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REDD STUDIOS The writings of Kevin Weir





    I. City
Where the cities light hit strangely the citizens proceeded quickly to their assigned existences. The posts, from which light came from, did not shine under the bright sun light in the high noon. Twelve skyscrapers, tall structures. Twelve crows each with 2 1/2 ft of wingspan on them sat on the ledges and looked below. Rivers were created in the sky, and fell to the streets below. The crows flew over the rivers into the unknown. Without water, the rivers were of fire and burned the concrete kingdom of which it fell upon. In the alley sat the guitar player with the harmonica in his pocket watching the feet run to safety. Six buildings fell into the fire and in the destruction was created clouds of snow. The last 6 buildings exploded and the debris had turned into the greenest grass in the earth. After the dust had left the people gathered around the sitting birds and sat with them and thought.

The clouds passed and the people gathered. Near the small fire and piles. Along with the crows they watched as all people of the world, the billions came wet from walking through the oceans and wasted from the climbs of the mountains. And two people met, and they departed each other. And one said “remember me.” They remembered and in the gathering they met again and so they were together again, as was all the people. Now together under the bandaged earth's crazy blue eyed sky. The thirst of the people built up and the clearest of crystal water was given to them, and they drank. Celebration with the blue jays and the cardinals lasted until moonrise.

So then came the sun, so then came the clouds in the event of everything being destroyed new art was created. And creators emerged as the kings and the people were kings. Everyone was their own king; the kings of fools did not realize what was happening, yet all was still good. A lonely tree expressed lonely thoughts to the normal ones, and said the brown-branched tree: “separation is inevitable, difference brings us together and divides us forcefully.” The red eyed kings and the blue eyed normal people and the green eyed clowns thought and did not speak, but knew. They all knew. So the fools departed first and the new land of earth was created again. Fools created glass empires that were broken by the stone of beasts and black hearted cats. 

Monuments of one in the former land 
-A plant started to grow, the leaves turned colors of emotion and in the wind; expressed the colors of fire. Swirls of realization into all minds, not all can be corrected and most should be left behind. ‘Twas hate and love that kept things in motion. Cages and gates can always be rebuilt and the off white gray clouded sky with dead trees in front makes the scene all that much darker. After years, the flags were risen, red and black flags. The choice colors of a certain king. And through the frozen glass the eyes of each man broke into thoughts of breaking systems. Should you follow the tracks that lead you to set existence or take the trail of the giant star, the sun? So the people declined the offer and few to this day take the way of the sun of existence. The king was forgotten, the poets praised and the eagles killed. Earth II dissolved into the second original form of sickened atmosphere and warning frogs. With each blink, the skeleton of everything is received but not remembered. 

II.16 Spines (see part 2)

III. Journey
From time's shadows glows opposite colors of reverse effect into the gremlin’s eyes. Twelve-string guitar tuned in the sunset summer night with the three mile per hour wind through the trees and above the edges of the stadium. To the open lands of forever where darken trees of misled hope lead you to nothing but more hills. And the constant color makes you understand the skies paleness more over. On top of a hill, isolated insanity breaking the dust with each step, you look into the mist filled valley. Through noon's burning sun, you see the sparkle and burning specks of reflections of the water ahead.

IV. Blocking
Just like the dozens of dirt covered winter birds can cover a branch, a strong thought can consume any mind for the longest time. Like a rubber band it can pull you in and bounce you out, forget the existence of others and they disappear. Walk the circle far enough and they appear again one way or another. In the drop of a tear the days will change the walls will fall and the sun will turn bad. The same sun-fire that saw the beginning of time, the same sunlight that saw the carving of great waterfalls and the death of the empires. Those quick things can change and the bottom of the hill is home again. Just as you watch the wind run through the green blades you follow it into the air, into the charcoal haze storming above. The speed picks up the forms put spark fear. Here comes the storm it knows nobody. The statues will remain the city will fall. The spiders won’t recognize and the snakes will ignore it all.

V. Scorpion in the Snow
Through the blinds its Grey and the crystals fall. The Snow changes paths and pounds on the ground like the keys on the piano. Played by the homeless clown. Watched by none. And the day the snow covered all the earth, showing the entire world. A proof of change is in the desert. The powder is gone or did it disappear. The cages on the eyes, the old vision comes back, the same creek still flows with time and sight from another place. The winds stop and the birds surround, they fly with mission. And you turn to amazement as the last flakes fall. The air is your only music. It shows you three emotions of storm, silence and life. Insanity gets you through the mountain range and clouds give you shade when you dig your way to the sun. Sitting on a shaded hill, watching the scorpions tale; the light touches your knee. It warms the whole leg and melts the snow, the black stinger buries himself in the white dust and is gone from sight. You walk away the snow melts in the steps you make, the scorpion revealed and his color turns to tomorrow. 






       | AOL INSTANT MESSENGER- meshface

                      copyright 2001, Kevin Weir