When Summers Were Magical …

nickmiller:

A family of four was having lunch at the far end of the courtyard; the two children played under the table in a shielded little world of make-believe, while their parents seemed concerned with much more solemn matters up above.

“You know,” I said to Henry, “every time I see a child playing, I have the same feeling—this warm, nostalgic sensation for the days when summers were magical and time itself seemed infinite. You remember that? I mean, as kids we could unlock a world of imagination simply by climbing a tree. We could fantasize about everything, imagine ourselves growing up and doing anything, because the possibilities were endless, you know? We were still young enough not to be laden with thoughts of doubt and meaninglessness. It just made more sense.”

“You speak fondly of childhood. I’ve also noticed it in your writing,” Henry said. “I hope you don’t let it tarnish your experiences in the present. Surely you remember the miserable times of childhood: the braces, the bullies, the heartbreak, the insecurities, the fear of darkness—”

: ; — - , . ! ? ’ ” ( ) …

nickmiller:

Look up and meet the members of my riotous, badass posse  … I’ve spent so much time with these little guys. I’ve even given them nicknames. Here are some:

• I call the parentheses “Smiles A Lot,” in honor of that kid in Dances with Wolves. 
• I call the question mark “Confucius.”
• I call the colon “Gollum” (from LOTR), because it has no idea what it is. 
• I call the comma “Dimples.” 
• I call the period “Shel Silverstein,” because it’s where the sidewalk ends.
• I call the apostrophe “Lil Freckle.”
• I call the semicolon “Fassy,” after Michael Fassbender, because it’s sort of the big dick in the punctuation world. 

City of Neon

nickmiller:

City of Angels. City of Dreams. City of Lost Memories. City of Neon. That was it—the neon lights: manufactured color pouring down over the city, like acid rain, slowly eroding the souls of the city-dwelling youths, while poisoning their minds with an insatiable craving for manufactured highs. It was the lights. It had always been the lights.

nickmiller:

If there’s a book or, better, a bookcase in the background of a scene in a film I’m watching, I always freeze the frame and investigate.