Thursday, October 29, 2009

i think i am a bit man-deprived these days.

cigarette + book (which happens to be a john lennon biography!??!!?!)+ snappy suit. UM?!

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

“ Love of beauty is Taste. The creation of beauty is Art. ”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

on writing and happiness. i suppose.


but i can't even do that right now.

my mind is so full of people; souls storming the gates to be free, but when i pull the latch all they do is stand there and stare- surprised. like any life-long prisoner they don't know what to do once they stare freedom in the face. where will they live? who will they love? most of all- what will be their method for walking out the gate?

sometimes i think i am wasted potential, sometimes i think i runneth over with genius or magic that must be shared, and sometimes, like now, i think that potential was just a dream. a pleasant thought to cling to in order to get through the days. yes, there will always be someone better than you. but what if you're really no good at all? then where will all these souls be? that's the most horrific of all-- would they be better off in someone else's prison, do you think? would someone else be better equipped to take their hands and help them down the steps and into the garden or the spaceship or the courtroom or the river or the studio or where-ever they belong?

today i was so depressed. i reached a point where i just wanted to cease to be myself. and i hate myself for moments like that because i think it's brought on by how we live- we are so selfish. i don't mean children die in africa while we eat mcdonalds and complain about our parents selfish, but how often we turn inwards rather than to our fellow man selfish. i was so sad that i cannot be who i want to be, who i feel i need to be, and that i constantly destroy or am destroyed and all it takes for me to rebuild is me standing up, but i don't want to stand up. but i do. but i don't do it. and oh, i feel so sorry for myself. i have "PROBLEMS". and everyone else, especially the needier, more emotional, sometimes more insightful ones have their problems, and we all have these problems and no one understands us and OH we are so unhappy. these problems are made only worse by how we live, the pigeon holes we are fitted into while we are simultaneously being told that we are individuals and therefore meant to be misunderstood. No one gets us, and at the same time pretty much everyone in America is depressed. Reason says we should at least have something in common, but we are determined not to see it. again, we do not- i do not- reach out. we have forgotten we belong to each other; by trying to care for others our own pain will decrease-- in fact, this depression, this pain which we feel is so individual and so hard to understand to everyone else through empathy for another person will become universal. i know i need to work on understanding that, but i don't know how right now, and i still feel so sad! sometimes i think i was merely cut out to be like this. i'm having alot of struggle with understanding my own power to change, i suppose.

but oh, i want to, i want to write. maybe freeing them will make me happier, or maybe doing them justice, having some satisfaction with their existence, will be the only thing to make me satisfied.

Monday, October 26, 2009


I think I created you.

You did. I created you too. I breathed life into you. That's how love works.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

the only good line from "the last kiss", an otherwise horrendous movie.

"Stop talking about love. Every asshole in the world says he loves somebody. It means nothing. It still doesn't mean anything. What you feel only matters to you. It's what you do to the people you say you love, that's what matters. It's the only thing that counts."

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

said of a prison inmate; a serial killer

"He was buried in a prison cemetery, as no one claimed his body."

Sunday, October 18, 2009

productivity is a wonderful thing.

yesterday morning i woke up late, but i have just finished my homework for most of the week, hurray.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Friday, October 16, 2009

here comes the blind comissioner

Last night I went to one of Bob Dylan's three concerts in Hollywood. It was... quite something.

I'm beginning to notice something about myself and concerts-- apparently they're pretty momentous occasions. I don't know if it's because I'm a sensitive person or if I overthink or if my heart is just a special kind that wants to burst at the slightest expansion, but at concerts or any momentous occasion to me I seem to realize on several levels that it's momentous, so much so that perhaps I fail to be in the moment because I know I should be in the moment. I can't help it. I know that life is short-- maybe I realize that more than some young people (for no particular reason- I'm neither naive nor overfamiliar with death or anything) so I want to wallow and soak and let things carry me away, but of course they never will be able to lift me if I'm aware of them-- if I throw myself at them. Yes, sometimes they get by me anyway, but I can't help but think I feel things a bit differently. I think I am Tereza from Unbearable Lightness-- the world is heavy.

Point is, the concert was a strangely surreal experience-- as alot of them have been, but this one in particular for a few reasons. One, I was alone and thus... well, we'll get to that. Two, it's so bizarre to see a figure you're so familiar with not a few yards from you- someone you feel like you know, but who does not and will not know you ever. In a way you are a voyeur. Three, Bob Dylan in particular has so much significance attached to him (for me, I can't imagine the oldsters's experience). He's a co-founder of rockn'roll, modern folk, pop songs with deep significance. No one is like Bob Dylan, no one has his mythic history or his image. I realize all that IS indeed image (and I have theories about that too, mostly concluding with my opinion that he has no personality of his own left), but still. It's a pretty affecting image. I look at him like I look at a beautiful old building or pictures of Europe-- the complexity, the history, the magnificent things that have passed before it/him and, furthermore, the beautiful and strange things he has created. The history alone gives me chills. I don't want to make him out to be a god or even a musician who can do no wrong (because lord knows he can) but it is a rather striking and strange feeling to be in the same concert hall as that.

That said, I faded in and out of that surreal feeling throughout the event. He didn't do anything to help- he didn't speak until the end when he introduced the band. He sang and played the keyboard (never the guitar, alas) and was, well, Bob Dylan. Some moments were absolutely sublime, some songs could have been skipped or replaced with material I would much rather hear- sadly he did not play Desolation Row, which I've had on repeat lately, or Positively 4th Street, or Times (which I suppose he'd feel funny singing now that he belongs to the old world), or Mr. Tambourine Man. He played a few new ones which I was not familiar with but which I liked very much (one being Forgetful Heart, which was pretty moving. now that I listen to it, I really like it, but allow me to say that live it was beautiful). He now sounds much more like Tom Waits so far as voice goes, but his manner and enunciation is still so HIM. Some verses he sang as if he were mocking or asking a question-- in that great Dylan way. It's like an actor choosing the emphasis to put on a particular line that changes the meaning or the joke entirely-- he's good at that. Anyway, it was more of a rock show than anything, and his band was really good. They really slayed Highway 61, and on encore they did a mean version of Rolling Stone (and Jolene? meh) and All Along The Watchtower, which, according to what I've read, played like he always wanted it to sound- electric. It was like hearing Hendrix's version with Dylan singing. Wild.

However, the absolute best best best best part was Ballad of a Thin Man, which ended the first set (before the encore). They stopped moving around the stage, came to the front, the lights dimmed and became cabaret-style (that is to say, most of the place turned dark and the above lights turned off, and then they lit them from the very front of the stage in a kind of amber color. reminded me of a speakeasy or something). He was standing in the middle and just did a KILLER version of it, with his guy on the guitar wailing away and sounding incredible, and him on the harmonica- again, killing it DEAD. Vicious. About halfway through it I realized that the front lighting was casting a massive shadow- his only, nicely done- against the curtain behind him. Man. Eerie as hell. So fitting. I would like to rewind and just experience that again.

The people were strangely nice, too. Unexpected. At one point I abandoned my initial place because jerks encroached, so I moved further to the left of the stage. Eventually more and more people pushed in, but I remained because I could see okay (though there were some freakishly tall people way up front-- jerks. Anyway, I was standing, and there was a gap between me and this super tall guy, but he wasn't IN front of me, just in front and to the side so he wasn't blocking my view, but I didn't want to move up too close to him and piss him off. Plus he looked very self-involved and snobby, and I don't know about these Dylan people. But then, right before Dylan came out, he turned and smiled at me and his whole expression changed. "Do you want to stand in front of me?" He asked. Nicest Dylanite ever. Later, a guy with a hat was somewhat in front of me, and between sets he turned back to see my POV and asked if I could see. So yeah. Despite the blatant little potheads (inside? really, potheads?? clearly nothing stops you [wow, i AM frances mcdormand]) it was incredible. Just great. I drove home in the fog listening to Desolation Row and just thinking.

Such a conflicting feeling, feeling that satisfied and that yearning at the same time.

I'll figure it out someday. Or not.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat

"It's just about a hat, man." - Bob Dylan.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

i am bloody shakespeare (and he was bloody, that one...)

woe is the soul forsaken, for my words are immortal, and how they suffer.
-me, so far as i know.

i think that's pretty good.

This is something I am thinking about right now: Thursday night I went to a best-of-the-year honors thing for my school. It was on the 20th Century Fox backlot, which was a treat for me. Actually I can't convey to you the glee I felt as my trashy little geo waited in the ranks of cars to enter through the gates. Better still, the awards ceremony was buried deep within the nest, so I had to wander around the paths to find it. It was wonderful. Night yes, so not much filmmaking going on in front of the naked eye, but do you know that delightful feeling of anticipation that fall brings in, that taste of ambition beginning to dawn on the climate? Christmas is coming, Halloween is coming, soon we'll all have turkey, what will we do and how will we do it? That's kind of how it felt. I was by myself, also, and that always intensifies these moments. It makes me wonder if I should always be by myself so I can understand things better. Anyway, it was strangely wonderful. The ceremony was nice too, I got to see what goodies that the production kids have been doing all year and some famous people were there, too. The one that excited me was Brian Hegeland, the guy who wrote LA Confidential and Mystic River and, one of my favorite movies (don'tjudgeme), Knight's Tale. Anyway, he's apparently alumni, and it was very encouraging to see him. And frightening, too, I suppose.

Senioritis hasn't really hit me, nor do I really think it's going to. At least not as severely as some others. I feel as though I've already had my moments to panic, to worry, to try to make ends meet, that weighty decisions and the idea of being done with school is not frightening in the least. Yes, I like school, I like learning, I'll be sad to see mandatory scholasticism vanish from my day-to-day as well as the comforts that will run away with it, but perhaps it's because I've done this all backwards, because I have no particularly strong social attachment to my school of choice, because I already know what I love to do... who knows, my point is I do not feel the post-grad Dustin Hoffman experience. HOWEVER. I do feel the fear of not being able to be Brian Hegeland, or Clint Eastwood, or Sofia Coppola. I don't care if I have to work two or three jobs for the rest of my life or whathaveyou, but if I don't get to write, if I don't get to create on that level I think I will have a very difficult time surviving. I suppose I define success for myself as quality, and as I was watching one of those stupid montages for one of the editors that was also being honored on Thursday, my eyes started to well up and I thought, damn. I love good film, really good film. What if I fail at that? Oh no, oh no.

So that's what I've been thinking about. I can't seem to explain it to anyone, when I open my mouth all it sounds like is the senior blues or some riff on the American Dream, but I like to think it's different, and I want God to tip the roof off of the coffee shop that I'm sitting in right now and tell me exactly how many great works I will accomplish before I die, and how many people will be affected by them, and how I will know how appreciated I am before death. Only this will make me happy right now, and He knows it, what a tease.
i've been having all of these fantastic ideas for stories and screenplays lately (well, always) but with no time or real motivation to proceed. rar. and these are REALLY GOOD ideas.

this morning i watched two really excellent movies: Dangerous Liaisons and Titus. Titus was, I suppose, more impressive, but I achieved a sense of satisfaction in watching both of them as I recalled their release very vividly and their presence at video stores and in pop culture, and that I couldn't see them. Titus was too violent, and after I got a bit older I just had a hard time finding it and finding the time. Dangerous Liaisons was much too steamy, though my dear mother did tell me the whole story once after she had seen it (and liked it, I knew, despite her qualms). Dangerous Liaisons was just quite a terrific thing... very whole in its presentation. A completely unapologetic period piece with really intense acting, especially from Glen Close who seemed to get alot of those kinds of scary women roles. Titus was really just something else that I need to rave about later, though I must say it's probably a new favorite movie. Julie Taymor, you are wonderful.

Anyway. I liked this from DL:

Madame de Rosemonde: I'm sorry to say this, but, those who are most worthy of love are never made happy by it.
Madame Marie de Tourvel: But, why? Why should that be?
Madame de Rosemonde: Do you still think men love the way we do? No... men enjoy the happiness they feel. We can only enjoy the happiness we give. They are not capable of devoting themselves exclusively to one person. So to hope to be made happy by love is a certain cause of grief.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

help me?

nothing is worse than going to waste.

Monday, October 5, 2009

I just bought tickets to see Bob Dylan on the 14th. For alot of money. I'm also going to see The Decemberists on the 19th. Stupid, stupid girl. Hahaha. At the same time, good for me. I'm not even given pause at the thought of going alone (which i am). Ha, goooood for me.


I'm tired, having not been able to sleep once again. But we are watching Michael Collins in class today so perhaps I will catch some zzz's in there, though let it be known that I am most fond of that gangly Mr. Neeson and his droopy hands.

Today, I shall go to class, do all of my philosophy homework, write to people about internships, finish a book, print off lines to practice, email a fellow about CLC, eat a salad, pick up some extra food items, and write to career people about jobs. Also, I will apply at blockbuster. Blah.

I need:
To lose weight. I went to the gym this morning, finally.
To get my room in order. IE LAUNDRY, hanging up frames.
To do some more writing for myself.
To paint some, also for myself.
To get an internship.
To get many jobs.
To be friendlier to people. I really do. I realize when I'm at school I make people think that they don't matter to me, but that's just because I don't like being around anyone when I feel gross about myself. And at LMU I almost always feel gross about myself. When will it all end?

Coffee. That's the answer.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

i was slicing up an avocado

me: marvel at yourself for a minute
i was thinking today
that seeing ourselves from the perspective of others could be so damaging much of the time
because most people you are familiar with don't even know you all that well
or want to protect themselves so they color you in negative shades without thinking
so you'd either see a pigeon hole or something not all that attractive
it could be a very eye-opening thing
Maureen: yeah
8:21 PM me: but i mean when it's the people who really love you, or even maybe think you're even more fantastic than reality because they can see your potential.
it would be cool to occasionally be able to put those spectacles on
me: to balance out everyone else. don't you think?

Friday, October 2, 2009

Generally speaking, you know what bothers me about puritans? They entice you with promises of non-alcoholic glee, and then once you've joined their cult they tell you what you're going to do-- nothing fun, that's what. They make you go to your hovel and wear grey dresses. Especially if you're a little boy. Nothing says puritanical like little boys in grey dresses. That's what the Oft Quoted Puritan says, anyway.