The Concept Of Home

When I asked my college girlfriend one time, what it was about me that she loved so much she simply said "you make me feel safe."
I didn't understand it then. But I understand now. The concept is of being "home."
The abstract thought is this...everyone is constantly searching to be home. Consider it, when you see your friends who are miserable, what is it that is lacking. That they are discontent where they are in life.  No one listens to them. They don't get you. Want to know why? They will never get your point. Whatever that may be. And this adds to your idea that the world is cold and miserable. It's not "home."

The idea of home isn't a physical place. It's an emotional one. One that is at the core of all our needs. And one, regardless of where you are, you have to want to feel. It's a comfortable place that you are at ease. And at the very center of it all is warmth.
The word warmth itself makes you move in closer. Makes you feel understood on all levels. This lacks in our social media world, because everyone is angry, bitter and kept at arms length. The authentic person understands they lack a lot in life. Our secrets and guard constantly down. With a person who instills the concept of home to you, you are at ease. At ease doesn't always mean comfortable. Volatile people, specifically in Hollywood, live in chaos and turmoil. They've been battered bruised and left for dead, and if they survive tend to inflict the same to others. It's a disease to which a lot of people fall to.
Because ease, warmth and the concept of home is too foreign to them. They shun it. They want the reality to be different.
Love is close to home. It means you are accepted and felt heard. Many people think they listen, they're really terrible at it. People who think they listen only believe they hear what you say and discount it. That's a large number. The ones who really care, process, understand and validate.
That doesn't mean they need to agree with every point. In fact, that's how you know they aren't listening. Because if you hear, you add a different perspective.

If you are in misery, and have many deep thoughts about life, the single most helpful thing to do is to ask more questions then talk. To me, this is much more welcoming than babbling thoughts. This concept of home is what everyone strives for. We want to feel safe. This is the sense we will seek, and if found, will feel that life is fulfilled and fulfilling.
Seek out your "home."

Sleeping Single

Buddy had his hands at 2 and 10 cautiously transporting the newest winner of the county short story contest, his 15 year old daughter Ida Mae. Though the trophy was small and had a plastic feel, Ida was mesmerized by its painted gold flecks and beaming with pride that something represented her craft.

In competition with the sleepy farming counties of 100 young writers, it was still a honor to be chosen by the local teachers. Though most weren't big city learned, they enjoyed Ida's natural wit and observational tales of growing up rural and regarded her as someone who was meant for something bigger.

Buddy always wondered how Ida got into creative endeavors. Her Mother, Tula, was a church organist who said very little. Sundays were solemn moments of prayer. A Mennonite convert who chose to opt out of simple living for a dishwasher and perhaps a hi-fi stereo. She loved her Barbara Mandrell albums.

"Thinking 'bout college, Ida?"
Ida looked up to her father, and smiled. The thought had not crossed her mind as she knew his life as a tractor repairman didn't exactly put them in a college sensibility.
"I dunno, pa. I guess."
"You should go. You've a very good brain, and wouldn't want it to go to waste."

It was high praise from a man who was typically stoic. And seemed to unnerve Ida that he would be so forthright with his compliments.
"Thanks, pa.
"'Aint no business in this shitburgh town that could get you to where you need to get. I think you should study to tell stories too."

It really threw her off this time. There was no real practical sense of telling tales from a man who worked with his hands. Hell, even shown her how to take apart a distributor cap.
Buddy fiddled with his John Deere cap, smiled at her "all them kids didn't have what you had, baby." Maybe he was building her confidence, but Ida blushed regardless.

"I just got lucky is all."

Buddy made a sudden turn towards the side of the road and jammed it into park.
"Don't EVER sell yourself short. All them kids' folks would've been damn near plastering banners about them. Damn proud of you. That wasn't luck. That was you." His face had gotten as red as the devil.

Ida reeled back, shocked at the sudden outburst. She was speechless. A lot of heavy kind words delivered aggressively yet seemed to want to deliver a point. Never had she heard these things from anyone. Not even from her Mother. Maybe it was because Buddy never saw what thoughts shared between people could mean. That his own drunken abusive Father would rather hit first and ask questions later. That he was built to toil in hot sun while collecting a menial paycheck to get by. It seemed her own Father understood what he had spent his efforts on and it was her success that he could hang his cap on.

The beaten Oldsmobile sputtered down the backroad in silence and disappeared over the next hill

The police report would read different. The account typically rarely includes the lead up to what actually occurs. It's just the facts. And the facts were, that Buddy had gotten home that night, and after a dinner of meatloaf and biscuits, took his Stoeger double barrel shotgun and killed his wife. Then he turned it on himself.

Ida had gone to sleep early that night. Mandrell's "Sleeping Single In A Double Bed" was still playing when she was awaken by the first shot. She'd raced down to see her Father had turned the barrel towards himself. Ida would later write that he was still wearing his John Deere cap. At the dinner table. A no-no in Mom's world. And something that she would tell therapist decades later, he had winked at her before pulling the trigger.

In her 40's now, Ida sits at the dinner table in the suburbs in Ohio. Her house the biggest on the block. A framed photo of the cover of her best-selling collection of short stories hangs behind her husband, who at this moment shovels meatloaf into his mouth from bone china, reading something off his smart phone. Her two daughters playfully bicker. A gentle tune plays throughout the house.
Ida smiles to herself. Content at life. "Alexa, play Barbara Mandrell"
"Sleeping Single In A Double Bed" kicks in. "Mom! I hate country music" one of her daughters whines.
Her husband looks up at her...did he just see her wink?

Hollywood Pre-Millenium

For those of you who were not in Hollywood in 1998, I pity you. This was about the last year a lot of fun was to be had. And in the darkness of the Hollywood we knew from the yesteryear.
The Brown Derby was still around, as was The Ambassador Hotel. When you walked on Hollywood boulevard, there were gift shops of movie posters, scripts and books. There was a theater similar to the New Beverly that would play two movies for $5.00. That was where I saw "The People Vs. Larry Flynt" on film, which was surreal because in the film Woody and Courtney Love walked right by the theater we were watching it. My first experience with a surreal life.
There was so much darkness back then. It almost seems Stone Aged. There was a free clinic within my apartment on Van Ness. Little did I know just up the hill was Beechwood Canyons, where a lot of the nicer houses were. You had to cross Franklin Boulevard. And from my dank apartment, you could see the Hollywood sign (mocking me).

The place was beautiful in its dreary way. At the time, smog was still AWFUL. I woke up in a grey brown haze. And my lungs filled with crap. Smoked cigarettes back then too.
The other thing was that the internet wasn't what it was today. So to entertain ourselves, we played Sony Playstation or went to a diner/coffeeshop to write. I truly miss those days (sans smog).

Today, Hollywood is glass and marble. Clean everywhere but down below on the streets. The rebuild of Hollywood is staggering. Out with the old, in with the new. And everyone who owned property back then seems happy to see to the highest bidder. It is a shame, but wholly necessary as it's become sickening to live here. It's too much. And it will likely get worse.

I'm not sure what their new plans are. Seems we are the cockroaches that the city of Los Angeles wants to shine a light on (never mind they've already have a plan for the homeless). To me, I rarely lay on the couch thinking about the stories of struggle anymore. Though, I loved the bohemian life it was. A bed in the middle of the living room that was connected to the kitchen with brown shag carpet isn't appealing as it use to be. But the new people coming into town most likely will relish that they made it there and have a place to stay and make their run at being a star. Even at it's wettest nastiest basement mold dwelling. That's exciting.
That's what I miss about Hollywood.

Scorsese And Coppola Think Superhero Movies Aren't Cinema

They're right. It's not cinema. They're movies.

"When Martin Scorsese says that the Marvel pictures are not cinema, he's right because we expect to learn something from cinema, we expect to gain something, some enlightenment, some knowledge, some inspiration.

"I don't know that anyone gets anything out of seeing the same movie over and over again," the 80-year-old filmmaker said.

"Martin was kind when he said it's not cinema. He didn't say it's despicable, which I just say it is."

Do you learn much from movies?
Nope.
Some might argue you get dumber.
To me, superhero movies are...no eating themselves. They break down the fourth wall to address the audiences' savvy towards...other superhero movies. Also, extending a franchise is probably the most despicable part. They know they'll be making 30 of them, so you know who will survive or not. There are no elements of story that that are worth telling.
Life is absolutely fascinating if you observe it. And the comic book movie doesn't observe life. It takes a core sensibility of our own morals and attempt to shoe-horn value.
Only America sees film as commerce. Other cultures see them as art.

"The Joker" (2019)

I'm not gonna go into a real review of this movie, other than to say, it's not as dark as people say it is. And it's clearly an exceptional portrayal by Joachin Phoenix.
It addresses things that I've been saying for a long time. Everyone is talking and no one is listening.
In short, we lack empathy, and yet, we consider HIM the psycho.

Take the comic book aspect from this movie and it still hits on some really true thoughts. An intellectual dissection of HOW a disgruntled mentally ill person could cause chaos. In this case, sometimes it spirals to that point.

What is also apparent is our anger. Angry about everything. Even anger about not being angry. With the world we have created now, everyone with a dissenting opinion has a voice. These voices are sometimes destructive. A simple look at social media shows how horrible we can be towards others. And yet, we have no clue what buttons we are pushing and whom we are pushing. There are a lot of Jokers out there. Too scary to think about. But they also come in a specific form. Male between the ages of 18-35, typically Caucasian or Asian. Pent up anger at society. Then the fuel of media supporting all those beliefs we don't believe or are accused of. The loner male is typically accused of everything and can't get some hot babe adds to the fuel of what was sold to them. Be smart, funny and intelligent and you get hot sex. Wrong. As the media portrays it, you're still a rapist. The blowback of these accusations fall on deaf ears. Since the mob has settled on you being the enemy. This adds even more fuel. Then the ads infiltrate our psyche. There is an agenda pushed by the "woke" crowd that requires that you fall in step with whatever they think society should be. It's not. Rich people present their charmed life with their model girlfriends creates a deep resentment. And then the "woke" crowds tells you how you should react. What if you don't? Do you have a voice. Not really. You are the enemy. Again, a simple look at social media creates this cancel culture. You can't express anything on a platform that allows you to express EVERYTHING. Meanwhile, you can't be bigoted, sexist...human. It goes against everything is in your nature, which tells you you are wrong regardless of what you say or do. You will be ignored. You will not get the accolades you desire in this village. You will break.

And now, what we have are people like Arthur Fleck. His deep pain is in being mentally ill and then being punished for attempting to not be. Regardless of what he does, he is seen poorly and treated as such. There is no kindness anywhere he reaches. In this boiling pot, our society keeps them at arms reach. My typical day requires I sidestep batshit crazy homeless. We ignore them as much as we do rabid animals. They have no voice, nor do we ever hear them. Should we? Fuck no. They're crazy. And a few lessons I've learned at the ground level is that they've reached their breaking point.

This movie addresses so many dark thoughts of a person lost in darkness. Should we understand this. YES! What is the solution before he snaps? Perhaps this movie is telling us that it is already too late. I do believe it is wrong to believe we can placate this anger. Some people are beyond redemption. There needs to be more focus on this type of person less we create more.
To me, "The Joker" is the de-evolution chart of the under represented. And it's also about the anger that surfaces due to it.

Criticism

If you get into any media field you will be dealing with these people.
They are strangers so they don't know you and for the most part, can base their views on the content and your craft.
Otherwise, they're dumb as shit.
Most critics are failed artist. Or cowardly artist. I've only respected one critic in the history of film criticism and that was Roger Ebert. He's like some really dumb things ("Speed 2"?!) but he always explains why he liked it. Most critics cannot. They just hate your film.
But that is the job of a critic. To get dumber people than you to either go see it or don't.
A lot of films are critic proof. Those superhero movies come to mind. They don't need Joe Morgenstern from the New York Times to wax about it. Nor Rex Reed to shit on it. Nor even Martin Scorsese to tell you there are too many of them. People will just go for the diversion. And, though I appreciate the fact that it is what is keeping the cinema-plexes alive, they are truly killing varying stories that can reach group audiences. Nothing like "Kramer vs. Kramer" will ever end up on the big screen again.

The other thing about critics, if they happen to be filmmakers themselves. If you happen to see their work and it's not your cup of tea, it is perfectly sane to discount that person.
I'm on a photo site where a guy has critique an image of mine. A small dig into his photo gallery told me everything I needed to know about his style which didn't coincide with my own. Is he wrong? Absolutely not. I just don't happen to think he was the person to comment on my image and give it the critique he thinks it needed regardless of the "technical" truth it required. I didn't engage, as he suffers the same fate most hobbyist do, poor subjects (his wife and kids). So check the source.
In terms of acting out there. That is the single most subjective anger inducing critique that comes to mind. While it's true you can drag out a perfectly fine performance out of bad dialogue or story, it is impossible to convince a bad actor they are bad (I've acted before, I thought I was adequate...I'm horrible). As a friend pointed out, we're at a saturation point now where everyone believes they can act and they do terrible projects that get attention for being bad. So others emulate it. Which becomes...how bad can bad get? Incidentally, you don't set out to make a bad movie, the Gods gather together and see how bad the acting/story is...John Waters proves this theory. Or whatever.
Hilariously enough, what if you attempted to make a John Waters movie and it becomes an Oscar level story/performance. Aim for the opposite, I say.

Any way, now you have a whole slew of "bad for bad's sake" films out there. My suggestion, just stick with what you want to make regardless of what critics think. And don't get too academic about it. Studies and science and fucking Ansel Adams destroyed the frontier. You are suppose to get to the edge. Be bold and forget the stupid "zone system" or the Method acting. Or the "rules of _____" not if it's on your dime. And that is what is lacking in cinema. Bravery. They can't afford it (though they make plenty of movies about it). Being bold means taking bigger chances. "Ghostbusters" with women sucked MASSIVE balls, but give them and director Paul Feig credit for trying. The new "Charlie's Angels" that will be more self-serious will also suck beyond balls. Guess what...directed by Elizabeth Banks...that's bold! There is a caveat it to these two though...they relied on a previous reputation to propel it. Not THAT brave, but brave to try.

In other words, steel yourself from the "critics" They're mostly dumb and haven't done anything.

Getting The Money To Make Movies

If you are reading this, it's more than likely you want to know how to get money to make your movie.
Answer: Stop.
There's an old saying in Hollywood that says that you should NEVER use your own money to make your movies. Sound advice, as I've been on a few films where the producer was putting up the money. I suppose they meant directors or writers or whatever. Movies are HIGH risk and little return, if any. You may argue movies like "Avengers" gets to the billions, that is because the investment was over $200 million (ugh). This is still a poor investment since it's not like there are 100 "Avengers" flicks available for you to make. And it's a studio. They have a lot leveraged into it. A similar comparison are these people who have mortgage their home to make a movie (there are some who have lost their home this way).

For many in the world, they want to know where they can get money to get thoughts to screen.
The system is rigged, folks. Not that that should ever dissuade you from your goals, but, there is no mid-range movie like there use to be. Or if they are, they're already lapped up by people who have already established 2 to 3 features already. It only takes one to get a track record. Then it takes savvy to get it seen.

In the REALLY old days, benefactors use to be a thing. Rich folk staved off boredom by paying someone to entertain them. If they liked your art you were commissioned to do more of it. This freed you up to having to do a soft shoe dance to get your movie made. Now, there are hundreds of speed bumps determined to stop your idea from reaching the screen.

The answer to this is that you have to fund your first film yourself. Sorry. And possibly your second one. And this takes patience. And patience sucks the enthusiasm out of your dream project, doesn't it? Yes.
The other thing is to do other things to get money to make your dream project. There is an inherent danger here since that becomes your thing.
I know of a guy who wants to get into film because he wants to promote his clothing line. He makes hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, he is now back tracking to do his own ads. He's pretty damn smart in that he is curious and interested in the foundation (guy's under 22 years old, I have faith).
The point is that there is no obstacle that should keep you from doing the projects you want. You should not have anyone telling either or. You just do it. And, quite frankly, don't read too much press either. This box office grab does you no good. If anything, seeing numbers go up for a movie you think is dumb will discourage your own path.
And overall, just enjoy what it is you're doing. The point of making movies is to exorcise stories that others relate to or enjoy. And you communicate your mind into the hearts of others. That's a pretty good magic trick. Respect it.

You're No Better Than Them

A friend recommended a book that has opened my eyes a little about accountability.
Mostly, in today's world, no one takes the blame for anything ever.
Or they apologize but give excuses. The janitor at my work for example. Another was this guy I work with who is convinced he is right about this one thing, but he is painfully wrong. You want to shake the shit out of people like this. But it really does no good. A person like this will justify his dumb behavior. As will people with will "never get it."
There is a guy at work who, always perceives what you are saying wrong. In other words, he can't interpret for shit. Perhaps it's a sting to my own ego as maybe I'm not explaining my position well, but he is a passive aggressive person. Those are the worst, by the way. Say what you mean, asshat.
Though he is insincerely nice (Mom fucked him up), he has a deep anger that rages on the peripheral, and quite frankly, the first person I'd expect to rage on society. Though his only saving grace is that he is boisterous. Loud people don't murder. Quiet ones do, which there are a lot of at my work as well. And they frighten me more.

The book also explains how little by little we are guided into (manipulated) into our own mindset. I started out as a bleeding heart Leftists. And a classic Liberal. The more I listened to a Leftist city like Los Angeles, the more I realized I was bamboozled into false reality. The, supposed, good willed people of the Left thought they are the "good guys." In reality, they are enablers and they can justify their behavior by hiding behind this shield. This is a Trojan Horse theory. When I started seeing the corruption from the entertainment industry and the hypocrisy, I checked out. Conversely, the Right is no better. Bible conservatives are the most despicable. Guilt pushing people to donate to save their souls while living in the lap of luxury Jesus himself would be ashamed of. These people have zero shame. Vote Trump and want to hide their ill gotten money. Yet, blame entertainment on the breakdown of society. If anything, these two should (and do) work together.

The issue is that you may not think you cannot be manipulated. But the smartest and the ones with the most street smarts have been. Look at the thing in your hand right now. Cell phone, smart phone, whatever. This is a device used to keep you tethered. Whether that information is useful to whomever isn't relevant, what is is that they listen to every conversation. Yes, folks...we have bugged ourselves...voluntarily. For others to use this info to extract behavior.
Many people assume there is nothing they can get that is of value from you. Information is power. The power to regulate your life. For instance, health care. Or insurance. Or anything that keeps the ones at top living comfortably while we just exist. Fine, if you have no ambition any further in life but to work and die.
My point being, if you want to enrich your life, be honest with yourself in how you perceive things. And how things honestly went down. When I got into my accident, I knew for certain the other guy had run a red light (since he likely thought at that hour no one would be out). It took a while for him to admit wrong doing. And luckily he was honest. There are too many people who think being dishonest saves their hide. Self preservation is a strong motivator. However, if you have to live with yourself, then you are living with a person you will learn to hate. That U.S. Ambassador's wife in the U.K. who murdered a kid on a bike needs to go back there and face the music.

Money Isn't Everything

I would say, a person who is really focused on making money can do it.
And if that is your goal in life, then I'm envious of the simplicity of it.
It does take hard work, and focus. Other than that, it's not difficult.
In order to do so, a lot has to change.
You will lose a lot of genuine friends. I say genuine because you will never know if it's having a LOT of money or it's really you.
The other thing is spending most of your time monitoring it and protecting it. A lot of time spent driving yourself for every cent.
Also, you will lost friends simply because having friends means spending money. You won't do that, if money is your goal.
You'll also lose relationships, because you will spend money on your significant other. Birthdays and anniversaries. They also come with relatives. Time spent at holidays and such take traveling. Traveling is money. Get rid of those and you will save money.
You will also forgo entertainment. The single biggest waster of money. Whether it be movies, traveling, ...I'll just say life experiences. Nothing thrilling. All you do to save and make money is to remain boarded up at home. Because eating well costs, as does living decently. Nothing frivolous.
These are all sacrifices for something that is suppose to bring you joy. Or at least buy it.
When I got my first adult paycheck (not for doing adult movies, dummies, I mean one where the check was stamped) I wanted to buy a house. It wasn't that I could buy a house with one measly paycheck, it was that I could think about it seriously.
But you know, as much as it is of an investment to own property, you don't really own it. Owning it means you never pay property tax. It belongs to the bank forever. Those guys know how to make money by using your money. Anyway, it occurred to me looking back now, that a house is also a money pit. Everything in a house is not cheap. Though most of us don't think in those terms. If there is a roof over your family's head, it's all worth it (as my Dad can attest). To me...it's money pouring out like water through a sieve. And it never ends. Because money is fluid. It always exchanges hands on a daily basis. Electronically or otherwise.
To me, this is not worth it. Ever. Because, when you die, none of it matters. All that you saved and scratched and focused on to obtain more of the green stuff means nothing. In death, that is as useful as a bag of dirt to a dehydrated person in the desert.
That is not to say, spend money as for tomorrow you may be dead. Being responsible also means shifting your money around so you are comfortable in life. Especially as every day, the older you get, the more you want less hassles. And that's what having money alleviates.
We are all so fearful of losing it or not having enough.
I think this is wrong thinking. I think you need to say that having the control of your standards of contentment means much more than having a stockpile of dollars.
Don't live beyond what you feel comfortable at. Also, don't be the person who finds themselves missing out on things because something inanimate guides you.
As you can see in the world today, religion and money guides too many people. And it's always in the service of being miserable.
Instead, provide for the people you care about (even if it is only yourself) with comfort.

You Cannot Take It With You

The single most destructive thing that will always kill you from the center out is pride which is linked to ego.
There's a janitor that works at our office who made a really dumb mistake of mopping around sensitive hardware. He hit the hardware and the system went down. Which is when I proceeded to get upset with him. Obviously this damaged his ego. Since he went into defensive mode. The situation fixes itself simply for the guy to apologize for the mistake and move on. Instead, he refused, and that is my pet peeve.

While we were casual friends then, the guy won't really speak to me anymore. Guess what? There is a reason why you'll always be a janitor.

I know this because I battle this myself. Holding a grudge towards someone is dumb. I do it and have done my best to change this. Not that I need to reach out, but I quickly drop the anger or resentment or whatever. It does no adult any good to hold onto this and you only take it with you to the grave. Don't. Learn to keep your ego and pride at bay. Or better yet, destroy it.
I have a co-worker who is brilliant at that. He is over 50. Probably will die of a heart attack because he is the exact opposite. He doesn't allow people screaming at him to get to him (or so he says, most likely squashes it down into a ball in his gut). Though I've screamed things at him in a temper tantrum, he hasn't held it against me. I've discovered he's learned defense mechanism through his mother who was abusive.

I'm not sure what the good middle ground is but I'll tell you this, the janitor who holds on to his anger and ego bruised resentment towards me hasn't guided my life in the least. For the occasional dirty look or silence, I've continued onto my other endeavors in life. See, a lot of the ego is that their absence or silence will result in your world crumbling. That's laughable. But it does feed into their narcissism. To me, I took a lesson in what ego and pride can do. It keeps you working as a janitor at a place where you get screamed at for doing dumb things. It also occurred to me now, that the powers that are in charge (all not within his ethnicity) most likely treat him this way on a daily basis, and now, in his mind, he believes I see him in the same subservient position. I won't lie and tell you that I don't. Only because I've done this job (as a work study job at college, which is the single worse experience of janitorial work you can do, TRUST ME ON THIS) and realize it is real work, but at the same time, if I were to not show up, no one would notice, as someone else can easily do it.
To me, the ego/pride has kept him in this world for...most likely, the remainder of his life.
The two options we have are, use the resentment to fuel your life or use it to burn it all down.
It's truly up to you.

In The Twisted Metal

The car slammed with such a force the rear driver side caved in and a piece of the door's frame shot out and pierced his thigh. A car had run the intersection light and nearly bisected his own SUV.

Boyd looked at his leg, mesmerized at how a rusted piece of metal could go so deep and through without blood pouring. The paramedics would later tell him that it missed nearly all blood vessels and punctured not a vein and went through muscle. Boyd would recall his biology class where they had to dissect a frog and he remembered where the hunk of steel had gone between tendons.
What luck.

Boyd gasped for air and stared up at the bloody pulp which was the other driver's face. It had launched through his windshield with such force the glass caved in but cobwebbed into his cabin. The man was young. A neck tattoo was the first identifying mark that it was even a human face. Though the glass had already carved gashes in its face. A faint breathing came from what was once a nostril. The eyeball drooped low but laid pressed to the glass. He saw something glitter against the web pattern and later remembered it as teeth. Broken from impact which grinned like a jack o' lantern. The face sucked in air, as Boyd watch it slowly take its last breath. The face had expired.
There.
Right next to his own face.

The impact was so sudden he didn't have time to realize all the change in his ashtray was scattered. Boyd struggled over to pick up a quarter. With pained effort, he flat-ended the change and pressed it against the jagged metal pole that stuck out from his leg for leverage. Nothing. It would not budge. There it stuck. And there it remained.

He heard some voices outside his car. Boyd caught a glimpse of his left ring finger bent back awkwardly. Relieved that his marriage band was still there.

"oh my god!" he heard muffled voices.
"Call someone!"

And it was late at night. Or was it early morning. Time froze at that point. Boyd replayed the accident over and over again. Yes, the dead body ran a light. But where did it need to go? Were people expecting him? That neck tattoo would most likely come in handy now. He laughed to himself. Anything to take his mind off his own condition. Sickened a little that he had survived where another had died.

Then he heard the familiar voice.
"Oh my god Boyd!"
It may have felt time slowed during impact but after a catastrophic accident, time doesn't make sense...
it was his girlfriend Paige.
A buxom brunette with sad clown eyes peered through the wreckage. Her mouth contorted to a look of absolute horror. Paige. A pretty girl with a pretty name. He could smell her shampoo from here. Lilac summer and lavender. It comforted him. The warmth of that scent. Feminine.

Boyd could hardly speak. The steering wheel was jammed against his chest. And he was gasping for air. Slowly as to maintain oxygen flow. Something he learned during trauma, is to not panic. Thank you Boy Scouts.
But it didn't matter much as he felt like a blob of jelly at this moment. Every bone ached as the brain began to scale back on adrenaline. Something on the floor had had his most attention. The focus most likely saved his life. His phone laid open. He loved vintage flip phones. It was open and it had autodialed Paige. He concluded that it must have been the impact that did so. He wasn't about to look a miracle in the mouth.
Slowly the fire department pried the door from it's hinges. A crowd of homeless had gathered next to a few drivers that stopped to gawk at the corpse from the other car, now impaled in his windshield.
Boyd felt something warm go down his leg, a blood trail began a dripping puddle beneath him and he felt faint.
The EMT got in his face "Stay awake...you cannot pass out...we'll get you out soon"
The firemen edged into the crushed metal and deftly removed the door. Boyd collapsed into the EMT's arms. They hurriedly fastened him to the gurney. Secured his neck. They had left the trimmed metal in his leg as the pressure was the only thing keeping him from bleeding out. Along the short distance, Stephanie looked down from her crystal green eyes "it's okay honey. I'll wait for you at the hospital. I love you."
Boyd had no voice to speak. Had no energy to do so regardless.
Once in the ambulance, the EMT that talked him through his consciousness hooked up an IV.
"You know where you are?" Yes.
"You know who you are?" Yes.
"What day is it?" Sunday
And so it went.
They seemed to have relaxed once the siren blasted on.
The guardian angel EMT patted Boyd on the shoulder "brother, this is your lucky day. Someone was watching over you."

It's not their fault they didn't know.

The secret that died in that twisted car.

Boyd was on his way to murder Paige. Earlier that day he had accidentally switched phones with her and received a phone call from one of her lovers.
One of them. Out of many.
As Boyd searched her contacts, the more men's names popped up. None of which he was familiar with in the 10 years they had been married.
The very same phone that autodialed his number.
Drugs will later make him forget that he felt the cosmic universe speaking to him as the odds of the phone calling her to alert her of his accident. That this may have meant they were meant to be together forever. Though she may have thought it was some other lover.

Or the fact that she had his phone and felt a sense of fear once she realized he had her phone. Flip phones. Who could tell back then?
It most definitely made him forget the murderous rage he felt the instant he realized how short life is and how quickly it could be taken away.
Flip phones...
...