‘Sunday’

Photographer Ariel Alexander Fiore is a Cleveland-based poet, filmmaker, and photographer whose work blends cinematic atmosphere with raw emotional realism. His art explores memory, identity, and the overlooked corners of everyday life, using a minimalistic approach that favors authenticity over polish. Fiore gravitates toward images and stories that feel lived-in quiet moments, natural light, and the subtle nostalgia embedded in ordinary spaces. His ongoing series Dying in the 90s reflects this sensibility, capturing the emotional residue of a fading era with modern clarity. Whether in film or still photography, Fiore aims to create work that feels honest, human, and enduring.

Sunday

Get it before it’s gone. When it’s time to move on. What decision is there to make. When later is

always too late. I’m too far gone to think.

Let it rip with nothing but nonsense. I think I’ve had my fill of heaviness for a spell. At least

for today. In this moment. I want to smile amongst the clouds. Heavy skies don’t have to mean a

heavy heart. Last night I slept for the first time in weeks. What I mean is when I awoke, I

actually felt something akin to peace. I don’t know what it means. If anything. But I’ll take it.

If we spend most of our lives half a world apart. What’s the point in pretending we are more

than who we are when the final curtain has drawn.

I don’t know why anyone would be mean to me. When all I’ve ever done is try to love them.

My words are all I have left. I’ve run out of currency and time and compassion for those who

have nothing to say. How many chances have we had. How many lives have we lived. I know

what I’m going to do with mine on this go around.

I got lucky when they made me. I have zero intention of squandering myself any longer. Even

if the world ends tomorrow, I’ll be there to go down with the ship. Not waving a flag nor spitting

off the bow in the face of a misperceived catastrophe. I’ll be smiling from ear to ear.

Right. Right.

Fight or flight. When looking down the barrel of the gun with a bullet etched with words I

never spoke. If you blink, you’ll miss. Believe me, I’m not uninformed of what’s been going on

in the world these past number of weeks. Though, admittedly, while I may have been focusing

on myself and healing, I’ve kept an ear to the ground and witnessed our even further leap into

totalitarianism. In this once formidable and great country of ours. Wink, wink. I don’t condone

violence. I don’t condone politicizing it either in response. I certainly don’t condone using force

to impose the will of a few who are only frightened to lose what they have. When they

commandeer the military and march them in the streets to rule by fear. Either that, or they lock

their opposition behind bars or deport them to faraway lands under the guise of protection. Why

can’t we just have a conversation wherein both sides are heard. Listen better should be the goal.

Why can’t we think of the real issues at hand, and not rapacity. We have enough to go around.

The real worry is we’ve used too much on the few. On those with means in their big houses and

fat clothes as wide as the need suspenders to keep their pants above their barrel-rounded waists.

Their buttons are bursting. Their ears are full of steak and caviar and unctuous whores. Imagine

their noses. Have they lost the scent of smell. I wonder where they send their scraps. Do they

keep them under their beds besides their mistresses and whips. Or do they consume it all.

Yet, I digress. I’m smiling today for the first time in weeks. Truly smiling and not working

like ants and dogs to lift the curve into an arch. I’d like to maintain it for as long as humanly

possible. To not get bogged down in life and avarice and the downfall of humankind. In failed

relationships and mistrust among those who have professed to me their love. No, today I will

flourish in lightness. To weigh not more than what the number reads on the scale on the floor in

my closet. An admirable goal. I can’t think of a better way to spend a day.

It’s a new day. I’m a new me. I’ve said all I need to say on subjects out of my control. To

myself and others. Listen better, and the world will flow as water over the rocks.

I think I’ll go back upstairs and clean out my closet. Get rid of what I don’t need and donate it

to those who do. I would give you the shirt off my back if it meant we could all exist in harmony.

I used to get caught up and dragged under in fretting over those who refused to accept my help. I

moreover used to only help people because I refused to help myself. Subconsciously thinking all

the while that I’d failed both my parents as a result. When in actuality, they were the ones who

failed me. I’m shifting the paradigm. I’m changing. I’m growing. I’m letting myself off the hook

and learning how to love for the first time in my life. I have to love myself first before I can love

anyone else. As people and things are different. Things are easy to love. Like cause and effect. If

I write a beautiful story, I know it’s going to impact me and those who read it the same. That it

will bring us an escape from vapidity and peril. And imbue us with hope. Like if I exercise and

then eat a well-cooked meal prepared with love, tenderness, and appreciation, I know the

nourishment they will provide me. This part of life is simple. Dealing with other humans is

where I get tripped up. We are a complicated species. We come from the sea and have ravaged

and killed to survive for millennia upon millennia. Then we developed consciousness and reason.

I guess it’s best not to overthink it. Just try and do the next best good thing and believe in the

truth. Invariably.

You keep staying alive and I will too, old man. And the sea.

Have you ever seen a barefooted middle aged man in a plain white tee dancing on cold floors

on a Sunday morning with music filling the air for the world to behold. With not a care in the

world and a spring in his step. I move fast, try and keep up.

How many times have you lost your mind. As many as were required. Wink, wink. Does that

make me crazy or sane. When the time comes and somebody asks ... strike that. I live in the

moment. A breath at a time. A day at a time. Today I am alive and well and thriving under the

overcast pall of my home by the ocean. It’s either the ocean or the mountains. I don’t know that I

could live anywhere else. Other than Paris, France. I would live in Paris in a heartbeat.

It’s never too late for a new beginning. To start anew. Even if lived for a moment, it’s more

than most can aver.

About every four to five years I need a reset. I have a tendency to lose track of where I am to

focus on what I’m doing. I’m in the process of breaking the spell. And goddamn does it feel

good. To take care of myself for a change.

Dylan Night is a former medical professional and published author most recently through Able Muse, Wingless Dreamer, In Parentheses, Lilomul, Neon Origami, South Platte River Review, and Querencia. He resides in San Diego, California with his partner and stepchild. He is currently workshopping his most recent novel.