| Keon at home, Narrative. |
[
22.03.2012 @ 12:14am] |
Keon had been staring at his computer for a while now, the flashing cursor a constant reminder that he hadn't written anything in at least two days. The deadline for the contest was mid April and if he didn't have at least three songs to submit, he'd be disqualified. This was a huge opportunity for him, one that he'd kept to himself. Not because he didn't have anyone to tell, he had plenty of people he wanted to share this with but those same people were only people he didn't want to disappoint. He wasn't about to fail at this with people rooting for him to succeed. Not going to happen. His heels pressed against the legs of his computer chair, sweaty palms clasping the arms; all he wanted to do was write, why couldn't he just do that.
As he stood to his feet, hoping that a break would clear his mind and hopefully allow something else to enter in, all he could think about was how exciting it would be to finally make a name for himself. His father could eat shit and be brought down to size, his mother would hopefully own up to the fact that she didn't do right by her son, and would let him back into her heart. He knew she loved him, but how much love could a mother have for her son, if she wasn't willing to admit her faults and apologize for not supporting his personal endeavors. So he wanted to dance and make music, what was so wrong with that? It wasn't as if he planned to travel the world as a street performer, making little to no money and having no real place to call his home. He had a home, sure he shared it with a few other guys but it was his home and he had been there for three years. He wasn't making a ton of money, but he made enough to save a little each month. To him, that was success, at least in part.
The real dream would provide a much better life, a life he could barely dream of. Who could? How could someone paint a picture of a life they could never really see for themselves? It was easy to say you wanted something big, and five cars. You want a pool in the backyard and a games room in the basement, oh and you absolutely need to have a kitchen that could rival the Duggars. That was the kind of thing he refused to do, do give himself any sort of unrealistic hope or dream, because when it happened he wanted it to last. He wanted to know that life from that moment would never be the same, and that was when he could really dream. For now, he'd hope and work hard and pray that someday he'd be good enough.
He sat back down, adjusting himself in his chair before starting to type;
Sick of the pain, sick of the games
when I kiss your lips my heart remains.
I can't deny my thoughts take flight
and in this life we all need sight.
visions to see just where life leads
visions to see that we're all thieves.
we take it for granted, we take our time
I'm sick of taking, just wanna give you mine.
hand you my heart, give you my soul
I got it bad for you, baby, just thought you should know.
As he leaned back, a smile spread to his face; it was just that easy. A moment of clarity was all he needed, a dose of reality and now -- to call Gray.
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first entry for ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) nycsmod application |
[
24.02.2012 @ 1:45pm] |
Keon was in a hurry to get out the door and down to catch his bus. A small smirk spread across his face as he entered the kitchen finding one of his two roommates passed out at the table. Must've been a long night he thought, grabbing the handle to the fridge, opening it to grab himself some orange juice. He drank it right from the carton, his name written on the side. They had a great thing going(the roommates), communal food and the odd item specifically marked for the individual who bought it for themselves. A three way split for rent and utilities and a strong respect for the bro code. Keon had originally wanted to live on his own but after a few months, downtown Manhattan was proving to be more than his pockets could handle alone.
Keon took a quick look at the calendar on the side of the fridge, he lived life by the calendar. The one on the fridge and the one in his phone, a small red pen had written "call mom today" and immediately his demeanor changed. He loved his mom but he knew that a call to his mom resulted in a fight with his father and he wasn't sure he was up for the argument today. There was only so much a man could take in terms of being ridiculed for your job, your lack of education and your goals in life, especially when it came from someone who; by societies definition, was supposed to be your biggest supporter.
He knew it had to happen so a quick body shift and his hand pulled the phone out of his pocket, found her name in his contacts and waited for someone to pick up. Relieved that it went to the answering machine, he left a short but sweet message "Eh maw, just wanted to check in and say hi, let you know I was still alive. Gimme a call when you get in." He knew that if his father got to it first there would be no return phone call and he was starting to be okay with that.
to be continued...
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[
23.02.2012 @ 1:57pm] |
www.keon-court.com
current location | Manhattan, NY
keon it real
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[
21.02.2012 @ 8:46pm] |
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It's gonna burn for me to say this, but it's comin' from my heart. It's been a long time coming, but we done been fell apart. Really wanna work this out; but I don't think you're gonna change. I do but you don't, think it's best we go our separate ways.