Monday, July 27, 2009


i have a tendency to stifle myself with my own ambition.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

dead start to story.

He did not make use of the dead horse’s remains. He considered them useless, tainted by evil. A beautiful horse, like the other three, he himself had named it, Big Joe, after himself, a kinda joke, but it was dead now and that really didn’t matter. Dad Sir was no longer around to tell him not to waste resources, to tell him what was right, so Joseph vowed to move on instinct. From the moment he saw Dad Sir in a pile, fallen and broken and trampled, he knew things were going to be different. He did not cry, it was not something Dad Sir would have wanted, and Lord knows Ma was doing enough of that for the both of them- for anyone in the whole world.

After seeing after Dad Sir’s burial the only logical thing to do was kill Big Joe. Big, beautiful Joe—he knew what was coming to him. He took it like a condemned prisoner, like one of the men Joseph’d seen hung in town, when they used to live in town.

oh the glory that the lord has made

and the complications you could do without/when i kissed you on the mouth.

the more i listen to it- and i think i've listened to it a good 10000000 times, it reaches out for my heart and just destroys it. sufjan, my stalkee (that's not true- i actually want to know nothing about him), is i think the songwriter of the decade, and this song is one of the most perfect i have ever heard. the complexity of it is just out of this world- the sound of it, the arrangement is beautiful and subtle and so easy to listen to, and the lyrics flow like poetry- it IS poetry, it is fine literature. it is also a beautiful unfolding story about first awkward love in a religious community, about growing up, and about death of a young person. He covers his story, his longings, as well as her story, her life cut short. he muses on the concept of pain and struggles with God. even more than that, every part of the story is illustrated so beautifully- described as in a refined novel. it's so evocative. i wish there were something i could manage to say about it that doesn't seem cliche, but right now everything that i have just written sounds old.

i'm just going to keep the lyrics here for quick reference.

Golden rod and the 4-H stone
The things I brought you
When I found out you had cancer of the bone

Your father cried on the telephone
And he drove his car to the Navy yard
Just to prove that he was sorry

In the morning through the window shade
When the
light pressed up against your shoulder blade
I could see what you were reading

Oh the glory that the lord has made
And the complications you could do without
When I kissed you on the mouth

Tuesday night at the bible study
We lift our hands and pray over your body
But nothing ever happens

I remember at Michael's house
In the living room
when you kissed my neck
And I almost touched your blouse

In the morning
at the top of the stairs
When your father found out what we did that night
And you told me you were scared

Oh the glory when you ran outside
With your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied
And you told me not to follow you

Sunday night when I cleaned the house
I find the card where you wrote it out
With the pictures of your mother

On the floor at the great divide
With my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied
I am crying in the bathroom

In the morning when you finally go
And the nurse runs in with her head hung low
And the cardinal hits the window

In the morning in the winter shade
On the first of March on the holiday
I thought I saw you breathing

Oh the glory that the lord has made
And the complications when I see his face
In the morning in the window

Oh the glory when he took our place
But he took my shoulders and he shook my face
And he takes and he takes and he takes

Reading that as I listen to it is really too much.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

of new favorites and coincidences, of dualities i will not explore today

Life is a strange thing, and as much as I think I'm in touch of it most of the time I am beginning to wonder if I really am at all. Oh, no, another layer to life that must be peeled away.

Such discoveries always lead me to question my own sanity, but after reading some Hamlet tonight I have decided against going down that road- I am too tired. For now it's tipping my toes into the notion of a dual understanding- perception and fact, self perception/image and self actualization. The world is vast, but the mind even more so.

So tonight, I put away these thoughts and concentrate on my pride at being creative, at being quite a powerfully creative person. It will be a shame if I cannot overcome myself and make something of this power-- I am starting to see it for what it is, and if it can only get out- if it only has enough time and memory to be let out- then it would build itself (and then comes the problem of introducing it to a public, but no matter, perhaps it will introduce itself too.. perhaps it will walk and talk by its own little self!).

Also, I have thought of setting aside a separate blog where i will write only about film and books and television and music and stuff. but then i thought, meh. why not write about it here, start keeping things in one place for once?

Books I am reading: The Journals of Sylvia Plath (! Remarkable, strangely helpful and encouraging, a new favorite, more on everything I love about it soon; but as I said a few entries ago I strongly identify with Plath and women like her, and I hope and probably incorrectly interpret that the meaning behind that feeling is my own brilliance), All Men Are Mortal (strange, interesting writer that Simone. It's existential and so far I like it very much, though the beginning feels superior to the rest of it. funny anecdote on that + mechanic someday soon), Mere Christianity (still, I know, though I shall mention a bit he wrote about Faith that I find very encouraging), and a few other things. But those are the ones I'm determined to finish.

Films I have seen recently: Public Enemies (i'm christian bale wah wah i enjoy NOTHING), in which I mostly enjoyed the gunfire and the romance between Depp and the French woman who happens to have a lovely name that I would hate to misspell. Yes, wildly romantic story tucked inside of an infamous legend, and I have to admit I loved it, as the filmmakers knew I would. It was strangely sincere, passionate, and surreal as it did not function in the real world but rather in the movie world that Dillinger had mapped out for them (they don't particularly touch on it in P.E. (ehe) but D was verrry much into the flims and undoubtedly got many of his best lines from the screen...) It gave me a strange ache, to be honest. But then again I detest such honesty--

anyway: Desperate Hours (one of Bogie's last, and I have been so fascinated by the man and his persona lately... what an interesting character! i must read his biographies), Face in the Crowd (creepy masterpiece, unbelievably ahead of its time, if i were a film teacher i would demand my pupils study it), Stop-Loss (frightening also, i did not know about stop-loss, nor do i know much of the military in general: should change that), In Cold Blood, Basic Instinct (regrettably... wow, softcore much??), The Muse (dull but clever, rather what I needed I suppose... oh god, though, two Sharon Stone movies in one day??), The Beguiled (really interesting! i loved the ending, and i loved Eastwood ALOT. first time i have seen him play a character quite like that... almost a villian, almost), and Confessions of a Super Hero (highly recommended. i LOVE docs that explore character and counter-culture... the nooks and crannies of the US are just full of interesting stories). Last week I saw The Fall, which is my new favorite [OH MY GOODNESS just as i was typing "new favorite" the very phrase "new favorite" was sung in a random song on!!! what does that mean? i am befuddled!! the song is apparently new favorite by allison krauss. i must look up the lyrics now, though they do not sound divinely applicable right now, as one would hope]. Anyway, yes, the Fall, beautifully poetic. And Confessions of a Shopaholic, which had a scene featuring one of my directors last semester, Jim Holmes. Worth it just for that-- though, silly as the movie was, I found it endearing for its timeliness.

Tonight, because I spent the whole day dragging about I have been struck with that guilty creative impulse. COMMIT TO RECOMMIT!!!! LET THAT BE YOUR MANTRA! You will always have bad days, probably more than others, because you are depressed, and you have gotten weak, and you have allowed the tricky devil into your head and your hollow bones and I wish I could say no more but it will be a steady process-- this we can do, we can do it, we can make a life. BOTTOM LINE: this life must change. THIS LIFE MUST CHANGE!! Please God, through You, let me change it. Through writing, change it for me.

A rant and a prayer and 50 film reviews later, i bid you adieu.

Friday, July 24, 2009

So I was going to write something about the current surreality of my day-to-day, but i got distracted....

helllloooo mister eastwood. why are you ancient again??

Saturday, July 18, 2009


fuck all.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

i get banged up alot, like a pinky toe.

Things are going okay, things will continue to get better; as they say in those self-help circles, we must keep comitting to recommit. Tell me-- am I approaching this from the wrong perspective? Should I stop listening to the affirmation of Aimee Mann, A Weather, and everyone else that sings like they are Sylvia Plath's distant relatives? Is it better to feel like you're not alone in your worries etc or is it best to believe you have none? Can you really trick yourself into getting better, or in the end will you keep coming back to the fundemental problems?

Actually I know the answer to that question- yes, you will keep coming back to them because problems do not merely vanish. They intensify the more they are ignored, like a bad infection, like a cavity... like a twinkie, like a twinkie. Scratch that last part. But for real, now, I don't know how to strike at the heart of it, I don't know HOW TO CHANGE IT, damnation, I don't know how! Doesn't it take a little outside help? Don't freakin' flowers need sun and cute watering cans with rust and polka dots, memphis? Yes, they do. All I want to do now is make the noises of frustration, that damn, no one is helping me, no one is picking me up and giving me what it is that I need to fix me. COLDPLAY, WHERE ARE YOU WHEN I WANT YOU?!?!!! But anyway, I am not upset as I write this, just annoyed, grumpy at myself for wanting change, mostly disgruntled that I don't know what to do next. Just "plugging away" is not appealing right now, can we change that? What the devil does that even mean, anyway? Plug away? As in keep plugging the dam, keep the water at bay, is that what that is? Finger in the dyke, hm? No thank you, I don't want to be a beaver [haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa bit of an entendre there. bad. but still]

Well, enough of that. What else?

I have found a semi routine these days. It is the life of a nomadic writer, and I both like and dislike it, if i may offer a riddle. I get up late (or at least, always later than I would like), I get all of my stuff together, I haul myself to the gym (sometimes) and then to the coffee shop. I stay all day, I write, I facebook, I write, I read email, I write, I submit, I organize shot lists, I beg people to help me feel fulfilled by working on projects with me. I have been somewhat productive, but I feel myself waning. Must not do that. Must hop back to the drawing board every day. Must make some money, please oh please. Must be a grand success.

Things are actually off to a good start. A story: Once I established a bit of resolve, back in June, I had a bad night, as referenced somewhat in my last whatchamacallit. I was dreadfully down and pissed off that I was down because things were meant to change, right? Right? So I was thinking ah, it's all been for naught. So the next day I slothed to my computer and checked the ole gmail only to find that the Whom It May Have Concerned was very interested in my meager offerings- hurrah! Published, me! Online, yes, noir story of four years ago, yes, but regardless this was encouragement! A publishing credit! 30 dollars! PRESTIGE- sort of. So back to the drawing board I went with great fervor because things are getting better, getting better all the time.

I have also made an important decision, one I know will get me into a scrape, probably, like every stupid bright idea I have, but here we are (sunset and camdennn): I am going to DO things. Things that are probably not advisable-- I am going to go places, and I am going to FIND ways to go there. I will not be restricted because I have been restricted for too long. For much of my childhood, for some reason or another, there were so many things that I knew I couldn't do. Things I could not attend, places I could not go, things I should not try. I just assumed that experience would chalk up once I got older just because I was getting old, but this has not happened.

Today, my father told my mother and my mother told me that I should not go to San Francisco now- I should go someday when I have money, when I have the means. Well, look here. I agree. Going now may not be satisfying because in my mind I will be thinking that I am spending money I do not have, or I will not spend money on things that I will regret not buying. I will be stressed at this fact, but I shouldn't be, because LOOK HERE- we never went anywhere, we never did anything. I have so few genuinely good memories of us doing anything, trying anything, enjoying ourselves. We did not go on travels, and Dory restricted us, money restricted us, mom's anxiety and dad's protectiveness and our mutual apprehension- natural and learned- kept us from participating in life. Goddammn it, how have I not played pool in my life? How have I not played party games, how have I not had childhood boyfriends and why can I not rollerskate? Why are my nicest family memories connected only to our moving from state to state and breaking down at strange truck stops with Elton John and Woody from Toy Story to keep us entertained? No, it wasn't tortorous, and it wasn't always like that- there was Disneyland and such. But still, I did not have a childhood. I am cool with that, because I think it made me concentrate on the things that were actually important, things like morality and knowledge and character and dynamics and caring for the other people in your life, but I still miss those experiences that everyone else seems to have had. Damnation, I am going to have them. I do not care if I put myself into even more debt-- it is worrisome, but aren't experiences more important? Isn't seeing life more important? Yes, a resounding yes, and so I will go to San Francisco, I will take my typewriter, I will wear flowers in my hair and I will be very happy to spend at least a little bit of the money I don't have on San Fran chocolate.

Freakin' yes.