CALLING ALL ARTISTS! We’re gonna start coming up w/ Ideas that could become specific Segments for each of the Themes for our Season 2 episodes. Now we are exploring some of the Angles RE: THE FUTURE that the community’s really been rallying behind.
ALL ARTISTS: Contribute new or exiting RECords for each of the following Angles for the RE: The Future episode:
- Destiny & Fate
- Time Travel
- Predictions of the Future
- Utopia & Dystopia
- No Concept of Time
- Psychics & Fortune Tellers
- Miscellaneous (regarding any additional Angles not listed above)
"Clocks: Tiny Story"
Tiny Story by alexschulte
HERE on hitRECord
Text by fractaldust
My grandfather hated clocks.
Clocks, he said, were deceptive in their construction. They mapped time onto a circle, and told us that every hour, minute, second repeated itself once every day. Around them, we let our guards down, slipped into the easy comfort of repetition, and closed our eyes to the truth: Time was no circle.
On his death bed, he recognized none of us and stared listlessly into space. I think he was looking back on the winding spiral of his life, lingering on every moment he longed to revisit; perhaps in his youth, young brave and stupid, he dared to believe that he could.
He exhaled his very last sigh of regret, and as I closed his eyes, I opened mine: Every second, once passed, was lost forever.
DayGlo (Text Curator) writes:
I love this! Short, bittersweet, insightful, and thematically rich. It is, above all else, beautifully written.
Illustrators could imagine some conceptual clocks, or perhaps what the grandfather looked like on his deathbed; maybe even a timeline of his life, spiralling back into the past.
REmix by KevinMaistros
Every day was strange,
until the day everything became quite normal.
Which was strange.
Text by vallily
December 31, 2010
You walked together, not hand in hand but close enough. The room was empty, except for a camera, longing for the guts and glory of the year past. You both sat — mutual strangers, arms separate, half asleep. The night is blurry, but there.
January 1, 2011
You wake up next to him, hands clammy in a bed not your own, but not his either. Head mildly aching, you remember most of the night, but act as if your vices got the best of you. He asks of your presence in the bed of mutual dis-ownership. You shake your head unknowingly. He agrees, mumbling confusion of his place there as well. You rumble around and fall to the bathroom, no regret is written on your face. There is already coffee in the kitchen. He pours you both a cup. You can’t tell anymore. The conversation becomes blurry, but upon recollection you wish it had lasted forever. You wish the dynamics present in this moment, are the ones that stuck around. He hugs you as he leaves and you can’t help but melt in a way that hasn’t happened since sixth grade science camp.
January 3, 2011
You get excited when you hear his plans for the day, and that they involved the thought of you. You can’t eat anymore, and she teases you. “You like a boyyy” in a sing-songy voice. They stop by, the lonely souls they remained for that January chill, to help clean up from the night before the morning after. Instead, you circle around the living room table, set on acting casual, heartstrings weaving their way into your lungs. You order a pizza for the four of you to split while cleaning. You can barely eat a piece. He reads one of your poems, the first piece you ever had published. You blush.
January 15, 2011
You build up the guts to admit to her your feelings. “I just, really enjoy his company” or something to that effect. You have a twinge as you say it because it could ruin it all, just its simple acknowledgement. You unload the luggage one at a time and ignore the ding in your pocket, thinking its nothing more than a mailing list email or your boss wishing you happy travels. You check it when you’re done. It’s him. You’re strictly unable to function, despite everything. The emotions catch hold to you fully now. Heartstrings fully attached, you can feel things slowly changing.
February 1, 2011
You know things had been weird, but not by your own fault. She likes him. He likes her. You like him. We can all tell how that will turn out. The last week was shaky. Hide and seek, forts and mopes, table dances and car crashes. She needs a knight in shining armor, and you understand. You’re resentful, but you understand. You’ll suck it up and be happy for them—reciting an “aww” when you hear news of them, exchanging looks with your best friend. Wandering into the daylight, you’ll still wish he would show up to your door unannounced. You don’t know how long that will last.
February 22, 2011
You had gotten over it a little, but just enough. You started to find the others attractive again. Well, somewhat attractive. They wouldn’t have his sense of angst or love of Lou Reed or tattoos which you spent hours wondering about — but they were decent enough. Besides he was hers. The party would last longer than most. You catch his eye and know not to read into it, at all, ever again. You’re sitting on the floor amongst a plethora of your nearest and dearest. He smiles at you and says your name. It sounded right for the first time in your life. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something.” The drunken nature of the room takes over, and he is swept to a separate corner. You’re heartstrings have barely healed. It’s as if salt was spilled on them when the whiskey took hold.
February 23, 2011
You think you hear shuffling outside your bedroom door. The core slept at your house that night, and you can’t be quite sure who remained. You gather your thoughts, and your sweater, and your pants, and turn to remember your bed is empty. He is half awake on the couch when you stumble through. There is already coffee in the kitchen. You pour two cups. The conversation is bright, and you become surprised at yourself, more open and loving than the months and months before. He says twice he should leave soon. He admits his feeling of fucking up the night before, of letting slip something that should have remained secret. “What do you think you said?”. He can’t recall. He stares at you, but you know not to read into it, at all, ever again. He hugs you as he leaves and you can’t help but feel your heartstring grow numb and you melt in a way you remembered in a dream.
Day Glo (text curator) writes:
I don’t really know what to say about this. The address of the narration feels very personal indeed. Undercurrents of unexpressed feeling. One of those rare pieces which can inspire identification and recognition even if the circumstances described are somewhat alien. Loved it.
Text by haley.aronow
in the corner of the universe
sits an old lady
who knits endless fabric of time
and cannot remember how to finish it
MattConley (Community Director) writes:
I think this is off to a great start! The word choice is spectacular and it conjures up some really interesting visuals. Maybe this could be remixed slightly so it is even shorter? What does everyone think?
Tiny Story by NogLog
If I could travel in time I would go back
To when I had time to travel.
MattConley (Community Director) writes:
Excellent Text Record. It’s such a universal idea, I think. Anyone have a way of visually remixing this?