just a quickie

this is just a quick picture from prom, my date is on the right.

more paint.

Expressionist Self-Portrait

28:06:42:12

Tonight i received a phone call from blockbuster asking me for an interview. i have an interview on wednesday. please pray. The painting is a stylized portrait of my brother. The one below is called Infection.

La Vie Boheme, God, Clothes, Paint and Knees

God is faithful.

I decided to call H&M for the third after being told I'd get a call twice and received no call, and so today I made progress. The girl answering the phone was the same I had spoken to before and she said she would personally look into it, after finding my recruiter unavailable for the third time she gave me an on the phone interview herself. Progress. So then I decide to get online and check my email and lo and behold there is an email from this summer job I applied for saying I got the job. fantastic. I had been praying over these jobs and pursuing them. God is faithful.

Film

So the other night i was watching a podcast and felt inspired to make a film. However, at this particular time i was packing to head to a friend's house so i had to make it quick and so the editing is a bit sloppy, and its not that great but here it is. The song is Go Sadness by Shout Out Louds

Something I wrote

This is an unfinished short story i began in school the other day.

The skyline clouded out the sun as the lovers rested. A cool breeze tiptoed across the fire escape. The steel grating impressed upon their backs as they slept on the urban canopy. They slept above the world, suspended by only the metal skeleton. Two as one in the wind. Slowly the sun peeked between the buildings pulling open the tired eye of the young man; he blinked trying hard to register the world beyond his sleep.
He looked over at the serene stranger lying next to him. Every once in awhile she let out a soft snore and continued in her rest. He stood up. Opened the window. Stepped inside. The interior of the apartment clung to the dreary twilight of dawn as bodies lay strewn across the floor. It was a battlefield of drunken veterans. He looked at the living dead who would soon awaken to find the prior evening washed away in a maelstrom of gin and tonic.
He slowly creeped over the bodies, glancing out the window, stepping, glancing, stepping. Stepping until he reached the hard linoleum flooring of the kitchen. His stomach finally woke with a loud growl. Scanning the kitchen he spotted half-full plastic cups, the punch bowl, and day-old coffee forgotten, sitting in the pot. In the cabinet he found cereal. Sitting down to eat his thoughts found themselves straying to the night that still lingered in the sounds of sleeping.
He remembered having only a cup of punch, remembering his dislike for alcohol and its bitterness. He remembered not wanting to be there, not wanting to celebrate. He remembered her, she sat at the other end of the room bored with the parade of fools. He remembered stepping out into the autumn air with her, the smell of winter sneaking into the end of every breath. He remembered her hand on his, he remembered her lips. He remembered the silence of time passing as the conversation turned to sleep and the moon lay its guardian hands on them.
As he washed his bowl she slid into the kitchen. He hadn't noticed her rise. She had her finger to her lips; he followed suit and sealed his mouth. Grabbing her hand she pulled him over the dreamers. Leaving the apartment she pulled him down the hall to the elevator in a fit of stifled laughter that released behind the closing doors.

thats all i got and its not hemingway or anything, it was a burst of creativity so it isnt flushed out or anytthing and there isnt any arc to it.