Streaming Movie Pixels (2015)
||Michael Barnathan, Chris Columbus, Allen Covert, Mark Radcliffe, Adam Sandler.
||July 16, 2015
||United States of America.
||Columbia Pictures, Happy Madison Productions.
||Action, Comedy, Science Fiction.
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‘Pixels’ is a movie genre Action, was released in July 16, 2015. Chris Columbus was directed this movie and starring by Adam Sandler. This movie tell story about Video game experts are recruited by the military to fight 1980s-era video game characters who’ve attacked New York.
Streaming Full Movie Pixels (2015)
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The voice, gruff and staticky, asked him the same questions as the night before and in answering them he had a moment of hesitation, a flittering thought of Daneen that reminded him of the way sunlight stung through rustling leaves when you looked up, into and through shade. He didn’t think of her much anymore; she’d been gone since Kaily was eighteen months and Alec had just started to use the potty by himself. His chest felt empty as he answered that he was still interested in the work, whatever it was, and that he agreed that he was willing to accept half payment at the start and the rest once he was done. The voice gave another location and then told him to take the phone with him and call once Simon received the tools, money and instruction there. The line went dead abruptly.
Simon drove to the next location with a lump in his chest, an uneasiness that moved from above his heart and into his throat like a carpenter level bubble. He was uneven. He thought about Daneen again, the last time he saw her as she grinned through the car window before backing out of the driveway. Simon couldn’t remember if he kissed her that day like he usually did. Even then routine ate away at memory, repetition a cancer to the awake mind. He shrugged her grin and bright eyes away as the thoughts inevitably turned sour every time, her lips sutured together in his final view of her at her wake through his tear-blurred eyes. Senselessly gone, a light stolen the way starlight was by the future. She felt light-years away now and glimmered at him from the past like an echo he hardly believed was ever real.
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The chat was brief and strange. Simon confirmed who he was, his age, and his social security number which they’d somehow gathered, a detail that made his skin grow even colder than the voice had already. His heart thumped hard in his chest as he wrote down the address he had to be at the following morning. He worried briefly about not showing up at the brickyard as the call concluded with the dollar amount and the fact this was confidential. It couldn’t be real and he was likely giving up small, sure money for a bullshit scheme. But Simon had never colored outside lines, never taken a risk, and as he put Alex and Kaily to bed, watching them surrender to sleep as the day did to night outside their dusty, cracked blinds, he believed it was time to stray from the narrow path tread by dawn to dusk each day.
After a routine morning of bathing, tooth brushing, and breakfast he loaded the kids onto the school bus and then hopped into his barely-running, paint-chipped Pontiac Grand Am and headed to the address from the call. No one was there, but as he walked over to the streetlight, he heard a phone ringing and found a cell left lying beneath a thorny shrub. Rushing to grab it before the caller hung up, a long scratch measured the distance from the base of his index finger to below his wrist. He grimaced as he answered.
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Sheets aflame with greedy passion,
molten faith and igneous blessing
Crashing bodies fuel mountain lust,
quake in unfathomable wake
with inferno ecstasies.
Tectonic play shifts
and a heart encased in past regrets
fissures of yearning destroying now.
The rumble of climax startles.
Fierce rages quelled by steaming surrender
Embrace like cool seas
Adding layers of calm and steaming faith,
a divine cataclysm
and a scar that builds
new verdant dreams
from delicious nightmares
of roiling destruction.
A watched pot never boils.
Just turn away
and let the world sprawl out
while it consumes your unwillingness
and buries trust in permanence.
Seminal ash coats lovely flesh
in obsidian gratitude.
Growing dark is still growing
and a charcoal heart
can pretend heat
even when it’s aching
in a cold bed.
@jesmegs and @leah_jean_writes were inspired to collaborate on a germ of an idea I gave them, then spread the blooming virus back to me. These are my symptoms.
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These bones roll the way forgiveness does from the tongues of mothers, effortless, but with care. And the shell of potential clangs like dusty canastas, the hollow of escaped souls lingering the way the sense of a last kiss might. This path winds and welcomes, but the end rarely in sight plays to that whimsical mood of noon in Summer, when the world spills promise light golden sunshine and the air clings like a young lover’s embrace. Eyes strain for the end in sight, and the rattle of pour us lightens frames, air slipping like lust into the hollows of uncertainty. Why not? Just go, slip fingers beneath lace and find the warm wet of opportunity welcome like rapturous balm that covers but never heals. In time every scar fades to dust, every cracked support sheds pressure and purpose. And into the ground these shallow complaints sink, like dill seed searching for stalk, as if somehow the groan will win sunlight and favor. But instead the roots surrender to sharp bitterness, the tart of accumulated experience stinging eyes. Play drums on these here leavings, the deposited shell of romance and rancor. For it’s all that’s left to keep a beat with a heart lost on the road to ruin long ago.
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These rays fall like hope, radiating from solar promise and holding back bleak nights of alone, the fierce dark embrace that presses eyes shut even as they are open, staring at pinhole starlight that careens from hearts light-years in the past, echoing from easy kisses, lust-fueled touch and eager union. What supernova bliss! How it glimmers in the untouchable agonies of now, this spin dirtying prayers for unblemished views into the uncharted lands of tomorrow; destinies hungry as the collection basket at the front pew. God’s witness clings to the story of two forever, but these winking pinpoints flinch and bob behind cloudcover realities, and the obscuring forces of foresight and careful attenuation sting with red-shift intention, exhibiting pasts that cannot possibly be so beautiful but which still stare into the present with hungry glory, eating away at communion wafer beliefs. In symmetry. In belonging. In companionship. Were it as simple as collapsing stars radiating in stellar frenzy, the simple force of gravity enough that rips titanic energies to pieces and yet cannot pull like hearts together on this head of a pin planet. We’ll die alone while in the infinite, suns swooning in their galactic certainty, bleeding light into irredeemable chaos and making dreams seem possible, tangible.
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Clocks spent their winding hands as if they were folded on felt, minutes wasted in an ante and the litter of this dying season trying to hide belief. No poker face here, faded bliss grows vibrant, a flashbulb churn of willingness gone like green lost to autumn. And the combat of seconds clashing now into disdainful futures has casualties on all sides, but with each lost there’s no accountability. Does anyone count each grain of sand fallen in the hourglass? The souls flit like expired leaves on the shakiest branch, the gales of whimsy, lust and adoration buoying them on air currents the way a lover’s kiss lightens steps. And yet all bets are off, time ruined by attempts to measure it. For days are prison cells and years are maximum insecurity. Bleed divine colors. There’s no moment but now to do so.
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Plucked from the vine and minus all thorns to protect, this heart blooms, arteries threading petal limbs and grabbing for belonging. It doesn’t choose, but wheeling stars and the curve of destiny craft felony ghosts moving this way and that, through and passed, skin absent yet intention reaching deep; pulling, teasing, holding, coaxing, unfurling the tightened bud of need lurking, hiding, kept. Days are repast for death, hors d’oeuvres gnashed by brittle, patient teeth for tomorrow isn’t just the next dusk, it’s a promise for every dusk and at the end, he’s there waiting, belly already full but hunger not sated until every last leaf of faith is devoured, expired breath like a quaff of the finest vintage. And what’s to be made of it all then? When the bones of undoing seize wilted loves, what’s left? Traces of dedication pressed in the pages dusty tomes, keepsake lusts and devotions forgotten to history. Headstones carry faiths, loss, forgiveness and such hopes, such longing and yet it’s cold rock chiseled with hands not immune to purpose, everything’s forgotten. The blossom, the ghosts, the sun and heavens. The purity of affection and the diversions of desires. The efforts and connections, the reach for divinity of soul and flesh; erased by the skeletal touch of time. Every choice weighing like gold on a stem, the bends steal joy until the breaks; alleged value falling to the swallow of earth, the indifference of the future rendering each bliss and pain mute.
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A SEASON’S KILL
This is not subtle fiction,
It’s true story headline din.
Weighted words on heavy heart beats.
Evil devoid the joy of sin.
Unwatched clocks spilling time,
This carotid squeal and rhyme,
Keeping wayward rhythm alive
In the chest, the cock, the thrive.
Are you serious right now
To go long with stretched promise?
Thinner than pulled cotton
Unwinding this Doubting Thomas.
Under the soul quake
Of yearning for warm wet
And curled bodies met
Thrusted cares fret
Loose from smiles faked
And attentions raked
Like leaves in a pile to burn
Knocked down by Autumn’s chill
This season’s words echo solemnly
A faith born of summer will.
Seconds murdering connection
This truth-hobbled affection
Passed into memory by lonely dusks
These bodies hollow as husks.
We wait like blank pages
For our story to be written
But time abides no lust or desire
And against all odds we remain smitten
Trying not to feign
Gold hope spun from past hay
Holding night terrors at bay
Oh sweet, these thoughts stray,
As this dark seizes day,
As this season kills away,
And then silences its prey.
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Crack the afterlife and boil massive sin, because this cook spins nebulaic dust into Godsong and crafts the delicacy of galactic fervor into digestible yearning. Fill up on it, because nothing lasts, the searing nuclear core of suns measuring nothing more than seconds, molecules dissipating like ticks on an old wristwatch; the tocks lost like laundry socks. Yet it all feels heavier than worship, more daunting than judgement. For something so mighty and transient, this recipe for incessant defeat still manages to rise every time, the bread of the true lord chased down with the wine of hate. What a pairing, like hours to moon phases and sugars to death; the felt sky’s ripples into eternity dilute nothing. Space is not as cold as this concave heart that’s slowing each day to a forever still. May it be dined upon in a blink of an eye, prepared for no one and open to greedy consumption; an egg hardened with a soft shell and cracked by stuttering destinies.
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