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Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Friday, March 5, 2010

The Yelling Room

1. Catharsis

Metropolis bearing down on the mind, concealing the sun from hope and still demanding the onslaught of hustling speed. There's no rest, no patience, no friends, no peace. The eyes of passersby are cold and distant, feeling little of the humidity pressing its hot fingers across the brow, uncaring of shoulders pressing in rushes to push others away. Honking, tires rushing down the corridors, weaving, cutting, pushing, wrecking; the speed of life ticking in bubbles wrapped tight. The only relief from silence comes in determined groupings; stiletto princesses and trench coat kings planted stoically on subways talking idly in worlds unfazed by the infestation of the inhuman. Separation from the natural flashes by so quickly...

There's no release for the Boulderite cheerfully walking between the robots. Love is controlled, removed from the mind, forced to submit to darkened tunnels and staggering heights. And all she wants to do is yell; at the cars, at the stores, at the people, at the darkness, at the sky, the purses, the shoes, the walls, windows, birds, rain... Simply to release. Public and private lost between thin walls among the masses. A shout here reverberates to neighbors who shout back... No release when its thrown back through protection. She must submit to New York, or perish as her self in the myriads of loss.

2. A Return Home

She rebels, as only befits her heritage; the influence of Boulder permeating even her dress. Her affiliation with the sun pulling her eyes beyond the peaks. Yearning for the cleansing light of stars, of smiles. The need for trees, however anemic, destroys the fantasy of materialism running amok with the soul. Earth subjected to concrete where once salvation was sought. The heart of music, art, literature overcome by money, steel, and fumes.

Remembering takes her away, for however short a time, to soul mates sharing ideas in word, hugs pressed under trees on the mall, where buildings are low and miles are seen. The eye goes further than the body could; brings enlightenment without satisfying the needs and desires of nerves. Mountains transform magnificently to burden-less symbols of relaxation; the hotel to stress and noise. Mother's nagging more reminiscent of happiness than disheartened puberty, of slow revolutions than of disciplinary circumstances. Such innocent wanderings only increase the futility of existing in conflicting universes, and the swell of discomfort rises from the pits of her inner self. Vision eventually returns to wisps of clouds fuming from gutters and clatter of grates under the pressure of heels and the incessant barrage of "DVD Movie DVD Movie Prada Handbag PradaHandbagPrada..."

3. Escape

Only one resolution commits thought to action. One room, in a myriad of locations, closed so completely to the city. Silent in a way the gods can treasure in their minds, alone in ways fish know in the deepest seas, calm like the Buddhist monastery. Away from the world, shut tight to the stresses of life that only a center could provide. Within could be a couch and chair, at juxtaposed angles and in Zen design, calming candles and serene melodies, accented by a vase at the far corner underneath a picturesque sunset of a forest. Painted walls fading from a vibrant blue to comforting green with glints of gold near the ceiling give the attendant a peaceful atmosphere to utilize.

Regardless of the space, its purpose is release and relaxation in a city of impure adrenaline. Relaxing in the purest of ways: without expectations. In theory yelling is its purpose; screaming the profane past closed lips and into a soothing, cleansing, fair and (no longer) quiet place. Release, relaxation, retardation. Time allowed to pass however one likes, preferably slowly. And once this expression is achieved, the individual can return to the world a calmer person. The boulderite can have her day where expression is not hidden beneath suits and skirts, the eyes no longer having to bear witness to nothing but ahead lest the excitement sneaks back up into her chest. A simple room for the New Yorker's hidden emotions.

4. Think...

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