The Sleeps - No More

Director - Matt Pacar
Co-Director - Christine Suk
Drums_Percussion - Ricky Fiske
Vox_Keys_Guitar_Bass - David Sprock
Vox_Keys_Guitar_Bass - Andrew Matko
Editor - Christine Suk
Extra #1 - Christine Suk
Extra #2 - Andrew Matko
Extra #3 - David Sprock
Extra #4 - David Novak

La Dama Blanca

Everything is always falling apart, and what else can you do but try all that you can to keep from feeling like you're melting away into nothing, until nothing is left to break? I haven't a heart left to break, and there are no more expectations left for me to fail to fulfill. Maybe it's better this way. Maybe I'm just selfish. Maybe I've given up on trying to save myself, and I'm left with nothing but the feeble desire to save everyone else, and I am equipped with nothing but the innate, desperate awareness that I am incapable of doing so--- crouched beside me like a sickly shadow, taunting me, and taunting me, and taunting me. Because I choose to sink. I choose my own fate. I am self-centered and yet I feel the pain of others so much more than my own dull wounds. My empathy is as great as my loathing, my self-loathing. And yet I still choose to shy away from progress. After all is said, my pretty words mean nothing. They fall apart just like everything else, and disappear. A constant state of destruction, of self-destruction. Maybe the only change I desire is tearing myself to pieces, and maybe that's good enough for now. Maybe, maybe, maybe. All I know are the different ways I will rip myself apart, and for some reason this fact brings me great contentment. It's sick. It's just sick. Change is happiness. Change is despair. It all depends on which way you want to look at it. I'm trapped in a beehive, but all I recognize is the buzzing. It sounds like music. It feels like poetry. It stings. It stings, but I can't stop dancing. Or maybe I simply refuse to, until the bruises swallow me alive. I won't stop dancing until the bruises swallow me alive. I could finally live.

I could finally breathe.

I halfway speak all that is on my mind. I halfway act out all that I would like to do, and all that I would like for myself. Communication seems almost meaningless to me at times. Every word, phrase, thought, and idea is nothing but a reiteration of another word, phrase, thought, or idea. And with each repetition, everything just becomes more and more vague. More and more inconsequential. I am lonely. I am so fucking lonely, but I just want to be left alone. I have a habit of surrounding myself with shadow puppets that are supposed to resemble human beings. Breathing, laughter, witty joke here, clever punch line there, more laughter, more breathing. And perhaps this constitutes as legitimate interactions for some, but for me it's just another way to feel alone, yet numb myself to the very same sensation.