Sunday, August 30, 2009

truth doodles

I am not strong. I am not the leader I thought I could be. I need people to complete my happiness. Trust?

A truth? What do I know?

There is always hope, and you must never abandon this idea. Hope comes to me in letters. It comes to me from god, but that doesn't mean it can't appear/manifest itself in superficial ways.

Hope is Holden's Phoebe.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

ummm things i want to write.

Short Stories

-- San Francisco
-- Dentist "you're still numb"
There's a magazine next to me. I think Liv Tyler's on the cover. I make no move to pick her up, though; I never really liked Liv Tyler and I prefer to make no sudden movements lest I provoke Mr. Sugarsawra's stony looking receptionist. She has scary-looking fingers- good for filing, I presume, but probably not for holding babies or anything like that.

-- Fishing Village story.
The water seems to sympathize, its soft curves look inviting as they embrace and pass through the boat, every wave that follows seems to be perfectly in time as he hears it hit the side. He will always be a fisherman. The rhythm of the sea lulls him, assures him; he will never go home. His love is too big for harbor village. The waves crash in time with his thoughts, coming together and breaking apart, they seem to be saying the same thing, over and over as the boat is pulled deeper into the dark night.

I love you, I loved you.

-- Cancer kid/sister story. "She's real cute bald, too." "I'll bet... wtf?"

--Election Story, Voter Girl Virginity
The fall breeze was heavy with the weight of promises whispered on the winds, sent from the pulpits, called down on us from the giant televisions that seemed to be everywhere on campus. Everywhere seemed to be Election Land, but on campus it was positively inescapable. Even with the surprise of rain over Halloween weekend the posters remained, now with a sort of gritty character as their giant letters bled red white and blue and their faces sagged. Bulletins, wrapped in plastic and attached to sticks, were planted in the ground and in every dorm hallway hand written signs clung to the walls, urging all to the TV-clad study rooms to watch the action unfold. The staunch-looking, elderly conservative or the slick, refreshing democrat? Who would the nation choose to lead us now? We college kids had it figured out, for the most part.

-- The Night Granny Died and Our Friend Amanda Went to Prom

-- Dory's School

-- Funeral Home
The three of them sat there, each feeling as though they were sharing a surreal moment, one they would look back on from time to time like a memory one keeps in a shoebox- an object like a marble or a penny or an eraser shaped like a penguin. There was something so timely about their appearance, their togetherness, their almost perfectly symmetric alignment- two plus one people perfectly positioned on a bus stop. Justine didn’t want to look at either of her benching contemporaries, as a matter of fact- she wanted to believe that their expressions matched hers, that they were at that moment indeed the three wise monkeys; partaking in no evil.

She removed her glasses- just an inch from the nose, then raised her finger to give the left side a tap- but something changed her mind. Slowly, she removed her glasses entirely, dropped them into her purse, and gazed ahead as the three of them wondered in silence if their bus would ever come.

-- The town of Fopstein and Mr. Bailey
He had a dream. One of those odd dreams where you see yourself doing something, but you are also the one doing it? One of those ones. In it, he had created a person, a beautiful Tin Man with round rolly legs and square body- a Tin Man who could move and speak and answer questions.

I want to write a series of essays or stories about 20 of my favorite songs. Somewhat like Nick Hornby's Songbook, which I had forgotten the merits of until today. It will pretty much just be for my sake.

I need to find a good foundation for a novel.


The Western Hamlet Masterpiece. Oh yes.


How Wilson Lived

Clara Bow Biopic

Lengthened version of Jackson Hole script

Fixed version of Homeschooler Script

Screenwriting Class Sitcom/Community College

Ok, i feel better now.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

so i wanna get your everything

Packing/resorting for the new year, getting kind of excited. Have finally reached a sort of revitalization, even though I'm kind of tired physically. Anyway, found my old 03-06 journal. Tinkerbell is on the cover, but the inside is fascinating. People are fascinating, myself included.

I just wish I could remember if I was earnest back then, or only kidding myself.


just compiled pretty much the only remaining writing from my rough time, found in another random notebook which I just trashed.. interesting to read it now, it just drips with disconnect and anguish and self-hatred and alienation. man.

An airport is a surreal place to be when you don't even feel like living. (this was scribbled out but i could still read it)

You sit there with your alloted two pieces of carry-on luggage, plagued with the traditional reservations of an non-frequent flier- the chief being "what if I've made a mistake along the way?"-- checking inside your now overstuffed purse every two minutes to make sure your boarding pass and cellphone and ID are all in their proper and accessible place. You're traveling alone- first time, come to think of it, but you really don't think of it because its never been an issue. You're here at Gate 47 and it was all easier than you thought, to be honest, but you aren't thinking of that too much and you're certainly not honest.

What you are is hoping you'll stat thinking about flying alone, making mistakes, sitting next to an ill and or psychotic basket-case with no respect for personal space. Dying, crashing, you almost wish that terrified you.

It doesn't, actually. And you can't for the life of you be afraid because more than anything you're scared of your lack of foresight, lack of anything.

It's funny, you think, to be in a place like this, a palce where previously you'd just casually people-watch and wonder about their personal lives, who they love, who they're going to see, where they're from and if they'd had the same breakfast you had. Now you find yourself consumed with fear about their pasts. What horrible things have you done, mother of two? What was the worst thing you've ever done, and did anyone ever find out?

These people are me, these horrible people are all me and I belong with them at Gate 47. I hope the plane never boards, all we'll leave is each other. Eventually we'll murder one another for linty mentos found at the bottom of handbags and cracker crumbs and juice boxes-- a mere step before we turn to cannibalism and eventually do the world a service by wiping ourselves out.

I hate myself even more for wondering it. Child molester? He's probably the nicest person in the ever. He's probably an angel in disguise, or God, even, testing me. I wish God wouldn't est me, especially when I've already proven myself a failure in His imperfect world.

another day:

This is the point where someone is supposed to call but no one does.

One thing I wish you'd all have told me was I was making your life so miserable. I wish, I knew I had things that had to be dealt with but I didn't know that I was perceived as some kind of psychopath who must be tolerated.

And by the by, most of those times you thought I was trying to make anyone feel guilty, I wasn't.
I just didn't know what to say.

Another day:

Stories with no one to tell them to, the moon, the moon.

The lamp that reminds me of your earrings.... just a billion more to regret.

Another day:

Everyone's an opportunist. I see it in everyone and I hate it.

Punishing schedules and myriad affiliations provide ties that are all too illusory. People experience profound dissonance because they are in the company of others but NOT TRULY CONNECTED TO THEM.

Saturday, August 22, 2009


i am obsessed with this silly clip from forgetting sarah marshall. and now with this comedian whom i find exceedingly lovable:

but can you save me from the ranks of the freaks

i'm tired.

the restlessness is fading, though, and i know i have to stop looking for the Divine Push in regards to everyday living and know that i have to start seeking the Divine on His Private Line. i have to stop hoping for people to save me, to say the right thing or be the right comfort or know what it is that i need-- or can distract me enough to shield me from this feeling of lack and empty.

boys do not pay attention to me. they cannot save me.

men do not understand me. they cannot save me.

i will be taking care of my family soon enough. they cannot save me.

friends are to be loved, not wrung of all care. they cannot save me.

i, i who have more issues than readers digest, cannot save me.

one step at a time.

Monday, August 17, 2009

TMI, the world screams, but I don't care: horrible, horrible cramps today. Curse Eve, curse babies, curse the female species. This suffering is entirely uncalled for in light of the fact that I probably will not have children. And even if I did--- years of monthly pain, courtship (ie years of awkwardness and an expensive wedding), a ridiculous 9-month pregnacy (huge feet, huge self, morning sickness) all for what will probably be an ugly baby?

I'm being silly now, but really. Come on. They weren't always painful, it seems like just this year they've moved from uncomfortable to unbelievable. People don't understand it if they haven't experienced it-- it's as though a tiny steel fist has grabbed ahold of all of your lower abdominal organs and is squeezing them from the middle. Because of the source of pain being essentially in your stomach you assume you can breath and that will change it, but no. You think a shift in position could make it more tolerable- like a stomach ache. But no. You think relieving yourself will help. But no. Today it was so painful I was sweating and very near throwing up. Eventually I popped 2 tylenol and 3 ib profins-- not reccommended, but finally did the trick. Or maybe it was my plea to God to make the suffering stop. Horrible. Horrible. Horrible to be under strain like that in a house that is not your own-- though going through it in a dorm with a clueless room-mate was also not entirely comfortable. UGH. STUPID.

So someone in my life needs to get married. I have a fever and the only prescription is more weddings. This will also be a plus if I am made godmother to all the little tots that result from said weddings... twill save this period-sufferer from providing myself with my own children. Everyone wins.

So a few months ago I did a happy exercize, listing 5 good things. wir beginnen again.

1. Pride
Yes. Pride comes before a fall, and I am aware of the scrutiny that I will have to handle after this statement, but it has just occurred to me and it has made me very happy, again, especially given my stance on remaining single: i think i have had a good hand in helping people i love. In the past it has been very hard for me to see any positive effect that I could have on anyone. Surely I have been the only person to benefit from friendship, surely I am the one that needs. I have been accused of being needy and weak before, and I have taken it to heart. That is a painful idea to face, but I don't think it's true anymore. I don't think it ever was. The details of that are for another time, but my point is that I have given alot of myself and I think I have left somewhat of a good impression on the recievers. I think those that know me have grown more honest because of me, I think they have grown more affectionate through me. I think more people can say "I love you" now than they could before, and not worry, not be concerned that it is not a cool or manly thing to say. I think more people can talk about themselves with ease, I think more people can read aloud and not worry so much about messing up. I think more people know not to identify a tear with a child. I think more people can be comfortable with themselves, safe in the knowledge that someone loves the daylights out of them.

2. Classes start soon.
I am not relishing my return to the fake-Catholic land, but I am psyched, psyched to the max to be educated again. 2 film studies (Irish and Women in Film... rad), 1 philosophy, 2 screenwriting classes (directing- ie production!!, and writing the sitcom, oh no), and 1 english class (chaucer! all chaucer!! all the time!!). Not to mention a job, volunteering, going to the gym, joining CLC (finally) and the possibility of an internship. I need to find a church, too. I think maybe I will be better this year about going to class...

3. Lack of depression
I don't know if it's because I haven't had the chance, but it seems as if this summer that I've slowly, subtley become less prone to collapse. Maybe I was right back in June after all. I'm still no good at getting up, no good at anxiety, and somewhat lax about hygeine (comes from understanding your own level of attractiveness. a difficult reality when spending time around friends who are 10's while you remain a 3... but wait this is a good list..). I did have a random outburst of emotion at an uncalled for moment, but I think I'm going to be OK.

4. I went to San Francisco.
I have to spare the details of it here because it was a pretty stressful trip for me, but good lord. What a wonderful city. I would like to live there for awhile. It's so alive, but it's not like LA. It's not crudely made, it's historic and beautiful and bridged. All LA has to offer is Hollywood, and even that is grimy and cold in many ways.

5. Sadly I have run out of time. I will think of another good thing or perhaps five more later. Sleep now.