O Bennington, O Bennington

One college essay I wrote was about metaphors: show that you can be a master of metaphor. I decided to write my thoughts about a multimedia movie I made which combines the song "Street Spirit" by Radiohead with 21 Picasso paintings. I wrote and wrote and wrote and inked over 90% of what I wrote. It took a week, and this is what I found.

Lines are too complicated for me to decipher. Something is missing from the empty spaces, and I contemplate. I am in love with faces in empty rooms. I am in love with every angle of every arm.

Looking into the mirror pulls me through into my eyes, more real than anything else I can see. I zoom into the tiny spaces in my mind. I open my eyes until everything falls in.

I'm worried because the colors are being sucked away. Wiped away by our touch, the whiteness pours from our eyes in streams. They are charcoal tears we can taste. I wonder why people are pale, with empty glass eyes. They disconnect and slowly wash away.

Then I remember the color. Red red! Fireworks through the shocking air on my corner at night, under dim street lamps that pierce the icy space. I breathe mint in crisp cold channels. Every finger trembles. I pull back and look away, then resolve myself and push forward.

My lungs are bellows full of dust. My abdomen is hit with a sack of flour. An earthquake rumbles through the back of my neck. I fall asleep and dream fitfully. Ears are seashells, faces are screaming clay. Looking at things, they start to breathe.

I want someone else to see the fireworks in my mind before I die. I need red and green and blue soaking through my retina. Dotted sticks and lines make planes with which we hold each other.