Mind Under Matter

Writer. Filmmaker.
That guy you met at that bar once who doesn't recognize you.

"And Finally The News",
the award winning comedy news series directed and founded in 2013 by John Amaruso enters its fourth season on Youtube this summer!

Meshing elements of SNL's punchline punches of "Weekend Update" and the insightful satire of "The Daily Show", " And Finally The News " has brought together dozens of actors and political commentators to skewer the week's top headlines.

"Dead Men"
is the debut feature short film written by John Amaruso and directed by Rob Martin.

Their partnership under A&M Films continues to produce films for the big, and small screen.

An Old Friend

The abandoned construction site outside my bedroom window had become more than just an eyesore, it kept me up at night. I was informed by a voice through the wall that the foreman had accidentally dug an even deeper hole than the one he was trying to fix, and until something was figured out, the work had to be halted.

I wasn't even mad. I was bothered. I was bothered because it was a constant reminder of that saying, 'it could always be worse.' You know, no matter how broken something is, it could be made much worse, that's what they say. And sometimes, if you're smart enough, you just leave it alone. A thought like that was troubling enough.

It may have been my impatience or my stubborness, but I thought I'd do one better than the old saying. Instead, I'd do something about it.

I bought a curtain. The damn thing was massive. It could have doubled as a black tarp for the construction site, but it was put to better use by blotting any sign of light that wiggling its way to my thin skinned eyelids.

I thought to myself, finally. I can sleep. Yes, sleep. The only thing left to do was sleep. And so, as long as the work remained undisturbed, so did my slumber.

Weeks went by and I hadn't seen a shimmer of day light. But that was okay though. I was content to let the days fall to impasse behind my curtain, the tarp masking the cruddy construction site and my distaste for cliches.

The only issue I had was that voice through the wall. There was a face to match. It was a very pretty face, and while she would show up whenever I was in the deepest of sleep, I didn't mind. She would bring with her presents. The sunlight at her back, she would always be at first happy to see me. As would I. Always good to see an old friend they say. 

But that old friend, she would start asking me the hard questions, like when was I going to wake up?

It was hard for me to say. The sunlight kissing her skin, shifting her eyes between shades of translucent green did make me miss the outside. But by that time though, the difference between my waking life and my sleeping life had been of little concern.

The real questions I wanted answers for was whether or not my half-gobbled plate of french fries and waffles were wasting away on my kitchen counter, or if I had called my insurance company, or if the wreckage outside was still there, or if any of it had actually happened at all.

But my old friend, she wouldn't stop. She persisted. She would come to me, again and again, first with her masked innocence, and then she would whip out her razor sharp smile. Not far behind where those shifting eyes.

'Why do you do this to yourself?' my old friend would say. 'How could you do this? Don't you want something more for yourself? There is no work for you to do out there.' 

But my old friend, she didn't see how I saw it. Her eyes were too busy changing colors, her skin too busy warmed by the sun to really be of any use to a slumbering soul like myself.

I told her, this was good for us. The sleep, that is. I'd rather that I said. Better than what's behind that curtain, I said.

She was not pleased with me. She had had enough. She assured me there was nothing for me to do. What had been done was done. It was time to get out of bed she said, time to move on and go live my life.

I just don't know why she would keep bringing it up? Why couldn't she just enjoy the time we had together? Stay a little longer? I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was just trying to sleep.

But that's all it was, she said. Dreams. Childish dreams. Time to wake up. Tick, Tock. Boom.

I watched her eyes shift again. I pulled myself out of bed, my feet touching the floor for the first time in what felt like months. I looked at my old friend, and with the mirth of a man on a wire between a high rise I said,

'If I were to do that, how would we have these conversations?'

More short stories coming soon...