Maxwell Greyson’s Writings

Maxwell Greyson began his writing career after his therapist, the voice (Cassini) [i] asked him to start writing during a session. More specifically, Grey was asked to begin writing to rx1618 [z].

First success
Grey’s first achieved success (albeit minute success [citation needed]) as an author with his screenplay Garage Sale Dance Party [e]. The screenplay revolves around the activities of a green-cereal-bowl-seeking man by the name of Oskar.

gloe [sic]
I am but one light ray
of one street lamp
in one alley
of one memory
reflecting off
one lid
of one faded
black garbage can;
I wonder if
you might remember
my orange glow?
-Good Reception, Chapter 1 [a]

window pain [sic]
i have a window in the top left corner of the west facing wall of my bedroom if the night is just right and the time is just right and the angle is just right the moon will pour a stream of light directly above me when it all is just right i glow for a just a moment in time some nights i lie awake anticipating dozing here and there i wait when the sun starts rising i close my eyes resting waiting for another chance to chase the moon
-Good Reception, Chapter 1 [a]

shure [sic]
your beauty often sits
quietly perched
on the shore of solitude;
perhaps that
is what makes your beauty
stay a while longer
-Good Reception, Chapter 2 [a]

ryght [sic]
Your right angles
are no longer right
but in a perfect way
Imperfect particles fall
and become earth
I would not change you
You are now a billion
shades of red
Absorbing and reflecting
light rays
and consuming the clouds
Go ahead, float above me
I see you now
-Good Reception, Chapter 3 [a]

meddle [sic]
I stand in the middle
of now and then
time, not standing still
slows considerably
a slow gaze
reveals stars bright and dim
in the middle
it was here that I realized
never before this moment
had I been
here and there
at the same time
-Good Reception, Chapter 4 [a]

dzire [sic]
tonight it was midnight but it felt like noon and i cannot really explain it but with the full moon and warm blanket of clouds a black cat walked in front of my path or maybe it was a skunk but i saw no white stripe up a ways a man walked his white dog but in the absence of rays an orange glow came from the house where the old woman reads but she did not read tonight she has not read for a while all in all a searching something searched and a lost one lived the sign blurred and with the wind nonexistent desire appeared missing since i can first remember
-Good Reception, Chapter 5 [a]

deter mine [sic]
Divvied now or embraced later?
Press once or press it an infinite sum or perhaps until infinity, it is really just one of an endless array of intricate choices to be made that allude to having an endpoint of some kind, but, really, what kind of conclusion – what type of finality – can it own when its existence lies solely on choice itself?
-Good Reception, Chapter 6 [a]

irth [sic]
What comes first?
You brought
a sheet of paper
filled with idioms
I took it to heart
I met my doppelganger
that day
Filled with fear
of fearlessness
The paper got lost
I would prefer a sketch
any way
-Good Reception, Chapter 7 [a]

steal [sic]
even stainless steel rusts
they call it oxidation
I call it oxidation
only because I know no better
age by oxygen
the breath of life
the breath of life
and deteriorates
I stroll down my alley
palms up
consuming the breath of life
It’s only four past midnight
-Good Reception, Chapter 8 [a]

beech [sic]
if i could i would create a likeness of you out of bamboo and straw and stick it in the sand gazing at the endless tide. if i could i would remember the shadow of your profile floating on uneven sand with the sunset looming. ive always loved that thin layer of air that resides directly above sand freshly washed by waves. it holds the truth of nature and the nature of unknown in a temporary space. if i could i would grab it and give it you to. ive always wanted you to hold that in your palm to grasp. not forever but for just one moment in time.
-Good Reception, Chapter 9 [a]

Myne [sic]
I go to sleep
thinking of the sound
of waves crashing.
I wake up
dreaming of the smell
of sun on sand.
Looking down,
I feel sand between my toes.
Looking up,
I see it.
I smile at a ray of
summer’s sun.
but not now.
Why ask for myne?
-Good Reception, Chapter 10 [a]

Maxwell Greyson’s Writings

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