, either pleased at what I had brought into existence, or wishing I had done so much more.  My writing is forever evolving.  So, as promised, I've decided to take a project and complete it here.  I'm hoping to get a lot of feedback from both a reader's standpoint and a writer's.  Don't be shy!  This is actually a story whose concept I absolutely fell in love with when it came to me.  But I never really tried to develop it.  That is, until now.  Oh happy day!!!  Lol.


Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet


[The Beginning]

January 9, 2011

Save Me

by Marcus Jamison

Prologue

The picture was in his pocket.  He was certain of this.  He stood behind the massive trunk of a large oak tree, eyes flickering intently as he stared at the large brick house nestled in the center of the upscale suburban neighborhood.  He glanced about nervously.  Moonlight cast a soft glow on his partially secluded body, causing him to slide more into the shadow of the tree.  He didn’t want to risk being seen.  At least not yet. 

His eyes traced the houses surrounding him, each one seemingly grander than the next.  There was definitely a lot of bravado and keeping up appearances in this neighborhood.  A strange mixture of pride and fear had overtaken him when he’d begun walking down these well maintained streets.  The pride was complicated at best, since it made little sense gushing over someone you couldn’t say you’d ever met.  

But the fear….the fear was easy.  

He didn’t belong here.  He could feel it as he walked by the houses, glancing at their lavish designs.  Multiple cars in most driveways, announcing tax brackets with numbers he could only imagine.  He looked down at the tattered camouflaged parka and very dirty jeans.  The boots he wore had been given to him, by a kind woman who grew tired of seeing the weathered pair he owned.  Suspicion would come to him quickly here, except maybe from an understanding few.  This would mean dealing with police.  And he was tired of running, as it was.

The man pushed his fear aside.  He was here now, closer than he’d ever been to the one thing he’d been chasing his whole life.  A few seedy looks weren't going to stop him.  Nothing would.  He breathed in deeply, trying his best to calm the nervous leaps occurring within the pits of his stomach.  What if…?  He stopped himself mid-thought, knowing the only way to find out was to act.

He stepped out from behind the tree, exposing his figure fully to the large house before him.  It was such a soothing act, because he knew that within those walls was the key to changing his life, forever.  A silver Range Rover was parked in the long driveway.  Lights were on in a few of the rooms upstairs.  The family that lived here was definitely home, and appeared to be in for the night.  Family.  The word danced around in his head like happy teenagers at prom.  It held so much excitement.  Filled him with so much promise.  Up until this day, his future had seemed so bleak.  But now…..

The man smiled, sliding his hand the parka’s left pocket, tracing his fingers along the creases of the old photograph.  He retrieved it, his eyes locking on the faces as a child would on the Disneyland gates.  He, at a much younger age, and a beautiful woman stood in the portrait’s background.   In front of them, with a smile echoing the sentiments of similar ones flashed by the two adults was a small boy, perhaps around age eight.  He and the boy had identical eyes.

Seeing the picture, like always, made the man’s smile grow wider.  He rubbed the faces with his finger, feeling tears building as he did. 

He breathed deeply again, courage pushing him on, and took a step towards the house.  The squeal of tires off to the distance made him hesitate.  The man glanced up and down the street, but saw nothing.  He brushed the sound off, determined to continue.  He took a second step.  And then another.

BOOM!!

The explosion was so loud the man’s ears rang.  His eyes echoed his inaudible gasp as he watched the gulf of flames thrusting from the center of the house.  He hurled himself back towards the tree, landing in the grass next to the sidewalk, with a soft thump.  Smoke and debris flew everywhere.  The flames were growing, licking their way through metal and wood and glass.

BOOM!!

The second explosion demolished all that was left of the massive home, destroying with it any hopes that the people inside had survived.  The man watched in horror as sections from the burning structure collapsed inwards, the house falling down on itself.  A thick black smoke towered above the sky, as flames leapt some twenty feet, as if attempting to meet it. 

The SUV had been rolled like a giant ball all the way down to the driveway’s entrance, where it rested on its hood in a twisted, shattered wreck.  An empty house next door, that the man had noticed was for sale, had caught sparks from the explosion.  One side of it had caught fire, as well as some trees on the opposite side of the other home.  The home he’d never get to go inside of.  The family he’d never get to meet.  The man did his best to chock back the onslaught of rising tears.

Neighbors were already flicking on lights, opening doors, and pouring into the streets.  The posh little community had been forced awake, in a tragic and unimaginable way.

“Who’s that man?”

The voice came from behind him.  An edgy shout that froze his body in fear.  He was already expecting the blame to be directed his way.  He scurried from the ground, scooping up the treasured photograph that had fallen during his dive. Standing, he didn’t bother to look back.  He was sure the people had now turned towards him.  He glanced once more at the house, now merely a charred husk of singed brick.  He closed his eyes.

Fear can make an innocent man far more nervous than it can a guilty one.   He took off running, as fast as he could, back in the direction of the street that initially brought him there.  He ran, in spite of the shouts and protests of multiple neighbors.  He ran, even though he’d done nothing wrong.  He ran, because all of his life had been running.  He didn’t know how to stop now.

Tears fell from his eyes, heavy and burning, but the man did his best to wipe them away.  He’d be sad another time.  Right now, he needed to disappear.   His freedom, perhaps even his life, depended on it.

[End Prologue]


And there's the beginnings of that. Like I said, please send in your comments, from both the writing perspective and reading perspective. Most importantly, ask yourself is this a book you'd be willing to read. Until next time...

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

But the Music Just Mellows My Soul

So I'm up late.  Again.  Obviously I've been doing some heavy thinking (see my last post).  I'm planning to do a little bit of writing before I call it a night.  But in the meantime, I was looking for something to change my mood a bit.  To clear out some confusing thoughts.  Luckily, I came across this.



Jay Electronica --- Jazzmatazz (Guru tribute song)

Uniqueness abounds from his lyrics like cooling rain, and I love it.  We need more artists like Jay Electronica, who are not afraid to be true to their style, even if it's mad different.  I remember when "Exhibit C" started getting a lot of radio play, and I was happy the world was finally getting full dosage of one of the most lyrically gifted rappers in the game.

Needless to say this song has me motivated.  My mind is clearer, and I'm much more ready to focus.  All that other stuff can wait.  Because for some reason I feel like the feelings that motivated me to post earlier, will eventually return.

Until then, I'll just enjoy this song.

Nights Like This, I Wish...

....that I could just forget all the ways you used to make me feel.

Love is a crazy emotion.  If, in fact it is an emotion at all.  Sometimes it feels more like a state of being.  A personality trait that you just can't shake.  Even when you feel like things ended for all the right reasons, you find yourself missing the way things used to be.  Which makes you start to second guess everything.  Before long, you find yourself stuck feeling "hopeless".

Hopelessly thinking about old memories.
Hopelessly wondering what could have been.
Hopelessly remembering nights like this....except back then, you didn't feel so alone.

And then, the music starts playing in your head.



Norah Jones --- Thinking About You

Maybe this is when you know, that once upon a time, you really did once have something good.


Or maybe, this is just me.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet