Intangibility

Crossroads & Sliding Doors

High Noon

Nobody Else
BRENDAI used to think that I'd have more people in my life as time went on.BILLYDoesn't work that way.BRENDAYeah. I'm starting to realize that.BILLYIt's almost like, as we get older, the number of people who really get us... shrinks.BRENDARight. Till we become so honed by experiences and time and...BILLY... nobody else understands.(Six Feet Under, 5th Season, "Static")

ROHAN ONLINE: Nessun Dorma
Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me. "The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make Heaven of Hell, and a Hell of Heaven." (John Milton)He could smell it outside the hallways -- ra

Howling Through The Night
Gwen: So what's out there? [Suzie had just been resurrected and Gwen was asking her what it was like when she died.]Suzie: Nothing. Just nothing.Gwen: But... but if there's nothing, what's the point of it all?Suzie: This is. Driving through the dark. All these stupid tiny stuff. We're just animals howling in the night. Because it's better than silence. I used to think Torchwood, all those aliens coming to Earth. What the hell for? It's just instinct. They come here 'cos there's life, that's all. Moths around a flame. Creatures clinging together in the cold.Gwen: So when you die, it's just--

Breathe In
There are days when I can hear myself breathing. When that is the only thing I hear. The world is rife with noise and riotous with sounds of things living, but there are days when everything is muffled to a background, discordant beat and all I can hear is the sound of air being inhaled through my nose.It is during these days when I am afraid to lie down, as I fear -- yes, I fear -- I may never have the strength to get up again. It is during these days when all that tethers me to the world is the thin and frail thread of words I weave in panic and desperation, and I pray -- yes, I pray -- by the memory of all who have ever loved me that this thread does not break.

Wooden Beams
In my room, there is no ceiling. When you look up, you see the roof. And before that, wooden beams criss-crossing in a skeletal framework of angles and straight lines, solid and unmoving and blackened by the decades from holding the house together. At a particular spot near the window, I know the wood is strongest. When I look up there, I see a noose, and my limp, lifeless body swaying back and forth just after my final struggling.Through a stranger's eyes, he would see someone tall, someone with strong legs and long fingers. He would be wearing comfortable house clothes -- a white cotton shirt and pair of shorts, maybe. It would be mid-afternoon and the house would be qui