Author: Krystal Moore

Doctor Who Velocity | Hive Inc. Part 1

Hello, Sweeties! 💋

Months of hard work after the kids are in bed has finally paid off. I’m so excited to release the second episode of Doctor Who Velocity, a fan-film written and produced by your’s truly, shot/edited and brought to life with CG by my brilliant partner, Chris Phillips… who may, in fact, be a wizard.

I hope you enjoy!

Doctor Who Velocity – Witch Doctor

Doctor Who Velocity is a fan-film project that I write, produce and act in with my partner, Chris Phillips.

With the talk of “Witch Hunts” in America recently, I wanted to go back to that point in time and remind folks what that really means.

Agnes Waterhouse is a historical figure, she was the first woman in England on record for having been executed for witchcraft. While a time-traveling alien did not save Agnes from her fate, in reality, the rest of Agnes’ story is accurate. She believed herself a witch, had a cat she named Satan, and admitted to putting curses on people. She was guilty according to the law… but the law was not fair.

In today’s “witch hunt” the law is fair. Those being investigated are being investigated ethically and with due process. There are no torture devices. No one is being subjected to dehumanizing treatment, persecution, or death. Words matter. Witch Hunts were real, they have a meaning in history. The thousands of people who were murdered by this hysteria are grossly dishonored by the misuse of the term.

For Agnes Waterhouse. For the Witches.

We Are More Than One

 

I’ve been married

and divorced,

I’ve been a mormon sunday school teacher

and a drug addict,

I’ve been a homeowner

and homeless.

This American life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be

like the story told isn’t reality

an illusion

disillusioned

sucking the masses into the quicksand

of another man’s greed

and the beggars plead

for a break

or a sip

or hit

or anything to erase the strife

of their dismissed life.

I overheard a successful man once say

“What is so wrong with one man being worth a billion dollars

and another man being worth none?”

and I thought:

I don’t think he knows what a billion means.

A life treated like a commodity

Without worth to a community

that races by every day.

A man on the street is just in the way

of commerce.

In the end he wont ride in hearse

it will be a poorly made particle board box

that carries his lifeless lonely vessel to the grave

This soul that nobody would save

because he didn’t do enough

he didn’t play the game…

or maybe he did

and the lords of monopoly

moving through loopholes and scheme

monotized on his broken dreams

and giving him a vice

a stumbling block for other’s

to justify

the why…

The why he is there.

The why they don’t have to care.

The why he will never be more.

The why they should shut the door

of their compassion.

Passion

building inside of me

like a volcano ready to erupt

cause that shit is corrupt.

I can’t say it nicely

fuck your politely.

It’s no wonder

a portion of the population

prefers no participation

in this abomination of the Pavlovian.

What’s so wrong with not always wanting more?

Why is that dream worth less than yours?

Because it doesn’t raise profits in a corporate store?

“What is so wrong with one man being worth a billion dollars

and another man worth none?”

We are more than one,

we are One,

One thought

One way

One hope

One destruction.

No greater than the weakest link.

And that man thought to think

he is deserving of millions

billions

trillions than his fellow

being bellow

on his own merit…

bull shit.

In the age of gladiators and empires

one man preached to inspire.

His headline didn’t read

“10 Ways to Satisfy Your Greed”

but rather

“One Love to Feed.”

And by feed I think he meant more

than your hand-me-downs and the table scraps…

Perhaps …

He knew the freest place on Earth,

is your mind.

And love is the salt that brines

the purpose of our existence.

He knew that armed with the idea

that every person has worth

that it’s not a privilege,

but a right from birth,

creates a world where all are free,

fed and sheltered under the tree

of humanity.

He knew in this world of free radicals

and divine inspiration,

anything is possible.

“so what’s wrong with one man having nothing, and another having it all?

Everything.

The other day I overheard a not so successful man say,

“If everyone’s heart were filled with love,

money would be pointless.”

And I thought, now that’s priceless.

Because he, he was free.

Heart Breaker

For the most part, I think that people don’t want to hurt each other.  Whether we break the heart or have it broken.  It is painful on both ends.  It is the loss of hope.  Because that is what any intimate relationship really is, hope. Hope that we won’t die alone, hope that we are accepted as we are, and hope that we got someone who’s got our back.  Lost hope sucks don’t it?  How can the other not see yourself anymore?

As much as people don’t really want to hurt each other, the stronger desire is to not feel pain.  We build walls around ourselves to protect ourselves from this pain we are so afraid of.  Whether it was in love the first shot was fired or school-aged bullying… we all have holes in the armor.  And the chinks, give us all a complex.  I don’t think we even mean to give them that much power and yet we do.

With each spear, we grow an even greater need to seek affirmation, a greater need to be loved.  We seek this love out as we seek out food or water or air.  We need it to thrive, and so we are destined to thirst for acceptance and connection; it puts us in harm’s way and it causes us to inadvertently harm others.

There was a boy in school who used to pick on me every day, he went out of his way to push my face into the water fountain.  I lived in fear of this boy’s constant ridicule and the public laughs he choreographed in my direction.  One day I caught him at the drinking fountain… and shoved his face into the water fully prepared to laugh in revenge… He wretched around blood gushing from his gums, an expression of pain on his face.  I saw vulnerability and for the first time, I felt love.

I could see then, this boy had a crush on me; but I could see that he, like the rest of us, had a feeble complex too.  He did not have the courage to just tell me… Why?

Because the fear of letting me see him for who he was, and not accept him; could be the moment of vulnerability that could ceaselessly destroy him.

We forget that the person closest to our hearts is ourselves.  The only one truly capable of knowing, accepting and loving the soul within is the one inside… It is knowing, accepting and loving ourselves that draws love from others, because we are mirrors to one another.

As Fitzgerald saw in Gatsby, I see in the boy; “And so our hopes beat on, boats against the current, born back ceaselessly into the past.”

Perplexed

What is this life?

Is it a breath?

Are it’s eyes open wide

Absorbing all that surrounds it?

Is it merely a lingering aroma?

Does it have a weight?

A height?

A depth?

A time?

Are there many more

Measurements I know not of?

Is it flesh and blood?

Is it a chain of tactile experiences?

Is it spirit and soul?

Is it an eternal quest

For light and love?

Does it have a destination?

What is this life?

 

My Charlie Brown Thoughts on Thanksgiving

I’m grateful to know that there is one day a year

When a small percent of the world is allowed

Even encouraged to gorge themselves like a prized heifer,

While a larger percent of the world lulls themselves

Asleep to the wanting sounds of borborygmus.

 

I’m grateful that a large portion of that food

Migrates and settles in a nice landfill tucked away.

I suppose I should be grateful that much of it

Goes the journey intended and finds itself flushed down a toilet.

 

I’m grateful to be guilt tripped into sitting uncomfortably

In a room of people who love me, but don’t know me.

I especially enjoy the part where we all go around the room

And update these familiar strangers on the mundane details of our lives.

 

I’m grateful that somewhere in my ancestry

There was a man bold enough to leave his home,

Travel across the world and steal this one for me;

As if the original tenants weren’t using it to it’s potential.

 

I’m grateful that the end f this glorious occasion

Kicks off the most commercialized event of the year.

Thank goodness there are those insane enough to line up outside

The mall on Black Friday to get me something I probably don’t need.

 

 

  

Little Chameleon

What do you want from me?

I’m only one person, just one

…is it enough?

…Ever?

Laugh here, cry there…

Is it enough?

Dance here, drive there…

Is it enough?

Be witty… Shut up…

Is it enough?

 

Chameleon tempest tossed

In a sea of rainbow

Polluted by the abyss.

 

Reflecting.

Deflecting.

Interjecting.

 

What do you want from me?

Better yet,

Pick a color, any color.

 

Does scarlet suffice you?

Does indigo cause you melancholy?

Is emerald to callow for you?

Is yellow too cowardly?

 

Does orange leave a bad taste?

Does violet excite you?

Or is it velvet ebony you long for?

Is it onyx you desire?

The cool empty feel of NOTHING.

Should I stay in the dark?

 

Is any of that enough?

…ever?

 

Shape shifting in an uncertain world has

Left me without form…

Void.

Listless.

Apathetic.

 

Fight the raging sea

Of defiled incandescence.

The winds will carry you away.

Swim back to the rollicking comfort

Of your prismic revolution.

Little Chameleon,

Allow the Phoenix to quench…

These dry bones.

Is it enough for you?

Is it ever enough?

 

 

 

Knowledge

It seems to me in life

Amidst the tornado of strife

One comes to know what they know

Atop which, one’s reality may grow.

 

But when foundations are torn asunder

And life’s current has pulled ya’ under

All you thought you knew

Is for naught and you’re blue.

 

Feelin’ at a loss

All covered in moss,

Like in ignorant stone

In the wilderness all alone.

 

Back to ground zero

Hopin’ for a hero

To save you from the gallows

For waiting in the shadows,

The executioner sharpens his blade;

End game strategy is laid.

All the knowledge you had

Never saves you from bein’ sad.

 

So, do we know what we know?

Is there wisdom to sew

To the fabric of reality that is ours,

That life may be not a farce?

 

I suppose for there to be

Anything knew for us to see

Some dated wisdom must go

To make room for us to grow.

 

Out with the old, in with the new

To help us all make it through

This exhilarating, troublesome time

We each have n Earth to shine.

 

For the journey is the objective,

Not destinations effective

Luring of us to make it there

And forget about our care.

It’s the adventure before

That causes us all to soar

Above the hangman and his noose

And discover our own muse.

 

In conclusion I say NO!

I know what I know!

And what I know is this…

Nothing, it’s all amiss.