i thought this was pretty insightful.

As a general rule, post apocalyptic flicks are typically required to feature its cast decked out in tattered, homemade clothing, be laden with soot, grime, and mange, and wander the barren landscape, all while pondering the demise and decline of mankind. This brings to mind a slew of classic and not so memorable fare such as the “Mad Max” series (which is being remade, by the way), “The Postman”, “28 Days Later”, “Waterworld”, and most recently, “I Am Legend”, and “The Book of Eli”. “The Road”, based on a novel by Cormac McCarthy, takes the genre head on by capturing the usual dystopian elements, while successfully managing to inject a raw emotional twist that leaves most post apocalyptic films at the starting line. The story follows a man (skillfully portrayed by the talented Viggo Mortensen) and his son (a great job by newcomer Kodi Smit-McPhee) as they make their way south through the wasteland that was once the U.S. Along the way, they maneuver beyond the clutches of roving cannibals, erratic weather, and plain old loneliness. A portion of the story is told through the occasional flashback, which adds a bit of depth to an otherwise solid film. And in the end, “The Road” is just that; not great, but a solid, evenly structured tale that will keep you glued to the bleakness of this imaginary world.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

nothing more than to make you
whole-
with what i had to give-
my love, like pocket change,
sprinkled into a piggy bank-
where it sat,
unused-
just waiting for the day where it would
be needed for something important-
it was like candy
sitting in a jar-
sweet selections
bottled up, just waiting for the day that
they’d breathe life outside of the
package-
to serve a purpose-
that’s what that love was-
a purpose-
a gift-
cliched love-
ripe, and fresh, and ready-
willing, and full, and
clean-
real-
nothing more than to make you
whole-
that’s all i ever wanted*

the hills roll deeply with the
green and white of the
seasons-
your footprints grow like wildflowers
on those hills,
and appear and disappear with each
breath of the wind-
your shadow is bright in the shade
of my yesterday-
my thoughts floating about like flecks
of dust in the afternoon sun-
my eyes closed while open-
barefoot on those quiet hills-
following your footprints*

a train steaming-
droplets of may rain crashing against
my face-
5:00 wind blowing hard enough that i have
to squint-
the sky, a bright shade of dark,
with thick, tufted clouds perched like old
men at a park-
my mind, drifting and swirling like water
exiting a sink-
the train steams forward-
slowly-
or is it backward?
the 5:00 wind, now at 6, is heaving its breath
at the trees now-
heavy bouts of exhalation
mixed with flecks of mist-
i step out onto the tracks,
and watch as the train steams-
the 6:30 wind hurling smoke into the air
like a twisting tornado-
droplets of may rain crash against my face-
and i squint under the force of the wind-
the sky is a brilliant shade of dark-
but the clouds are moving-
shuffling-
i stand my ground and stare
ahead-
knowing that something great is inside of
me-
knowing that something powerful is screaming
to be released-
knowing that that forces around me lay right
on my tongue,
and rest in my heart-
i look into the mirror-
and the train stops*

a spring leaf in fall-
a summer stream in winter-
a snowflake in july-
an april blossom in december-
tell me where i’ve been-
and i will give you chalk for my
blank slate-
tell me where to begin again-
and i will show you the starting
line-
tell me what direction to face-
and i will provide a compass-
tell me what to feel and i will
give you open arms-
a spring leaf in fall withers
under the cold-
a summer stream freezes against
the frost-
a snowflake in july withers amid
the heat-
a blossom in december fades away
before it even begins-
tell me who to be and i
will love you-
tell me how to feel and i know i
will remember*

taken at a Sondre Lerche show this past February in KC. Dude put on a great show.