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Rangzeb Hussain Feb 2011
Journey to Mecca – The IMAX Experience

Imagine the scene... There are crowds of people milling about, some in queues, some chatting by the windows, others sipping a warm drink. There are children playing in corners, babies drinking milk, and wherever you look you see people of all creeds and races united under the banner of a shared humanity. And what is the reason for this diverse cross section of society to be present in one place on a quiet and sleepy Sunday afternoon at Birmingham’s ThinkTank? The answer is right there across the busy foyer. It is a poster for a new IMAX film called “Journey to Mecca”. The very air bubbles with excitement and expectation as the cinema staff cut the proverbial ribbon and usher the people into the auditorium.

Space, vast and open, is the first thing that hits the audience as they take their seats and let their eyes wander over the immense spectrum of the IMAX screen. A map unfurls across the screen and a narrator explains the time and lays down the background to the scene that is about to commence. The year is 1325, the place is Tangier and the story is about a man who is about to embark upon a journey to the holy city of Mecca on a pilgrimage. The charismatic young man is Ibn Battuta, he stares at the stars that twinkle across the canvas of the night sky and he dreams of spires, of domes, of jewelled cities that sparkle in the desert sands, and his vision swoops like a falcon over the alleys and streets of the kingdom until they rest upon the Ka’aba, the sacred building at the heart of Islam.

Ibn Battuta bids farewell to his beloved family and sets out on his journey which will see him tested, both physically and psychologically, as he travels to the fabled city of Mecca. His trials and tribulations on the road to Mecca are detailed with an emotional richness rarely seen in modern cinema. The script is nuanced in a way that allows the audience to connect with the action and the various characters. The depth of research and the care in which the tale is told is delicately balanced. This is cinema as entertainment and as education.

The film reveals the magic and wonder of the Hajj by contrasting the life of Ibn Battuta with modern day worshippers at the same holy sites as those visited by the young traveller all those years ago. The scale of the event is brought to realisation in a way that will make even the most jaded film connoisseur gasp with astonishment.

In terms of technicalities, the IMAX technology is notorious for being extremely expensive and difficult to master. The format does not allow for the creative freedom that one can utilize in 35mm, so it is to the credit of the crew that this film looks seamless and breathtaking. Every single frame of the drama is a beautifully crafted canvas that seems to glow like a painting. The cinematography is exemplary and employs a painterly palette. The deserts and mountains are dry, cracked and dusty brown like wrinkled parchment while the sun drips golden lava across the scorching landscape. The white garments of the pilgrims are like beacons floating in the creamy dust of the desert sands whilst the tapestries hanging in the bazaars are lovingly stitched in green and blue threads; and the silver and gold bangles on the arms and ankles of the village girls ****** and twinkle. The atmosphere of warmth and friendship is apparent in every scene, especially when the succulent food is shared by the soft red glow of the campfires. High above this blend of colours, languages and the swirl of human emotions are the dancing stars that ripple in the heavens. The spectacle and sounds of a bygone era are stunningly designed.

The soundtrack also serves the film quite well. The music is never intrusive or melodramatic, it is there as a soft accompaniment to the proceedings. The use of strings, Moorish mandolins, African percussion and the human voice brings an exotic and ethereal ambiance to the drama.

“Journey to Mecca” is a journey of hope, a journey of understanding and a journey that will inspire. The sheer magnitude and beauty of this film left the audience awed and instilled a desire to learn more about the past which we sometimes neglect to reflect upon in our fast moving lives. This film is an ode to peace, love and compassion, and acts as a bridge of understanding between the past and present. And, as the film fades to black at the ******, there is a final haunting image that will resonate with every member of the audience. The message is simple and poignant. It illustrates the transient and swift nature of life; it shows how we glow brightly by the light of the noon day sun and then fade into the tranquil shadows of the coming twilight. Our journey in this life should be one that respects all of humanity despite our cultural or political differences. It is not often that one leaves the cinema knowing that your soul has been moved by something rare, delicate and exquisite. This was one of those rare occasions.
Smoke Scribe Aug 2018
The Violent Storm by the Water
(Do You Trust Your Imagination)
was not unexpected
but its fury was without compare,
poet awake in semi-preparation

living by water should be a human right for all,
even a small room, overlooking, gives new meaning to
perspective

we blessed with a patio door, encased in a glass window big enough for a smallish elephant to come visit and play with children

a storm is observed up close and personal as if one was in
an IMAX 3D  theater, and the edges of existence were being redefined,
sharpened by fury, tooled by tools untouched by mortal hands

miles of bay illuminated with bass drum furious accompaniment

stand before the screen,
poets arms outstretched as a supplicant,
the light of the lightening passes through him,
yet , behind me, she still sleeps

then the entire house shakes, reverberates, as if to say:


”tremble humans, cower, you are not permitted to watch my majesty, for such it was when created heaven and earth”

bold poet window worshipping
risky answers:

“but who will know
if even a poet cannot declaim sights
no one else has seen?”

”true, true, but you must choose if poet truly,
do you trust your imagination human,
to prove that the powers of the heavens are limitless?”

write of storms unseen and nature endless miracles

”then you may call yourself
a miracle too,
a poet

violent #storm violentstorn
Left Foot Poet Mar 2019
The Fidelity of Transmissions

”Cells, the units of life that compose our bodies, are able to make copies of themselves to help us grow, fight disease and recover from injuries. Cells have built-in mechanisms that maintain
  the fidelity of transmission  
of genetic information from one generation to the next, and to control cell division in a timely manner, allowing our bodies to build or rebuild various tissues.”

~~~
when the poetry cri de cœur grows unbearable ,
sound mystery-science calms his tumbling transcendency

alas, here too, his ears sit up straight when stumbling on a invitation to
“come write,” for hid within the science jargon, oft rests a snipers shot

redirecting the didactic mind back to the
everyman’s land where-poetry cells split,,
commanding him to delve into, visit new brain wrenching vistas
“the fidelity of transmission”
at its macro level, for science is micro-poetry,^
n’est-ce pas

~~~
when you love another
the transmission is a slow pour,
or a radical jarring,
the fidelity extremely extraordinarily variable

the loveliest unpredictable

the sip sip of eyelid kissing adoration,
the irrational irrigation of the no-space-between,
when the television remote disappears in the couch crack,
the screen, complete static, perfect complement, to a rigorous experiment of

the loveliest unpredictable

we manually conjoin fluids in her mouth’s petri dish,
stain the slide for observation,
in full Imax color observe the cells busting and doesy-do’ing over to
a new partner, where bonds of fidelity attach a partnership clause to

the loveliest unpredictable

when a child emerges, the first words are
find that remote, just kidding, first comes a comestible demand,
mother’s milk 98 degree heated,
feed me a white solution to any unanswered cell’s questions, what a

loving predictive predicate

scribble this, ****** that, change a diaper,
while debating whose baby’s assemblage resembles,
overjoyed at the experimental outcome,
proofs of the fidelity of transmission,
the outcome notated, but science demands no bias confirmation,
another test required of tissue rebuilding

the loveliest unpredictable

~~~

^postscript
for is He not laureate greatest poet of all,
developer of the scientific architecture,
inventor of varietal sunsets, moonscapes,
individualized singularity of snowflakes,
love making, gravity and the preprogrammed death
of your own cells,
etcetera etcetera etcetera
all just poetry in motion in fluidity,
ah, fidelity fidelity
fidelity
Sat., March 9, 2019
Jazzelle Monae Sep 2017
An open letter to those who have dealt or tried or whichever with me during my depression and/or anxiety.

I wish I could stop. I hear that a lot. "Just stop." As if it were a switch I can turn on and off at my own will. If I could, I would've disabled that switch the minute I learned what the on was designed to do. If only I could stop if only I could

"Think positive" I hear that the most. I didn't think of that, nor did the twenty something people before you. As if I haven't dived into the deep end of positive affirmations for the riptide of negativity to pull me 20 times under. For every positive thought, my brain's defense brings up 20 reasons that the positivity isn't real or won't last, or my favorite, why do you even deserve to be positive.

I don't forget all the times you've said "people have it so much worse." I am so ungrateful for the roof over my head and the food I get to eat or the daily drinks I use to muffle the voices inside. I hate the privilege of having my friends and loved ones look at me through foggy lenses and lend me their advice. It comes from the bottom of your heart but it doesn't come from experience.

Oh and how can I forget how I'm acting like this out of attention. I promise if I wanted the attention, I would get it in a manner much more humorous instead of a pitiful pit stop of a parade I feel some of you think I am. I am not trying to guilt you or appeal to your pathos. I much prefer to evoke your happiness with jokes that mask the constant desire to not even exist.

Then it comes down to the people I've bared my mascara streamed, tear soaked, bare souled self to. I'm talking to you. The one who I know won't understand but I at least expect to be there. Because I know that when you only deal with it once a month it isn't a problem, take some asprin and put a ****** in and it's over before you know it. God forbid this curse drowns me for a week or two or three. I'm sorry to put a damper on your life. The one where you chant the positives and get on with it. You have the choice to leave. I don't.

I don't surrender to this illness. "I'm not a vicitm" I repeat constantly. I'm not trying to make up excuses as to why it's okay to act like this. I fight every day for a little breathing space, and sometimes I am consistently losing battles in this civil war for my own mind. I apologize that you bear the burdens of being on the front row sidelines of this imax screening of my life.

You see, when the anxiety is over, and the food I haven't eaten for a week is molded now, depression takes stage. Right on cue. A constant back to back showing for boys and girls, it's fun for the whole family. But even like the longest movies of our life, there are intermissions. I sometimes get to step outside the theatre and am reminded that it's still sunny outside, that there is a fresh breeze. I can hear my own thoughts for a moment and they aren't trying to **** me. I am reminded that I have people I love and who love me, despite every reason I have that they don't. I hold onto that feeling and submerge myself so when the next riptide pulls me under, I can somehow find myself at the surface.

Sometimes I resurface with new or stronger allies, and sometimes I lose them in the battle. Casualties of war. Those hurt the worst. The people I love the most, leaving me to find the surface alone. It's enough reason to start the next showing. Like that, I return to my stage, my battlefield, my diving board until the next intermission.
D Conors Oct 2010
and waiting and everything
in everyway, and everyday,
and everynight, waiting
seems
like a movie playing on an IMAX screen
and I'm the character in every scene,
and it all looks so plastic, oddly idyllic,
a situation drastic, I live in,
feeling like a dream,
nothing seems solid, no gravity,
just me
alone but with people doing their rounds,
the only thing missing
are the clowns.
that like to juggle in your dreams,
but the scream,
are not monsters or ghosts,
just real live old people,
dying in streams,
and every minute taking me away,
and leaving no trace
just me erased,
for all intents and
purposes.,
lonely, awaiting and cursed.

_
can't wait for it to be over soon
d
23 oct 10
Francie Lynch Jan 2016
I kept a screen
Before my mind,
To re-run clips
Of your fine lines.
Glad for new-age technology,
The IMAX use of 3D;
I'll use the big screen monolith
To screen the edit
Of your breadth and width.
Ahh, them words can be so sharp. Nice to unsheath the weapon sometimes.
As Bowie said: "Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes..."
Amble On Gently

A star in my coffee...
It's immaculate Con-inception
The nature and science had a babe
and it's name is memory drip percolator
Human hybridization is no myth
It's me, it's you.
It's organic, it's mechanic
Oh, yeah!
For a braver new world
Cyberterrorism is practiced daily in the US,
not by misguided, youth troops
It's banks, advertising, and marketing
It those of us that like to pretend
Things certain things would never happen
Humanity's dreams are sold daily
Do you have stock in companies that support such things?
Do you remember being offered a pill to see your first IMAX film?
Dark money can't save you.
Did what they could, and sold the rest...
Amble On Gently

A star in my coffee...
It's immaculate Con-inception
The nature and science had a babe
and it's name is memory drip percolator
Human hybridization is no myth
It's me, it's you.
It's organic and mechanic
For a braver new world
Cyberterrorism is practiced daily in the US,
not by misguided, youth troops
It's banks, advertising, and marketing
It those of us that like to pretend
Things certain things would never happen
Humanity's dreams are sold daily
Do you have stock in companies that support such things?
Do you remember being offered a pill to see your first IMAX film?
Dark money can't save you.
Did what they could, and sold the rest...


Thanks for the inspiration, The Tinyheiny Press

©2013 YJSS.  All Rights Reserved.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2016
Bellicose beer-belled bad-*****
Bawdily belting down brewskies
Usually, boozily, bruisily beating
On weaker, sleeker funseekers
In the bar where they are, far
From anything like maturity
Hip hip hooray for unhip USA.

Ballyhooing big screen viewing
Myopic eyes watch others exercise
Freedom-hating grouch on a couch
Itching, *******; psoriasis and sloth
Unread armchair Brother of the Cloth.
One of the minions of opinions,
Hardened against morality, reality.
Saying it every day: USA, USA, USA!

Hating, bating, aggravating, skating
Right past solutions, conclusions
Preferring propaganda, ***** Miranda,
Stop mollycoddling, bottling up anger
Christ in the manger should be law
But they guffaw at reading The Book;
They took their religion from TV.
Freedom for me, not thee, in my USA.

Got mine, ***** yours, rights immune;
That tune don’t play here. No queers
No browns, yellows, Hindus or Jews.
I’ve got news you can use, I abuse
And oppress guys in a dress, yes!
Even if he’s white, it still ain’t right.
The Constitution is old, it just teases.
Mine is Republican Jesus for the USA.

A pigeon for old time religion and God
Everyone else is odd. I saw the movie.
It was groovy and pretty. Went to the city
Saw it in Imax, no blacks in the theater
Thanks to The Creator that gave us all
The intelligence to call things right.
Hip hip hooray for being lily white.
Hip hip hooray for the KKK USA.
Tim Knight Apr 2015
we stared at it for a good five minutes,
children around a rope swing body too afraid of the drop, so he jumped.
One of us poked at it, jabbed it 'til its petals fell off:
thrown flowers from the overpass above,
lightly dropped, not a touchdown distance here,
well,
whoever misplaced them was distant, over horizon line, past Joey joke,
they were stumbling upon well written blurbs of people
rendering all reading pointless, we're all the same, these flowers don't matter,
or they'd seen their other tired and said
please hide your luggage, dear, it's slowing us down
then stormed out and off, flowers in tow, Elizabeth's got her Way, let's leave everything here.

For this show of all things cute and affordable from Clintons
was an IMAX, Nolan Cameron's *** crack screen-shot of despair,
another pop at the small guy
kick him whilst he's up,
don't let that year 2000 pip of pulp sitting hammock in his stomach fool you,
that's perfectly normal,
carry on,
a meal for one in a **** themed restaurant,
this evening's more pointless than a mortgage on a salami,
sharpie on whale skin, what's the point in that,
probably something.

We weren't a we, but we should've been,
that would've been fun, something to talk about later on.
from coffeeshoppoems.com
softcomponent Nov 2013
briefly cancer dead before it knows
me well enough make judgement
but i to blame fluorescent cigarette
smoking exhaust walk street-side
no matter what i do choice mine to
serve-vive imperial clip-clop mingle
with the disease on the dr's clipboard
such is life in disgust and days are zero
-point finance game to lingering carbon
monoxide monotony monotone marriage
syndrome granted a free pass to imax un
to death do we partially consider one another
in
**luv
txt it
Francie Lynch May 2015
When I close my eyes
I've an IMAX silver screen;
My projection room is stacked
With reels of a re-run dream.

I'm typecast as leading man,
You're the starlet, so it seems.
Today I'm screening tragedy,
That I played like comedy.

Two reels have played,
I'll need three,
To disuade me playing a parody.

I'll need to re-write,
And a location set;
I haven't run
The credits yet.

You protested the direction;
The hero fades out with rejection.
It's a cliff-hanger.
Will the girl return
A fallen damsel?
A chastised angel?
A spiteful devil?
I'm lying waiting
To dream the sequel.
Nik Bland Oct 2019
Girl
No, better than girl
Better than playground crushes
Summertime blushes
Fleeting rushes
And cheeks, those flushes
Not girl
But woman
Etched in notebooks
Eyes that look
Through soul
Grace visions
Pinpoint precision
Woman
In technicolor
Live
Electric, but wireless
In 4320p
High dynamic range
And legs for days
I see you
Cinematic
And wild in you ways
Like watching for the
First time a nature
Documentary
And knowing the lion is king
But the lioness, the hunter
Not cub I seek
But grown
Wonderful
Dangerous
Vivacious
Passionate

Woman
In technicolor
A world not her own
But give it time
As she toils
And breaks
And creates
And tries
And amazes
And blazes
And screams
And relaxes
And I stand in wonder
Under the weight
The awe
Of her
Woman
In technicolor
In worlds lost to the black and white
Of conformity
And distortion
The contortion of which
Make her seem small
But she not
At
All
She is technicolor
Made for IMAX screens
And this boy
Hoping to prove to be
Man’s
Dreams
Butch Decatoria Apr 2016
i made with you / gumby graphics

gifts of kiss

parameters of malleable minutia in misfit music

meanderings of our midnight sting

     our bodies in bonafide brevity, singing

seeking seiks' mischievous apathies

on the fringes

IMAX movie-like scenes without acting out / words

tongues

the levity or suspenseful sanctions / unhinged

     members and mouths mapping galactic absurdities

Mars and mercurial in star-crossed appetites

burning as suns should; meteorites / streaking sky;

in wonderful dining and gustful bites - eyes

    full of asteroid-desires coalescing

masculinity in every copious opus / in rites

of unforgiving depths / in blinding supernova nights,

forever ever / in a name of fantastics and amoebas

    these boys worshipping planets x, y, z / emotions coax & ***** elastic

strength of steeds, drinking the implacid body's

mead / wrestling without a fight's reprieve

fires, our mouths, / incite body-art / completely received

     intrigued with warm inner spaces

     paint brush of hours in museums of sweat / engraved,

encased / ******* sunburst theories on theories of tastes

and comets stroked / our body-art in hues

which love forever ever levitates . . . in spacial haste

      wormholes and Thanatos amused.

Beautiful Eros rain : Bodies paint.

(nebulae & you.)
mikev Nov 2016
he's all American
blue eyes, red face - white lies
she's all American
blew money, well read, wide eyes -
flipping this coin
I'm about to flip out -
either way, we're headed for failure
tails between our legs - since 9/11
i knew something wasn't present -
maybe that's love
maybe that's greater -
maybe that love, has us meeting our maker -
maybe that love, isn't giving us our sacred ****** -
you arrived at the gates and got an IMAX ticket -
wolves among sheep
i see the future -
money in my pocket for no reason
not yet though, i have to learn
to let go, first
The way your fingers trace the outline of my face
The way you wrap your hand around my lower back and pull me in closer
I taste and feel your tongue caressing mine and the pill that comes with it tastes better than what heaven is supposedly like because its from you
The devil must have created because you're sinfully perfect
I bite into your candy coated lips and dig my fingers into your back
I don't want to wake up with dust all over from the sand man telling me it isn't reality
Because I can touch the blue colors up above
Everything so vivid like watching a movie in IMAX especially that GREEN grass
Oh Mary-Jane how Spider-Man loved her
But I'm pretty sure we loved her more
It was an out-of-body experience
I had to replay the video over and over and over until I stopped because I knew It had to end. That it would end early so to keep me from hurting I pressed pause.
But what I didn't realize that the hurt was there before I was floating on cloud 9. My face turned hot, I began to breathe loudly hoping I would get out of this bad condition
I can't just wait here confused burned up and wishing
I asked the question I got what I wanted
Is this how you feel or am I being taunted?
Olivia Kent Dec 2013
One minute past midnight on the first day of Jan.
Was born a baby girl.
Six pounds two.
With eyes of sparkling sapphire blue.
Delicate,
Crystal skin and a mop of brown curls,
Blessed with cherry rosy cheeks.

On the first day of February.
At quarter past two.
She took her first faltering steps toward you.
Wobbled,
Fell landed on her bottom with a bump.
Knocked her head
Oops a lump.

The first of March.
She had a ball.
Her first day at school.
Didn't like it much.
Missed her mum.
School wasn't cool.

The first of April, she was no more the fool.
Became a teenager,
Adult school.
She liked it a little bit more.
Found friends.

May the first her bubble burst.
Found her first boyfriend.
Went to the Imax.
Played let's pretend.
Pretend that they were adults.

June came in.
Her love had grown.
With emotions like she'd had never known.
Everything tickled and felt really sweet.

By July they were wed.
Happy ever after.
Or so it was said.

In August,
To them,
Twins were born.
A lad and a lass.

September came.
Her joints began to ache.
Her once shiny hair streaked with grey.
Wrinkles crept across her face.
Still with laughter lines, ingrained.

October carried grandchildren.
Life, bought them to her door.
Who, but her could ever want more.

November came.
Her hair was white.
She really couldn't leave her chair.
Her husband passed.
He left her low,
Feeling abandoned.
All alone.

End of December.
Christmas came.
Christmas went.
Twas the end of December.
She passed.
Breathed her last.
January the first bought her a funeral.
Cost a pretty penny.
Well spent.
Buried beside her darling.
At the crest of the hill.
And so the sun went down!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Francie Lynch Dec 2016
New stars are debuting
On the galactic red carpet.
The IMAX night screens
The hand and foot print constellations
Illumed by the stage lights
In a heavenly theatre.
Shooting stars burned out
After their final take.
It's a wrap.
Leonard, Leon, Merle, Gene, Patty and a myriad of other favs have left us this year.
Sk Abdul Aziz Mar 2016
Iphones,ipads,ipods
3d,4k,Imax
E-books,online music and movies
Herbal tea,Green tea...and what not health drink
Six-packs,designer clothes,diamond-studded watches
E-mail,video chat,social networks
Selfies,groupfies,swimfies(God help us!!!)
Racism,discrimination,advanced weapons system
Fast cars,fast motorcycles,fast life
The modern day advancements and sophistications at times baffle me
Have they actually made life simpler?
Or have in fact complicated it?
The era i grew up in
We didn't really have that much choices
We had to be content with whatever was around
And we were
In fact we were pretty happy
And now look at us..we are spoilt for choices
We don't know what to leave and what to take
I miss the era of the '80s and the '90s
We used to look forward to going to the fair
We loved playing out in the sun
We loved reading
I miss writing letters
I miss looking at black and white photographs
I miss taking autographs
I miss cassetes and tape-recorders
I miss taking a walk at night without the fear of getting mugged or shot
The kids today at times they scare me
The things they do....
...At times it's hard to tell whether they are super-intelligent or super-dumb!
Computer games,getting laid and smoking ***...that's what a lot of them seem to think about!
They seem to be so engrossed in their phones..that at times it's hard to tell whether they realize that there is a world outside of their phones
And the norm now just baffles me
You wanna dump someone..just text that person
No calling or even meeting that person
They don't even got time to talk their parents!
Sometimes i wish that i was born in the early 1900's and i died in the same era
Agreed that back then there wasn't so much amenities or facilities like we have today
But life was much more simpler and peaceful
And most of all people in general were much more tolerant
Disclaimer-This isn't meant as a criticism towards the current generation or the current times..but merely an expression of my observation and experience.
Anais Vionet Oct 2023
In New Haven, Lisa misses the sad, dark, city aesthetics of her hometown. Its crime podcast vibe, actinic crime-lighting and sirens in the distance, that lull her to sleep like lullabies. She has a disturbingly romantic attraction to hustle, bright neon lights, skyscrapers, subways, crowded diversity and swirling dance clubs.

Yep, we were in NYC for fall break - a week-long escape from school. We head back to Yale tomorrow. We’ve been seeing the sights, Broadway shows at night, the views from great heights, restaurant delights and sisterly fights.

Lisa's sister (Leeza, 14) can’t sit still, she’s all theater kid energy. She started playing electric bass and desperately wants to be in a band. She’s taking bass lessons, has calluses on her little fingers, and plays it (silently) even as we watch TV. Calling it an obsession would minimize it.

We saw the Eras Tour movie, last night, in iMax and it’s hypnotizing. Better than RL? Maybe.
We’ve seen two Broadway shows too: “Six’, a modern retelling of the lives of the six wives of Henry VIII (don’t bother) and ‘Merrily We Roll Along’, (two thumbs up) Stephen Sondheim’s weakest play saved by the cast of Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe), and King George (Jonathan Groff).

Lisa, Leeza and I were talking, earlier in the week, about Autumn comfort foods. I described the joys of cassoulet, fondues and tartiflette (potatoes, cream, cheese, bacon, and onions delight) - three French favorites and Leeza said, snootily, “This is New York City,” like, ‘you can find anything here.’ It was a freakin’ challenge!

So, we’ve hit French restaurants all week in search of these treats. We each order one of the three and compare them. So far, La Sirene (south village) had the best cassoulet - although it had a crusty top - which is just - No. Mominette (Brooklyn) had the best Tartiflette but they all treat it like a side dish?? And The Lavaux wins best fondue. So book those flights now!

Lisa, Leeza and I were sharing the couch in their dad’s all-glass, 50th floor, corner study, that overlooks the city. The view makes me feel like an angel watching over mankind from the firmaments - if the firmaments feature the winking, blinking lights of jets landing at Newark Liberty, Teterboro and LaGuardia.

“So, how’s Fall semester been for you?” Lisa asked me. Of course, we’re roommates so she’s seen the more obvious events in my life, but we all have complicated, internal lives.
The subtext to her question, of course, is Peter and how I’m dealing with his absence, so far, this year. But I’m not ready to go there, and I frown.
“I’ve been seeing so many Tumbler compilations, she added, to save me from answering, “saying how the start of Fall Semester is a time of agony, pain and reflection.”
“And I think that’s real,” I interjected.
“How so?” Leeza asked - she LOVES the uni 411
“School can be harsh,” Lisa continued, “the sudden, hella work, and, of course, it’s breakup season on campus.”
“Oh, Yeah,” I agreed, “Being away from home and those certain ‘someone's’ for months can be rough on freshmen.” We all nodded in agreement.

“Has anyone been vibing to anything regularly?” I asked (musically).
“I’ve been bumpin’ to Pink Pantheress,” Leeza revealed, “I think people see her as a TikTok, one hit wonder, but I think she still slaps!”
“Yes!” Lisa exclaims, “I’ve had “Picture in my mind” on a loop.

The city looked like an exquisite, miniature, clockwork toy. How could someone not love it when seeing it the way God does? It’ll be even prettier at Thanksgiving - I'm crossing my fingers and hoping for snow.
On our way to being rich one needs no distractions/
wealth of opportunity poor interactions/
decide on your route best course map it/
from behind it can appear to be back-assward/
know looking back they'll duplicate your actions/
The road less traveled don't got the grass cut
don't no enough?
do know that much/
the old way corrected  it's a new era/
no vacancy no room for error/
build upon your flaws till you high on the terrace/
down to street level of which you've merit/
warranted the hate opposition means your on to something/
nebulous roots basically we spawn from nothing/
bravery or slavery chasing the glory/
truth of the matter history ain't gone tell most our story/
I rather write mine than some one write it for me/
guidelines for the young and restless so they won't have the same occurrences/
it's not about I more like IMAX get the bigger picture/
you can only trend when tend to do things different/
I dare you to implement change/
In this day and age/
or you too afraid of what others might say/
Just remember We don't remember those that do the same/
we only recognized those that pave the way/
Yes those are the risk you have to take/
If you wanna be revered 100 years from today/
Jeremy Betts Jan 30
I pray I live to the day
I can open myself in a way
That would clearly portray
In full HD 4K on an IMAX display
Just how my mind has done me wrong in the worst way

©2024
Mark McIntosh Apr 2015
that was great
ten years later
lalique recollections
you weren't really there
like most of us
the music
we danced
& drank till we fell
down a new abyss
imax balcony
something to immediately
post
Sean Hunt Feb 2017
Who? can't get it right, day or night
Who is black who is white
Who is never wrong and always right
Who is it only likes to play
But suffers every night and day
Who is it, thinks that they were born
Who is it feeds their unicorn

Not you, not me
Must be somebody
It's someone that we only find
Looking deep inside a mind
The room inside no one has seen
With a global IMAX screen
The little person in the chair
Sits and stares at light and air
He doesn't understand the 'deal'
He thinks his world is really real

There are no windows to his world
He's every boy, he's every girl
There is no night, there is no day
There is nowhere outside to play

He simply needs to close his eyes
And watch the screen inside his mind
Where he can choose to see
A movie called
....'Perpetual Tranquility'

Sean Hunt
Pat Villaceran May 2019
Don't put me in these
four corners
Labels you set on stone

You'll never really understand me
'til you pick me up
And take me home

I'm 5D in Imax
You'll need those special shades

And with it, you still won't get me
for I'm just that complex

I guess that's why there's an avenue
For a side of me you'll "know"

A little sneak peek, a preview
And that's all I'll care to show
Steve Page Jun 2018
I think in 3D
I need real depth you see
I need more than one surface
to do my thoughts justice

I need three perspectives
to avoid a disservice
to any ideas that swim their way
to the disturbed sunlit surface

I'm not saying my thoughts are wordless
just that the words are surplus
to the primary purpose
of the thoughts that win
that struggle and that finally
find a thoughtful purchase
to become rooted
to bear fruit
and so to fulfil
their true purpose.

I think in IMAX 3D
- sit back and see.
Do you think in words or in images?

— The End —