Tonight was a sleepless night. Why he couldn’t sleep, he didn’t know exactly. In fact, he hadn’t slept well in a long, long while. Each night, he’d lie down and he’d stare at the ceiling, watching as his mind forced shadows to form and shape themselves into haunting images, scenes that would replay themselves over and over until he cried out for them to stop. Perhaps, in some way, this was why he didn’t sleep.

With his forehead pressed against the cold glass of the window and his thin frame huddled against the window sill, he watched the city. The sky was dark and the city was still alive beneath their little loft. People partied, cars whirred by… there was so much damn life. Sure, he wanted to be down there, in the noise, in the energy of it all, but something drew him away from that, made it feel less and less desirable.

The one person he cared so much about was suffering – suffering from a blood stained memory and the loss of his high. Mark couldn’t leave Roger to burn, he couldn’t watch the rocker that taught him to open up and live lose that very spark within him. Roger had given him so much and now it was his turn as a friend to return the favor.

The longer Mark sat against the cool panes of glass, the more he found himself longing to be of a world he was no longer able to reach. He found himself dreaming, hoping that everything that had happened over the course of a few weeks (or was it months, now?) was all part of those blurred shadows and images, was all a terrible fucking nightmare.

But filmmakers always only dreamed.

close on lonliness
Without that camera, what would Mark be? Though it is done absentmindedly, the camera not only is the sole creator of his deepest passion, it is the destroyer of his very soul. Hiding behind it, a false smile presents itself when it knows the onlooker wants to see it. Blue eyes seem only interested in what is happening in the film, but really, they're dreaming they could be part of something vastly different from his own life.



why am i the witness?
The smile is his sole foundation. It keeps everyone together, keeping them close. We've got AIDs. Now, with knowledge of Roger's impending doom, he had to hold on. Collins and Angel were dying, too. Maureen had Joanne; was there an empty seat for him? All he could do was watch as each flame slowly began to burn out, living on it's last strains of oxygen. Again, the camera whirs, taking in six unique individuals: the guitarist, the anarchist, the dancer, the performer, the lawyer, and the drag queen. Although he had a spot open, the chair reading 'the filmmaker', he could not take is place amongst them. He could only watch as they faded out.



am i alone?
Closing blues, he begins to fly off into his his own thoughts. Nothing. Opening his eyes to the darkness, he can see a small flicker in the distance. Two vibrant, dancing flames: Maureen and Joanne. Also, in a cluster far above him, everyone was far, far away. He cannot reach them; not now. But, before him, is that chair. the filmmaker. He finally takes his seat, but he has nothing to film. Now, he understood why his seat was always empty. They gave him their stories to film. Now, he could truly feel again.



Mark Cohen, fading out from loneliness and fading in on life.