The General Waste Writers Blog

Last night I had the pleasure of watching Planes, Trains, and Automobiles for the first time, it was an amazing experience.

I enjoyed the short Kevin Bacon cameo at the beginning of the movie, it was unexpected, yet welcome!

I love how Del Griffith and Neal Page are both presented at first, polar opposites. Yet both manage to change the other in subtle ways as the movie goes on.

Del learns to be a little more assertive, and Neal learns to mellow out like Del, be infected by his kindness, and even care about someone that he has just met.

They are almost like two sides of the same coin.

10/10 I loved this movie!

John Hughes never misses, not once!

Mr Anderson barely did anything with his afterlife, he was fine with being dead, and rarely interacted with the other ghosts on screen.

He could have helped Rhonda finally find an authority figure to trust! That was worth her trust!

He could have helped the others with the emotional maturity that he had that Mr Martin lacks!

Rant over.

Chapter 3: Home Again

Date: Thursday 18th February 1982

Clark drove along a road that bordered his old hometown in Ohio, the town of Wilsonville! He was almost a year behind schedule, Paul really needed to be taught a lesson, and the money was too decent to pass up! But no matter, with gas and money he drove past a familiar sign, the sign of his hometown. “Welcome to Wilsonville, Drive Safely” the sign read, Clark muttering it quietly just as he always had when he was little. He had been gone for thirteen years, yet he found himself flooded with memories of sitting in the back seat while his dad drove down these various streets to his grandma’s house!

He drove down many different lanes, followed a few signs, but for some reason, he couldn’t seem to find his Grandma’s house that was so distinct in his mind. It was a house that sat atop a hill in a suburban neighbourhood. The home had a wooden exterior, with a white chimney and beautifully hand crafted flower boxes under the white lined windows. The shutters for the windows were a mint green color, they matched the roof! He had hoped that his memory would carry him where he needed to go, but it was clear that he would have to ask around for directions.

Clark saw a blonde woman wearing a light pink dress walking a dog on the sidewalk a few yards away and pulled up next to her, rolling his window down and waving at her with a smile. “Excuse me ma’am”, Clark greeted politely, the woman smiling at his manners. “Can I help with something young man”, she asked, stopping and standing at his car window, her doberman pinscher glaring up at Clark as if it were about to rip a sleeve off of his maroon sweater. “If it’s not too much trouble”, he grinned, “I’m looking for a house on a hill where my grandma lives, I think it was called Springville manor, Springville estate, something like that? Clark shrugged as he smiled at the stranger standing at his car window. “You mean the Springfield Estate”, the woman asked. “Yes, that’s it”, Clark grinned, looking to her for directioning. 

The woman stepped back, a sad frown stretching across her rosie face. “Hon I think there’s someone you ought to talk to downtown”, she patted his shoulder. “Her name is Rosie Donaldson, she’ll be at Wilsonville Antiquities about three miles that way”, the woman pointed to a street on Clark’s right. “Hold on, what’s going on”, Clark asked her, a look of confusion and heartache morphing his smile to a sort of frown. His heart was suddenly racing, what was wrong? Had the house burnt down? Was his Grandma okay?

“I’m very sorry young man”, the woman nodded to him, looking down to the ground as she walked away, dragging her dog along with her.

Clark glared down the street she had pointed at and turned down it, driving slowly through the town. He could see the old community centre that he used to sit at with his best friend Randy, he passed the post office that he and his Grandma Nancy had walked to every weekend when she needed to send a letter, he never asked who they were for though. Until finally he spotted it, the antiquities centre he used to walk by when he was a kid. Clark parked his car on the sidewalk by the doors and got out of his car, gazing at the old building in front of him. The paint was yellowed and chipping away, revealing the harsh brick underneath. The outdated wooden window frames were rotting away slowly, and the glass was scratched around the edges of each payne. 

Clark stepped forward and looked through the window, barely anything inside had changed from what he remembered walking past every day all those years ago! He felt like he was walking into a memory. He looked a little closer and spotted an elderly woman sitting at a desk by the doors. The poor woman looked cold, huddled up next to a heater, wrapping herself up with a salmon coloured shawl. Clark backed away from the window, could she be the Rosie Donaldson that he was sent to speak with? Why her? With a sigh of suspense Clark walked to the left and pushed one of the two large front doors open, stepping inside this long forgotten location.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you today”, the woman greeted cheerily, sitting behind the desk to Clark’s right. He looked down at her, she seemed familiar somehow, maybe a friend of his grandmothers? “Hello”, Clark smiled back at her, pausing for a moment as he thought of what to say. “I used to live in this town when I was a kid, and I was asking this lady for directions, and she said that you might be able to help me?”, Clark asked the woman kindly. The elderly woman looked up at him, staring into his eyes. She swore she recognised him, but it couldn’t be? It had been so long, why would he come back now? “I’ll try my best kiddo, where’d you live?”, she asked as she picked up a mug of tea from the desk in front of her and took a sip. “A house on a hill called the Springfield Estate”, he shrugged. 

With that the woman spit her tea out, almost choking on it as she struggled not to drop her glass for coughing. “Are you alright ma’am”, Clark asked, concerned as he gently patted her back to help her clear her throat. “Clark Markley is that you?”, Rosie asked him as she stood from her chair, taking his hand. “Do you know my grandmother? Can you take me to her?”, he grinned eagerly. It was at that moment Clark saw the woman’s face drop, like her heart had broken all over again. “Oh my dear child, I think you ought to sit down in the back”, she frowned, staring at the floor as she got up and led him through the aisled of mahogany furniture and into a back room with some couches inside.

“Is Something wrong?”, he asked her innocently as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Rosie wiped the tear away and took a deep breath in, preparing herself to break some terrible news to her best friend’s grandchild. “Sweetheart, your Grandmother Nancy is no longer with us, she passed away some time ago now”, Rosie told him, as if a piece of herself was missing. Clark stared blankly, he took in the words, letting them sink in. Suddenly it felt like his heart was being ripped out. He wanted nothing more than to rip the damn thing from his own chest to save himself from breaking down crying in front of company. He could see the heartache on Rosie’s face too, making the poor woman relive her best friend’s death, it was cruel. Life was cruel. She was gone, actually gone. 

He never even got to say goodbye to her… 

To tell her that he loved her one last time… 

Clark gritted his teeth, it took everything inside of him not to let the streams of tears loose, it wasn’t manly to do that. “Please tell me that this is a joke”, he stared at the ground, a wheeze squeaking out through his masking and showing his pain. Rosie just looked at the ground with him and took his hand gently, “I wish I could Clark”, she comforted the eighteen year old boy. He was so strong, and tall, but to her at that moment, he looked like a porcelain doll about to break.

Clark pulled himself back together, gritting his teeth and shaking his head. “How did it happen”, he asked, trying not to focus on the void that was swallowing him whole. “Heart attack”, Rosie told him, trying to push her feelings back down like he was as she told him the years old story. “Was she alone?”, Clark asked. “No, not once”, Rosie answered as she gazed at the red shag carpet of the back room. “There was more than one?”, Clark sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve for the time being. “There were four”, Rosie began. “The first one was about a month after your parents left town, she tried to call your mother afterwards, but no answer”, Rosie explained.

Clark listened to Rosie, he just hoped that his grandmother had been in as little pain as possible, a king soul like her didn’t deserve to suffer. “After the first, she set up her and Harold’s bank account to be open to your parents after she died, you can also use it once you turned eighteen”, Rosie looked at Clark, remembering her best friend fondly, “Then she had the second and third heart attacks, third one put her in hospital for a while, I was with her every day”, Rosie smiled at the warm memory of her beloved Nancy. “She tried to call your mother a lot of times after that, she figured if she didn’t survive the next one, she wanted to see you all one more time”, Rosie paused. “She called one last time and your mother answered her, she told her mother what was going on, but your mother started yelling at her that she was lying, that your mother was the one who had a heart condition”, Rosie sighed. “Your grandmother knew she was lying of course, that it was part of her, her breaks”, Rosie tried to put it lightly, uncomfortably skipping over the topic. “Your mother slammed the phone down on your grandma and didn’t answer again”.

Clark held back his tears, struggling to keep his eyes open and dry, practically clawing his fingers into the couch he was sitting on. “What happened after that?”. Rosie shut her eyes tightly, almost as if the pain of talking about it was too much. “Well Clark, she, she didn’t make it after the fourth”, tears streamed down Rosie’s face. “I’m so sorry that you had to find out this way”.

Clark’s heart skipped beats, she was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. Taken by heart attacks that he had never known about. Rosie looked devastated all over again. He had brought this all back up for a woman who had dealt with her pain years ago. He simply felt weak, weak for feeling, weak for making another feel this way. “I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean to hurt you like this”, he stood up, holding his feelings back, hiding them behind a blank face as he went to walk out of the room. But he was stopped by her grabbing his hand. Her skin was cold and wrinkly, her fingers almost sharply boney, but somehow he found comfort in the hand that held his. It felt safe.

“Let me close up early, I want to accompany you home”, She insisted gently, and in a calming tone as she wiped the tears from her eyes with her other hand.

Clark just looked down at the ground hopelessly. “I don’t have a home”.

“Yes you do”, she nodded, getting up from her seat and patting his shoulder, “Come on”.

Clark had no idea what she was referring to at this point. His grandma’s house would have been repossessed and resold, his parents house was sold way back in the late 60s, there was nowhere in his hometown to call home anymore. Yet Rosie led him back through her antique store, turning the main lights off as they got to the doors. Rosie turned the enamel sign to closed as she locked the door of glass and wood behind her. Clark was in no mood to question the old lady, opening his car’s passenger side door and helping her in. Light reflected off of her silky silver hair, rays lighting the inside of the car’s roof radiantly. “Which way am I going, and where?”, Clark asked softly as he stepped into the car and started it up, getting ready to set off on this mystery journey around the ghost town of his memories.

Rosie pointed to her right at a familiar looking side street. “That way dear, I’ll direct you as we go”, she instructed, Clark just giving her a small nod as he turned down the lonely street, his car engine purring like a sleepy cat. What was he going to do now? This was his last shot. And trust me, he would sooner hang himself than go back to that nowhere diner and deal with Paul sexualising him for the rest of his life. Wherever Rosie was taking him he had no hope anymore. Clark felt well and truly beaten down and broken, like an old toy that used to be favoured, but was forgotten by the years.

His eyes felt dry and wet at the same time, his shoulders sagging down, unable to stay up with his depleting attitude. The kind of hope he had being crushed all in one day was totally brutal, no one should ever have to go through that. But it happens every day. People die. Dreams get crushed. Yet the world still turns, it doesn’t stop, it can’t. If the world stopped when a single soul did, every soul would stop. The world knows life and death better than any sane or insane human being ever could.

He contemplated his remaining options, or lack thereof as Rosie directed him. A left here, a right there, down this street, up another. Until suddenly, he was in front of an extremely familiar house. It sat atop a hill, and was lined with wooden panels. The white chimney, while being a tad dirtier than he remembered, still stood tall, its matching flower boxes for the most part intact as well! The faded mint green color of the roof, door and shutters called to him like an old friend.

“Would you like to step inside dearie?”, Rosie smiled earnestly, placing her hand on his, comforting him as he gazed out into his memories.

“Rosie, I don’t understand, the house must've been sold years ago?”, he questioned, “Wasn’t it?”, he asked, turning to see her cheeky smile that had crept onto her face.

“Not in this rare case”, Rosie stepped out of the car, Clark tripping out and following her down the driveway, leaving his car parked on the sidewalk as he stepped through the white wooden gate by the porch. For a moment he hesitated to take another step, holding himself back as he stared up at the home he had spent so many Saturday mornings in. It would have surely changed, something had to be different right? He could see an obvious hold in the roof that a tree rested on. Must’ve happened during a storm! “Come on Clark, nothing here’s gonna hurt you I promise”, Rosie nodded, walking up to the front door and rifling through her small purse, brushing tissues and old candies aside until she pulled out a key. 

Clark looked up at the roof once more, then to her as she unlocked the door. What was going on? He scrambled over, following her as she stepped inside, hesitating at the threshold yet ultimately deciding to step inside after her. 

“Welcome Home Clark Markley”, Rose smiled as he stood in the lobby of the house. 

He glanced around him, it was just as he had remembered, if not a little smaller. Or maybe it was because he was bigger? But yes, the shaggy brown carpet, the cream coloured walls. Little trinkets on wooden shelves that were dotted around, and even the same rug draped down the grand staircase! “How is all of this still here Rosie, tell me what’s going on?”, he begged her, standing before her and looking down at her with his wide ocean blue eyes. “Good old Nancy left the house to me in her will”, she revealed to him, hanging her coat on the rack by the door and tossing her purse onto a short wooden bench closeby. “And I can stay here?”, he questioned, walking over to the living room door and peering inside. The old TV set was still there! And the pear green couch positioned opposite of it!

Rosie chuckled, “Well of course you can dearie”, she grinned, taking his hand and leading him into the living room, sitting down next to him on the couch that was so nostalgic to him. “You will always be welcome here, this was your grandmother’s home, this is your home, and it will be that way as long as I live”, she clasped his hands on his lap. He held back tears once again, tears of both sadness, and joy. Joy that he still had a home, and that someone so loving had taken care of his grandmother’s treasured possessions. He wiped his nose on a tissue that he pulled from the pocket of his jeans. “I’m sorry Rosie, I’m practically a grown up, I need to get it together”. He was hard on himself, all of this would be a lot for anybody, especially someone as emotionally closed off as himself. “Don’t be silly, In Grandma’s house you never grow up sweetheart”, Rosie smiled softly.

With that Clark looked around his new, old, confusing home, a place that had been full of joy for him, and could be once more. He could tell that many new memories would be made inside these walls now that he was finally home again, and that no matter what, he would do his best to help Rosie in any way that he could. For she had done more for his family than anyone he had ever met.

Thanks for Reading!

Chapter 2: The Nowhere Diner in the Nowhere Town

Date: Thursday 23rd April 1981

A greasy kitchen, in a tired old Diner, off of some highway in knoxville. This was where Clark found himself a month and a half after deciding to make the drive up to Ohio. He had run out of gas at the end of march just as he pulled up to Tony’s Diner, and by some miracle of fate, they were looking for a new fry cook. Without much of a choice Clark had applied and been accepted for the job, starting that very same night. His new Boss, Tony himself, was a strict man, he ran a tight ship and Clark was good at staying in line for his own survival. If he got fired, the only way he’d get out of this nowhere diner and nowhere town was hitchhiking, and he didn’t want to abandon his car if he could help it. And so for now, this was his life, working shift to shift to get some cash and sleeping in his car at night.

Tony was nice enough, he had let Clark wash his clothes in the back room, thank goodness, and he let Clark wash in the customer bathrooms at night. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do, it was enough. Clark sighed as he flipped a burger patty, standing at the scolding grill and wearing a white apron, plus some other clothes that had been borrowed from his coworkers. They didn’t feel particularly clean, but he had to just tough it out, flip burgers, and then get out of this place.

The only way Clark could think to describe this Diner was a grease trap for lost souls. Wanderers with no purpose ended up in towns like these, jobs like these. People with no hopes for their future, no prospects. They visited, and ended up trapped, dragged down by the safety of the mindlessness of their lives, and after that they were too brainwashed to ever think about leaving. Of course some people did like this work, this town, but Clark wasn’t one of them, no way, no how. It was just so mind numbing, flipping burgers, frying fries, scrambling eggs. There was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t his passion.

“Markley!”, a sassy female voice scolded. She marched into the kitchen angrily, popping a bubble of gum and chewing it once more. There was a Texan quality to her voice as she yelled at him, causing her bleached blonde hair to bounce, and her golden hoop earrings to sway. “Yeah Angela”, Clark replied, annoyed with the woman eternally, all she ever did was yell for no reason. “Now you know that you’re supposed to be scrambling up some eggs for table seven darlin, so what's the hold up!”, she asked him with hostility, spitting her gum onto the floor as she leaned against a table in the middle of the tiny kitchen. “I’m getting to it, just gotta finish up these patties first”, he excused himself, flipping the second patty off of the grill and onto a bun with his metallic spatula.

She pulled a pack of marlboros from her back pocket and held one between her teeth, lighting it with a match that she swiped from a jar on a shelf by Clark’s head. She took a long drag of the cigarette before puffing out it’s smoke across the kitchen. “Them damn customers, so fucking needy, get this, get that”, she ranted, “Get it yo damn self lazy”. Clark just gritted his teeth, “Not like it’s your job to take their orders or anything Ange”, he muttered, receiving a slap to the back of his head as she heard his words. “Don’t take that tone with me boy, I know you need this job, one word to Tony and you’re out of here faster than rusty when the cops come to eat!”, she threatened, waving her marlboro in Clark’s face. “Yeah, yeah”, Clark muttered as she strode out of the kitchen, “Eggs Markley!”, she yelled as the door closed behind her.

Jesus Christ did that woman ever quit being a bitch, it wasn’t like she was any saint herself, Angela  probably had secrets darker than her roots! Clark kicked the bottom of the grill, scuffing the black dress shoes he was wearing that had been borrowed from Tony. He screamed to himself quietly, he had always used this rage up on the opposing team when he played football, but for the last few months, he had nowhere to aim it, nothing to do with it, so it was starting to fester inside of him, growing every day until he would eventually burst!

At that moment the kitchen’s back door burst open, and in rushed a slim, nerdy boy, wearing thick glasses, and a white apron. “Afternoon sexy”, he whistled at Clark, who uncomfortably shuddered at the boy’s comment. “Quit it with that crap paul, I’m not a homo”, he demanded, yet he received nothing but laughter in return. Seriously? Back at school the nerds ran in fear when he threatened them like that, and Paul was the same age as him anyway! “I don’t know what it is, jock master, but those shoes, jeans, apron, they really like nice on ya, real hot”, he licked his lips as he washed his hands by the sink. “I only got one complaint”, he smirked devilishly. “And what’s that”, Clark sighed, unimpressed with the nerd’s supposed wit. “That your shirt is still on”, Paul chuckled to himself.

Clark grumbled to himself, what was Paul’s problem! Knowing Paul for the last month had really made him appreciate Mike back at The Addams Home for Boys, he was never a creep like this kid. Clark slammed his spatula down on the counter next to his grill and turned to face the loser. “Why don’t you give it a rest Paul, no one wants to hear your sad little comments, you’re getting nowhere that's for sure”, he marched toward the shorter boy, trying to intimidate him into shutting the hell up! But Paul just snickered to himself, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Looks like I am jock master”, Paul licked his lips, “You’re getting awfully riled up over little old me”. Clark grunted in frustration, “I’m not interested in you creep, I like girls, so back off or else”, he threatened, stepping closer and closer to the ecstatic weasel. “Or else what”, Paul goaded Clark, practically burning with yearning. 

“I swear to god”, Clark yelled, grabbing Paul by his head and pulling his head back as he pushed him against the back door. “Don’t make me hurt you”, he warned, almost seething at the teeth as Paul kept his grin, laughing at Clark. “Pull it harder”, he teased as he slid his hands onto Clark’s legs, moving them south swiftly, Clark pulling away and shoving Paul to the ground. “Fuck you”, he snarled at the creep. Paul picked his glasses up that had been knocked off and chuckled on the floor. “Ah Jock Master, it’s days like this where I love my job”, the broken teen cackled evilly as Clark kicked him aside and stormed out the back door. “Angela needs a plate of eggs for table seven creep, get to it”, he demanded as he slammed the door behind him. “Yes Sir”, Paul snickered as he stared at the iron door at the back of the room.

Paul picked himself up and dusted his apron off, smiling about his interaction the same as he has for the past few weeks with Clark. His only wish was that Clark could have left something of his behind for the creep to take. “What the hell’s all the yellin back here about”, Tony burst into the kitchen from the restaurant door and glared at Paul. “Ey Creepy, where’s Markley”, Tony asked as he brushed a loose strand of his dark slicked back hair out of his face, he was annoyed as usual. “He had to get going for the night”, Paul lied with a sinister smile, “But no worries Tony, I can cover for him, my pleasure”. Tony just sighed, turning back around, “As long as there’s somebody making the fucking food back here I don’t give a damn”, he grumbled as he slammed the door behind him and left Paul to it.

Clark stormed through the parking lot behind the diner, his fists balled up ready to punch something, anything. This stupid town was like a black hole for anything good, it took all of your joy and hope and happiness, and it turned it to hate and rage and despair. Anger bubbled inside of Clark, not just the anger that was directed at that weasel Paul, but the anger at himself for giving the creep what he wanted, for thinking that the diner would work out in the first place, and especially for thinking that he was good enough to be able to make it back home to Ohio.

Clark marched past his car and out of the parking lot, he marched down the road for a long while, mulling over his situation, and what his life had come to. He came to a bridge after a while and sat on the edge. In that Moment every bit of rage he had felt, all that built up anger, just fizzled into sadness and pain. He didn’t know whether to acknowledge the beauty of the land around him, or to jump to his death and just end his nothing life. It wouldn’t be too much of a waste, he barely made it four hours away from Georgia before he crashed and burned. What would John and Mike think of him? What would his parents think of him if they could? They would all be disappointed in him, so he should just give up and admit that he was nothing worth saving.

Clark stared down at the water, it reflected his sadness and his pain, those were real feelings, but in his reflection, he also saw how pathetic he had become. He was sitting here whining about how bad his life had gotten when he was barely a quarter of the way through it! He was making his own way to Ohio, who gave a fuck how he got there! I mean, he’d fallen so far that he was even letting a little bitch like Paul get to him, seriously? Clark smiled at his reflection, he had almost succumbed to self pity and let the void swallow him up whole, but not today, today he would fight on, today he would march back into that kitchen and prove that he wasn’t letting a weasel creep him out, because Paul was the pathetic one, not Clark.

Clark got up and stepped away from the ledge of the bridge, turning and staring back in the direction he had come. The road was lined by trees, beautifully large sycamore trees that shaded him from the sun as he walked back towards Tony’s Diner. He wouldn;t get distracted by sorrow and misery again, Ohio was waiting! Grandma was waiting!

Clark made his way back to the parking lot and burst back in through the kitchen’s back door. Paul turned to see the commotion and the two stared directly at each other for a moment. “Well jock master, look who came crawling back to me after all”, Paul went to goad Clark once more. Yet Clark just shrugged the words off and turned away, washing his hands in the sink by the door. The room was greasy, but it sure did smell good, like fresh sizzling bacon. Paul waited for a response, a shudder, or a groan. But he got nothing, he was ignored, as simply and easily as you ignore a common housefly, or an ant.

Paul chuckled to himself to try to save face, resting his spatula down on the counter and tiptoeing towards Clark. The snake slid his hand up Clark’s neck and through his hair, ruffling it playfully. “Guess you decided to come back like a good little lap dog”, he smirked. Yet once again he was given no reply. Clark just shrugged, calmly taking Paul’s hand off of him and walking over to the grill, taking Paul’s place and flipping the bacon with the greasy spatula.

Paul grumbled with frustration, why wouldn’t his favourite boytoy react? That was half the fun! What was the point if he wouldn’t get mad, get horny, get something! Paul glared at the back of Clark’s head and turned away from him, storming out of the kitchen and onto the restaurant floor. Probably off to mess with customers for fun.

The second that the door closed Clark gave a wide grin that spread from ear to ear! He had finally figured out how to shut that little nerd up, to ignore him. Huh, now he thought about it that kind of made sense he guessed. He reveled in his victory, breathing in the smell of the greasy bacon, beads of sweat running down his face from the warmth of the grill. As he shifted his weight from one foot to another the floorboards creaked. Things like this were things he had been ignoring when they were things he should have been listening and feeling for! These noises and feelings made the human experience human! 

In his depression he had almost forgotten that.

But now he was wide awake once more, and more pumped up than ever for his journey to Ohio that lay ahead of him, just six hours away! And who knew, maybe he’d stick around this nowhere place for a little while longer just to get his revenge on weasley little Paul. And to earn more money, he really needed money too, like badly. 

And so with that, Clark had broken out of his funk and remembered what his end goal was, Ohio. Childhood nostalgia, and his Grandma's house that awaited him. He’d swap grease and must, for baked goods and cinnamon. Swap sleeping in his car to save money, to sleeping in a nice warm bed. And it would be glorious he smiled as he revelled in his joy, glorious!

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1: The Journey Of Clark Markley

Date: Wednesday 11th March 1981

It was a cold and dark night in March, spring was just beginning, yet it didn’t exactly feel that way right now. A seventeen year old with blonde curly hair, barely styled into a shaggy mess atop his head drove through the night sluggishly. He had been driving for hours. His name was Clark Markley, and for the first time in his life, he had no idea where he was going. 

He had left the Addams Home for Boys a few weeks ago now, driving aimlessly from town to town. He had made it about 50 miles away so far, but he wanted to go further, do more than he thought he could before. The Home wasn’t bad or anything, he was barely there for six months, but there was only one other boy there. A homo. He’d always been taught to stay away from fags, but it was different times now, there are way more gay people than back then anyway. Or at least more people willing to admit it. But it wasn’t Mike’s fault that he left. It wasn’t the man in charge either, John had always tried to relate to Clark, but the two had barely anything in common, same for Mike, there was just no common ground. I mean Clark couldn’t exactly see them picking up a football and tossing it for a little fun. He tapped the steering wheel restlessly as he pulled over on the side of the deserted, dark, asphalt, parking his car completely off road on a patch of concrete.

He needed somewhere to settle in, somewhere that he could stay for a long while before he had to leave. I mean there was always the option of taking the ten hour drive all the way up to Arkansas to crash with his uncle, aunt, and cousins. He had always had a good bond with cousin Rick, and his cousin Sarah may be a little weird, but she was still pretty cool to chill with sometimes. But there was a good chance his Aunt Lucy would turn him away because of the time that he wrecked their pool filters when he was fifteen over the summer a few years back. And Uncle Bob wouldn’t disagree with her because he would know that she was right.

Uncle Joey was in a similar situation to him last time he had heard, although Uncle Joey was forty and divorced. He cheated on his wife Celia with his neighbour, the bastard deserved what he got in the end, utter loneliness. He could always go and see his mother in the facility, but last time he had tried, she had a breakdown because she thought that Clark was dead. Her mind was just too broken to see him right now. She would never remember how things used to be anyway, only ever rave about how wrong they were now, and with all the wrong details and misinformed conclusions.

Clark stared out the window in front of him with a disheartened frown on his face as he sat in his blood red Fiat Strada. He leaned over to the right and opened the glove box, pulling a map of the states out and unfolding it in front of him, fumbling with the creased paper for a minute as it covered his entire windscreen. He scanned through the states with his eyes, where did he want to go, where could he go back to. I mean he could try to go up to his Aunt and Uncles, but a ten hour drive to be turned away was a big risk, and how would he get the gas to get there? He was already running short on gas and cash as it was. He was going to have to start selling his stuff soon!

He gave an angry grunt as he crumpled up the map in his hands, holding it as he rested his head on the steering wheel in defeat. He was just a kid, with no idea what to do, or where to go. It felt like he was all alone in the world now. It hadn’t felt like this in so long, and yet he remembered this feeling so strongly it was like he had never stopped feeling it. He lifted his head to stare at the crumpled up map in his hands. One state stood out from the rest, it was a state that he knew a long time ago, its name right in the centre of the ball he had turned the map into. It was Ohio, sweet nostalgic Ohio.

Oh Ohio, why didn’t he think of this sooner! Back when he was a little kid he lived in Ohio, he saw his grandma every week back then. She still lived there too! At least he was pretty sure, he couldn’t ever recall going to see her again after he left now that he thought about it. Oh why didn’t he think of going to her first? It was a no brainer. Why had his parents never gone back to visit her when they were both still living and sane, and why had they never at least called her? That town was beautiful, he was only five when they moved away, but it was still so vivid in his mind. He went to his grandma’s house every saturday and sunday, his school was on the edge of town, and his best friend had lived next door to him back then.

Wait a minute though. He needed to get to Ohio, he was barely at the state line of Georgia, it would take him eight hours to drive there! It was a risk, but he wouldn’t be turned away, not by his Grandma. She was a kind soul, always wore a white laced apron over a multitude of vibrant floral dresses. She wore the aprons for fashionable purposes obviously. She despised baking, it had always been more her husband's thing before he died. Clark had nowhere near enough Gas, so he would have to stop somewhere in Tennessee to try to find a way to get more Gas. But oh boy would it be worth it!

He screwed up a lot of things, school, his Aunt’s pool, his Mom’s mind. But he wouldn’t screw this up. It was like the screw ups barely mattered now! it didn’t matter that his car smelled like KFC, or that he reeked like a pile of dirty laundry after a run on a hot summer's day. He was going home, to his grandma’s house. It had always felt so warm and special there when he was little. He remembered always sitting in the living room watching saturday morning cartoons with his grandma’s cat Sandy after eating his breakfast at the dining room table. He remembered the sunlight beaming onto his face through the windows as he stroked Sandy’s silky fur. Sandy always had been a docile cat. He remembered his special cereal bowl that had clowns painted on that she kept at the top of the cupboard where it was safe, and how she would always pour him a glass of orange juice with a smile. His mother always scolded him for eating in the living room, so when he was at grandma’s he made sure to stay in the dining room. He would never want to upset her.

Sitting in that room again would be like a dream come true. Would it still smell like cinnamon and freshly baked cookies throughout the house? He wondered as he leaned on his steering wheel. Suddenly he snapped back to reality, he was just in his car, and he smelled disgusting. A tear formed in the corner of his eye, he hadn’t thought about any of this in years, like he had almost forgotten how happy he was back in that small town in Ohio. He swiftly wiped it away, it wasn’t manly to cry, no matter what John back at the boys home had tried to tell him. He turned the ignition key in his car, turning it off and tossing the key into a cupholder between the seats for now.

He gazed at the stars just outside his windshield for a moment. There was nothing like it.

Clark smiled to himself as he reclined his seat back, lying there parked off of the road for the night. Sure it was dangerous, but he would probably survive without getting hit by another car. It wasn’t like people would be going way fast out here on these backwater roads anyway. He shrugged his sweaty letterman jacket off and used it as a blanket, tracing his fingers over the patches that Mike had sewn on for him, kicking his shoes off too and curling up into a ball in the leather seat. It wasn’t comfortable, and it hadn’t been for the last month or so, but it was good enough for him.

He laid there for a while in the cold of his car, his grey sweatpants and letterman jacket keeping his body at least lukewarm while he drifted off into a deep slumber.For the first night since he left the Addams Home for Boys, he was hopeful that he could be more than just a washed up loser jock. He could go back to his hometown and make something of himself, and for the first time in a long time he could have family by his side while he did it!

The deserted road outside of the Fiat was almost silent, save the chirping of the crickets. Clark was probably more alone in body over these last few weeks than he had ever been in his life, but he didn’t feel that way tonight. Hope was alive and kicking! Clark clasped his hands together for warmth as he snored audibly, his white tube socks rubbing against one another by his practically toxic old blue shoes he had gotten from sears a while back. He peacefully dreamt of his grandmother’s house, a simpler time before his life got so complicated.

Thanks for reading!

Martin sits in a crowded room, never so engulfed by the feelings of solitude. He glances away from the rest of the food court, away from the sleazy looking cashier, and towards a group of girls coming to eat.

Martin balls his fists and stands up. He marches over to the group of girls. While he walks over to them he analyses their faces. He takes specific note of the girl standing at the back. She has beautiful curling brown hair, and brown, gentle eyes.

Martin gives a theatrical grin as he approaches the girls. The girl at the front scrunches her face up, like she has just swallowed a handful of sour patch kids. She places a hand on her hip as two of the other girls look Martin up and down.

“What are you staring at lameo!”, The girl at the front questions.

She is the clear leader of their group. She snarls, glaring at the pimples on his forehead as two girls behind her chuckle. The curly haired girl looks at the ground aimlessly as to avoid making a scene like her friends. The bags under her eyes look like they are dragging her down with the weight of a thousand worlds. Martin smiles in her direction.

“Would you like to get a milkshake with me?”, Martin smiles softly.

The leader scoffs, the two girls behind her cackle wickedly. 

“Buzz off dork! As if I’d do anything with you.”, the girl smirks.

Martin chuckles to himself and steps past the three girls to their quiet friend. She gazes up at Martin for the first time. The two lock eyes, he smiles, and just for a second, something inside of her smiles back, a tingling in her chest that forces her face to match, a subtle smile forming on her face.

“Can I buy you a milkshake?”, he pauses, he knows no name to call her by.

“Marcy”, she looks away from him for a moment, blushing as red as the mall’s strawberry slushies.

“Marcy”, Martin mutters as he blushes himself.

She stands with a smile for a moment, covering her mouth a little with her hand. She looks down at his shoes, they are tattered and scuffed, but clean.

“Sure you can”, Marcy steps forward and takes Martin’s hand gingerly. 

The two walk off to a table by the windows that overlook the shadowed parking lot. They leave the three other girls standing in shock of what just happened.

“Good for Marcy!”, one of them smiles through the shock, the head girl stepping on her foot and dragging them both to a table far away from the couples moonlight view.

Hi, I hope anyone liked this short passage that I wrote at 2AM a few weeks ago, this story actually takes a strange turn for Martin, but thanks for reading!

Chapter One

Pouting Pansy

It was a day like any other for Kara Brauer, president of the botany club. Just a boring Tuesday with the trivial mathematics class with Mr Ross. Kara strolled down the hall towards the back of the school. Her brown heeled oxfords clicking and clacking on the off white linoleum floor as she weaved in and out of the crowd of students all fighting to run from the direction she was heading. They were all so eager to leave this place, they saw it as a cage, and maybe it was, but to Kara, it was more like a terrarium. The different clicks were the ravenous vultures that fed off of the negative energy that they themselves created. They were self sustaining, they were trapped in the cycle.

Kara broke free of the crowd, making it to the end of the hall and glaring at Donovan Carpenter as he ducked into the photography club’s headquarters before pushing open the glass exit door on her left and stepping into the school’s courtyard. She spent most of her time out here, and if she wasn’t out here she was in the greenhouse. Both of the places had plants, that was her main draw. Although considering the cold of november she was opting for the greenhouse. However the cold didn’t sting nearly as bad as the people that stared at her as they walked past. The people that sneered at her as she read a book under the trees, sitting on the grass. 

To them she was an unknown variable, not part of any click, not particularly present in their childish high school debates, and rarely ever talking to anyone unless she was urged to. To them she was just the weird girl who spoke to plants. And that was all she was, or ever would be.

She Stepped back into the science building at the back of the courtyard and followed the halls towards the back of the school grounds. These halls were practically deserted barring the chemistry club that were scuttling about. They were at the back of the school by the greenhouse for a reason that Kara believed. They were here so they were out of view, and hidden from anyone who might be looking around. 

The jocks practised on the football field after school and were legends for putting their time into a sport to bring glory to the school. The pep club had their choice of any classroom they wanted at any given time, always getting ready and rallying support for the school’s next big event. And the cheer practices that went on in the gym were extremely well known about, of course they also only served the purpose of cheering the neanderthal football team to victory for the school as well. 

It was a publicity stunt! 

Every club that brought joy to its athletically challenged students was pushed into the shadows, never spoken about, laughed at by half of the student body! Kara frowned as she exited the back of the science corridors and onto the back field, staring at the greenhouse across the field that she walked towards. Maybe if she had some more members they could make a flower arrangement for the big game’s, or the food that the club grew could be put to good use in the cafeteria! All it was doing now was feeding Kara, the only vegan in the school of omnivores.

Kara sighed as she pushed open the greenhouse door, looking around the room at the plants. The flower beds to her right were blooming, an array of pansies, sweet peas, primroses, and chrysanthemums. The bed of soil at the back of the room housed some kale and other veggies that were doing nicely. The various heartleaf philodendrons she had hanging from the greenhouse roof in pots on ropes and yarn rotated sluggishly with the breeze from the open door. It was all perfect, her personal paradise!

She gave in and let a smile creep onto her face as she took her satchel off and draped it over one of the six chairs on the desk in the middle of the room, picking up a small, half full watering can from underneath. “How are you doing guys, no one’s bothered you right?”, she mumbled to the small pots of garlic she had planted last week that sat in the middle of the large desk. “Didn’t think so”, she shrugged, looking around at all of the plants.

Kara sat herself down in front of the bed of flowers, smiling as she examined them, taking the can and moistening the soil just a fraction around every stem. These flowers were so beautiful, and no one ever saw them, they were lonely. Like her. She stopped for a moment and put her hand on her chest, breathing as she felt a tear well into her eye with her current realisation. She felt so weak in this moment, unlike the strong, resilient flowers she sat before, and more like a pathetic, pouting, pansy, wallowing in her loneliness.

This place was so beautiful, the sunlight shining through the panes of glass and feeding these breathtaking life forms with its rays, how could no one else love it here! That was if they had ever even been all the way back here with the broken toys. The plants deserved more attention than she could individually give them, it was meeting thirty seven of the botany club and she was still the only member. “I’m sorry everyone, maybe if I weren’t so weird you’d get more attention”, she apologised to her friendly entourage of foliage, a few more tears streaming down her face.

“You’re not weird Miss Brauer”, Mr Erwin smiled as he wheeled his wheelbarrow into the greenhouse, having overheard her apology to the flowers. He was the school’s grounds keeper and caretaker, and also a very caring man. Kara wiped her tears away swiftly, ashamed to be caught in such a vulnerable feeling state. “Yes I am”, she disagreed, standing up and turning away from the middle aged man, “You hear what they say about me”. Mr Erwin just smiled as she deposited his wheelbarrow by the veggie bed in the back of the greenhouse. “It doesn’t matter what they say, I know you’re the only one that can make these flowers bloom like this”, he told her, “Give yourself more credit”. Kara sat at the desk, a small frown still stretched across her face. She ruffled her hair and groaned in frustration, hiding behind her choppy hazel bangs. 

He smiled as he walked back to the door, “If you ask me, you just need to find a few members to help you out in here, talking to plants can be nice, but talking to people can be too”, he nodded to her as he stepped back out of the greenhouse closing the door behind him.

Mr Erwin was right, she knew he was, it was a good idea, thirty seven meetings as the only member was enough! She loved these plants more than anything, but if she didn’t start trying to get other people interested and build a following for the club, then after she graduated there would be no club left.

It was time to do some recruiting!

Someone had to be interested! 

Someone with aligning interests!

Someone nice!

That was what she was going to do, start small, just recruit two students to the club, two people. It couldn’t be too hard to find a couple of kids in a school of a thousand! This was going to be easy peasy.

Chapter Two

Clashing Chrysanthemums

Kara hurried across the backfield towards the greenhouse, today was going to be the start of a new era for the botany club, she was sure of it! She was so sure of it because she was dragging the club’s newest two members behind her, Jeremy Bennett, and Keith Wayne! “I promise that you guys are gonna have so much fun in the botany club”, she grinned, kicking the door open and pulling the boys in behind her. 

Jeremy and Keith both stood at the door, looking around the room. It was so full of life. Keith brushed his bushy shoulder length hair out of his eyes as he marvelled at the light shining through the glass and reflecting off of the plant pots hanging from the ceiling. Jeremy knelt down by the flower bed, he had never seen flowers of such bright colors before!

“How have I never been in here”, Jeremy wondered out loud. Kara just gave a small chuckle, “ninety nine percent of the school’s never been in here, don’t worry about it”, she told him as she rested her bag on the desk as usual. “Everyone around the desk please”, she demanded as she sat at the head of the desk, grinning to herself. Jeremy and Keith just glanced at each other before scrambling over and sitting on chairs. 

“I now call the thirty eighth meeting of the botany club to order!”, Kara smiled at the two boys.

She had spent all week figuring out which two students to try to recruit, most were either already in clubs, wouldn’t be seen dead talking to her, or were just plain rude! She chose Keith for his well known interest in marajuana. Even though she would never let him try to grow it in here, she could teach him to properly grow other plants, what he then did with that information was his business. And she chose Jeremy because he was a nice, quiet boy, and to be honest she knew he was too kind to reject her if she gave him a sob story!

“What do we do in botany club plant girl?”, Keith asked, looking up at the hanging plants as he sat at the desk. “My name is Kara, and I’m glad you asked Keith”, she corrected him with her teeth gritted. How did he not know her name, she introduced herself yesterday? “I, the club president, will be watering, and planting some new flowers”, she told them. “Keith, you can water the veggies and garlic, and Jeremy, you can harvest and wash the kale, sound good”.

Jeremy watched her walk over to the flowers and then glanced to the back of the room where he could see the kale and the veggies that Keith was supposed to be watering. “Do you know how to harvest kale?”, Jeremy whispered to Keith, who just shrugged in reply. Keith accidentally kicked something under the desk, both he and Jeremy looking down to see a half empty watering can spilling out all over the floor.

“Chop chop guys”, Kara hurried them as she knelt by the flower bed. “Can someone hand me the watering can”, she asked, turning to see it spilling out by Keith’s soggy converse that stepped away from the puddle. “Keith!”, she scolded as Jeremy picked up the watering can from under the table and took it over to the sink, filling it up halfway and bringing it over to Kara. “Thanks”, she nodded as she watched Keith try to mop up the water with a roll of paper towels he had taken from underneath the sink.

“Hey, Kara, uh, how do you harvest kale exactly?”, Jeremy asked, standing by the veggie planter at the back of the room. Kara raised an eyebrow, “Seriously”, she inquisitively asked, putting down her watering can and walking over. “I’ve never harvested anything before”, he shrugged and chuckled nervously. “Well, you do it like this”, she told him, placing her hands on the base of a larger kale leaf. “Put your hands at the base of the leaf, and twist the leaf off gently”, she instructed, twisting the leaf off and resting it in a basket by their feet on the floor. “But remember to leave a few leaves on there to encourage growth”, she smiled at him, patted his shoulder and turned away, walking back to the flower bed.

“Can I water these first before the veggies, they’re cool”, Keith asked standing on the table with the watering can, looking into the heartleaf philodendrons that hung from the ceiling. “Sure”, she nodded, barely even annoyed that he had swiped her watering can without asking. Whatever, she would plant the new sweet peas before watering the current flowers.

A few minutes of peace went by, Kara planting, Jeremy harvesting, and Keith watering, albeit he was doing it a little wrong, but he would get the hang of it. “Do you have a boombox in here?”Keith asked Kara through the silence. “Yeah, by the door, what for?”, she asked as she kept sowing the seeds. “Well, I remember that my grandma likes to play music for her plants, so I brought some music too”, he told his companions as he jumped down from the table and stepped over to the boombox, taking a cassette from his pocket and loading it into the box, discarding his cassette case on the floor for now.

Kara and Jeremy listened for a few seconds as the tape started, but were both taken aback by the sudden screaming and deafening drum clashing they heard. The awful rock music blasted from the boombox as Keith began to air guitar thoughtlessly, turning the volume up to the max.

“Keith, turn that deafening crap off now, plants like calming music, not whatever this is!”, Kara yelled over the music. Jeremy covering his ears at the back of the room. “It’s a little loud Keith”, he yelled calmly. Kara got up and marched over, turning the music off. “That’s barely even music Keith, put my classical mix on, plants like classics”, Kara sneered at the stoner.

“Hey!”, Keith protested at her claims, a little hurt by them to be honest, “That’s my band’s first original song!”. Jeremy stood at the back of the room, watching the tall stoner, and the hostile horticulturist hurl hurtful words at one another brashly! “Well it sounds like a cat getting pushed into a woodchipper, the plants will hate it!”, she yelled back at him. She was starting to think she should have gone with her backup option of Hazel Webster. “You could’ve just said you didn’t like the song dude, not cool”, he grumbled, taking his tape back from the boombox and picking his case back up from the floor. He was ready to let it go, forget it, and move on.

But she couldn’t help herself.

“What’s not cool is that you overwatered the heartleaf philodendrons, I wouldn’t have done that”, she criticized him as he went to stand back on the desk, but with that word from her he stopped and turned back to the door. “You know what I’m out of here, have fun talking to your plants control freak”, he cursed her as he stepped out the greenhouse door and slammed it behind him, storming off across the field, stuffing his tape back into his satchel, his musical confidence a little shaken.

Kara grumbled at the stoner’s storm out, he was being childish, it was just the truth, no one would ever like that song. It sucked!

She turned to Jeremy at the back of the room, “How’s the harvesting going Jeremy”, she asked with a smile. But he wasn’t smiling. “Kara that was just rude, his band made that song and he’s proud of it, and you just stomped all over it”, Jeremy frowned at her. He wasn’t angry, he was just disappointed, which to some was much worse. 

Kara just shrugged, “He was hurting the plants”, she justified her actions with a false statement. “One song won’t kill anything, you could have played classical after his song, but you just went straight to attacking him”, Jeremy sighed, bringing the basket of Kale leaves over to the desk and grabbing his backpack. “I’m sorry Kara, but i’m already in two clubs, I don’t really want to be in another, especially not if this is what it’s gonna be like every week”. With that Jeremy walked to the door, giving her a nod as he looked around the greenhouse and walked away.

Kara sat alone in the silence of the greenhouse. Suddenly it felt so quiet, so permanent. He was right, the two had fought like clashing chrysanthemums over a song and now she had no members once more. 

Why did she do that? 

Chapter Three

Solitary Sweet Pea

Kara sighed as she walked into the greenhouse for the thirty ninth meeting of the botany club. She was back to being the only member, her presidency had been a total failure. The second she had managed to gain a couple of members she had driven them all away with her petty squabbling and high standards.

She had been too brutal with them and expected them to know everything when she should have taken the time to teach them slowly. But they quit after one meeting. So who needed them, couldn’t even stick it out for one lousy day, she needed members with a little more resilience than that!

With all of these thoughts buzzing around in her head Kara mumbled to her plants as she began to water them carefully, starting with the flowers. She felt a sadness as she watered a singular sweet pea that had grown separate from the rest. It reminded her of herself, a solitary sweet pea, probably forever.

With that she heard a knock at the greenhouse door as a familiar boy walked inside. “Is this the botany club by chance”, the boy asked, his southern accent was music to her ears as the man from Mississippi wandered over to her. The boy in question was none other than the school’s resident farm boy, Brian Sawyer.

Brian Sawyer of course!

He was a farm boy, he would understand the high standards and demands of the greenhouse! And he would be used to hard work too. Why had she never considered him while surveying possible candidates?

Kara smiled at Brian sweetly, “Yeah, you weren’t looking to join by chance were you?”, she asked him. “My friend Keith told me about it, said it’d be perfect for me caus ah’m always talking about my horses going through the hazel trees that ah’m growin”, he blushed, sitting down on the floor next to Kara.

“Would there happen to be a place for me”, he asked with his big doe eyes.

Kara smiled, staring into those big doe eyes and brushing a strand of his short golden hair out of his face. “I think I can fit you in, how do you feel about kale?”, she joked, the two laughing together as he began to help her water the flowers.

She had done it, her pursuit for members had paid off, she had a member who was not only interested in the field, and had aligning interests, but he was cute too! She wasn’t a solitary sweet pea anymore, instead they were a pair of primroses! Hopefully from this day on the botany club would bloom into something beautiful, planting its roots into Glen Oaks High, and expanding its membership! This would do for now though, she had a good feeling about this!

Her efforts hadn’t been for nothing, maybe the botany club was on the rise after all?

I hoped you liked this, it's my first time sharing something I've written on Tumblr and I would greatly appreciate any feedback!

"How can you talk if you haven't got a brain?"

"Hmm, I don't know, but some people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don't they?"

"Why yes I suppose you're right"

This simple exchange always stuck with me, both Dorothy Gale and Scarecrow acknowledge that brainlessness is not limited to scarecrows, or mystical creatures, but extended to people, as it should be.

More often than not the people in positions of power are the ones who find themselves doing an awful lot of talking without a brain to back themselves up.

A movie from 1939 still finds a way to be relevant in our current political climate. But I try not to lose myself in politics I have no control over.

This here is a girl who deserved the world. Dawn was true to herself right up until the end. She was mocked in life, mocked in death, yet found appreciation in her surroundings, rarely ever showing any anger or malice for the way she had been treated in life and death.

Dawn was a fighter, and she never gave up, hope was what kept her going, maybe not the hope for crossing over, but the hope that things would get better, she always believed they would.

She did things that no other spirit could or had up until that point, what even Janet wasn't brave enough to do, she confronted what happened to her, and learned to live with it. She found beauty in every situation, and while she died of electrocution, she knew it wasn't what she deserved.

Dawn truly was a good friend, and she deserved to be treated as such.

Today has been uneventful yet draining so far. The Summer continued to drag on well past it's welcome, I just wish to be rid of it at this point. I long to return to college, I miss my work so.

The sweat runs down the back of my neck similarly to how a razor blade drags through paper.

Moving on to the tasks achieved so far on this sweltering Monday afternoon. I have begun to stick command strips to the backs of some posters so that they may grace their presence to me on the walls of my bedroom. I have also thoroughly pondered what I shall wear to the last first day of college in several weeks.

At 3AM i was sent down a spiral of paranoia and despair, however this is a common occurrence once the clock passes midnight. My thoughts overwhelm my brain and no matter what I do it feels as if the world is going to end. I spot death and shame in every shadow that my unfortunate eyes happen to glance over.

Moving on once more, I hope to venture into the town tomorrow in pursuit of capitalistic desires. I am in need of protection from the sun for my head, I have scoured two separate cities, yet a design that I do not find garish, or unsightly escapes me. My upcoming trip shall be one with immense heat, and I will not be caught unprepared. To be unprepared is a most shameful thing in my personal opinion.

This single scene will never fail to light the fire in my soul. Ally Sheedy always gives a wondrous performance, but the way that this scene was delivered was phenomenal.

With every word she looks like she can't believe that she's spilling her soul out like this, and gives such a raw and real feeling of the fact that her mouth is moving too fast for her brain to stop her.

Her eyes bared us her soul, and her soul was screaming to be seen.

There is a series of lost movie scripts that were written by the legendary John Hughes. These scripts are less likely to be found as only his widowed wife Nancy Ludwig is believed to possess them since Hughes's death in 2009.

Yet there remains a series of lost clips and scenes from many of his famous films, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and Planes Trains and Automobiles, just to name a few.

These lost segments are all covered on the lost media wiki and are listed as partially found, I only hope that someone prominent, with more contacts than myself will take an interest in these lost pieces of cinema history.

Today I have created this blog to log my progress of my writing. I have been writing a series of stories set in the 1970's and 1980's over the past few years now, I believe my first draft of my main story, which is called The Addams Home for Boys, was written in the summer of 2023.

Many spin offs and characters have been created from this first draft, there is enough content for many movies and television shows which I hope to produce, direct, and be the screenwriter for in the future.

I hope that I prove able to cut through the noise of our modern society, a society that I have always felt that I never quite fit into. This is not the time period that I long for, I long for decades that I have never seen, yet I have such an odd feeling like I have lived them before.

Sometimes when I sit and think, I get flashes of other times, what feels like other lives, things that I rationally know I have never lived, but they seem so warm and inviting to me, like a memory, like lived experience.

Our current decade is nothing but a miserable husk of what once was, clinging to the ideals that we used to hold true, and are now only facades in the greater scheme of capitalism and dictatorship.

No one will run the course of my life but me, I can't be peer pressured by figures that I hold no respect for, for a time that I feel no warmth for. I can't go back, there is only forward, so I will do my best to invoke that which once was into what will inevitably be.