1st draft of it after editing for about a full day and night.
Showing posts with label films. Show all posts
Showing posts with label films. Show all posts
Saturday, December 12, 2009
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.
-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.
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.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
first week of school
Her boots fell to pieces long ago-- they were her daddy's boots, now only shreds, strapped around her feet- mere cloth protection from the heat of the ground, the sharp rocks. Now she walks slowly.
Done, finished, the beginning of the beginning and also the beginning of the end. Strange.
Best not to concentrate on specifics and just blaze on through.
Things to say, but today is the day to study and get things done.
That said, my Thursday class is all-Chaucer (Canterbury Tales) all the time, and my teacher is a dream (in an English Professor Weirdo way... not in a conveniently young and hot way, alas). He's hilarious. Anyway, he referenced "Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog" in class and apparently I was the only one who didn't know about this phenomenon, but it's the funniest thing I've read in a long time and I'm addicted.
http://houseoffame.blogspot.com/
Bit that made me laugh exceedingly loud:
For neyther he nor Sir Neville had sene the snakes, but herde onnlie the cryes from below and knew nat what happede. And so Sir Sean got hym up to move but Sir Neville seyde, ‘Sir Knight, whan first we met ich toolde thee that if thou sholdst do my biddynge, thou wolde lyue, and in ower aventurez it hath happede thus that thou hast no reson to distruste me. Thou must bringe thy witnesse to Kyng Arthurez court, and thus stay thee heere the while ich figure out what the helle the noyse ys aboute. Mesemeth peraventure that the in-shippe filme ys Failure to Launch and alle folke do screme in terror at the mismatchede romantique payringe of Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew “Nat Luke nor Owen” McConaughey.’ And so Sir Sean stayede put while Sir Neville went doun to ward the noyse.
Done, finished, the beginning of the beginning and also the beginning of the end. Strange.
Best not to concentrate on specifics and just blaze on through.
Things to say, but today is the day to study and get things done.
That said, my Thursday class is all-Chaucer (Canterbury Tales) all the time, and my teacher is a dream (in an English Professor Weirdo way... not in a conveniently young and hot way, alas). He's hilarious. Anyway, he referenced "Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog" in class and apparently I was the only one who didn't know about this phenomenon, but it's the funniest thing I've read in a long time and I'm addicted.
http://houseoffame.blogspot.com/
Bit that made me laugh exceedingly loud:
For neyther he nor Sir Neville had sene the snakes, but herde onnlie the cryes from below and knew nat what happede. And so Sir Sean got hym up to move but Sir Neville seyde, ‘Sir Knight, whan first we met ich toolde thee that if thou sholdst do my biddynge, thou wolde lyue, and in ower aventurez it hath happede thus that thou hast no reson to distruste me. Thou must bringe thy witnesse to Kyng Arthurez court, and thus stay thee heere the while ich figure out what the helle the noyse ys aboute. Mesemeth peraventure that the in-shippe filme ys Failure to Launch and alle folke do screme in terror at the mismatchede romantique payringe of Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew “Nat Luke nor Owen” McConaughey.’ And so Sir Sean stayede put while Sir Neville went doun to ward the noyse.
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.
Screenplays:
The Western Hamlet Masterpiece. Oh yes.
Ophelia
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.
-- 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.
Screenplays:
The Western Hamlet Masterpiece. Oh yes.
Ophelia
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.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
someday we'll be drinking with the seldom-seen kid...
So my room-mate is moving out this week. We haven't had problems or anything- she's friends with a girl down the hall who just had HER room-mate move out on her, and since my roomie and her friend are going to live together NEXT semester off-campus they thought it'd be a good way to prepare. Moving in together, that is.
So what does this mean? This means I get 226 to myself, baby.
The other night at rehearsal I practiced my "big scene" for the first time outside with the other actors, completely off-book and I sucked. Unless I was better than I thought I was. But I thought I was damn awful. It's so hilarious how one can build up an image of themselves in their own minds and once they begin the process of actualizing it-- well, it doesn't always work out. In my defense.... I was going on 2 hours of sleep (strange thing-- I went to bed at 5 and woke up at 7 feeling as if I just couldn't sleep any longer, so I just got up... whereas most times it's me going to bed at 1 and feeling like I can't get up until almost 11, wtf), not very much food, I hadn't been to Fr. Grant's rehearsals since we had moved outside, and I had no freaking idea how the staging was going to work (we weren't even rehearsing where we were going to perform... confusing). Still. I really thought I had my lines down and that I could pull it off, but as I started to speak I realized I sounded TERRIBLE. Placeless. I had no clue who the eff this guy is- strong, emotional, crafty- or just sad?- my voice sounded incredibly flat (though i had been in the cold doing nothing but watching them rehearse for 3 hours) and all of a sudden I was putting inflections on syllables I had consciously chosen beforehand to avoid. The worst part was everyone was not only present to witness it, they were held up by my error. Oh woe. Been awhile since I was embarrassed.
I was pretty much kicking myself for the rest of the night (though I had other extremely emotional things going on that day-- funny, also, how I could cry at the drop of a hat ALL DAY-- two hours sleep, mind you) yet when it came to my scene I was emotionless as a stone. Anyway, I felt horrible for the rest of the night, but come this morning I was refreshed. Rededicated to the whole thing and glad to have something that will iron me out and stretch me in ways that I hadn't really planned on. I opted to do this so that I could prove to myself that I am a multi-talented person, that I could just have more in my life to show for my existence. You know. "What, second semester Junior year? I was in a play!" And yes. I wanted to be different, I wanted to prove myself to other people who seem so quick to classify me as unworthy and uninteresting (my fault, as I don't seek their attention but somehow resent their disinterest-but still). But that's not what this is going to be, apparently. This going to be... a learning experience. DAMMIT!! Who knew? Anyway, on the one hand I'm pissed that I'm not just a natural (like it seemed I was once) but on the other... and ultimately... I'm glad overall and I'm very motivated to do this learnin'.
Lately I've reignited my appreciation for Grounds for Divorce, an Elbow song that was pretty popular last year after it was in Burn After Reading. I liked it and all but this week I CANNOT GET ENOUGH.
What else?
So far school's been okay. Great at moments, not so at others. Screenwriting-wise I've learned that the quirky comedy thing probably isn't going to work so well for me in the long run- it'll be alright for the shorts and I'd really like to have a sense of humor present in everything I write, but overall I think I'm the most interested in writing fairly dark, serious dramas. I like the tone of the classic films and darker, grey sort of subjects keep me more on task. There's alot to explore there. Though I wish I could balance the two- one About A Boy this year, one No Country for Old Men the next, I don't think I quite have that capability. All this to say, I'm trying my hand at comedy and my screenwriting teacher has a very broad sense of it- she's wonderful, but her direction is taking me somewhat away from what I'm seeking to express in my story. I really, really like the story but I don't know if I'm fit to tell it- or funny enough.
Been dealing with doubt in a very weird form- distrust of everlasting love. When feeling what I perceive to be its absence I begin to doubt it's existence. Not concretely, and... I mean, I believe technically in its existence, or that I should, but I don't FEEL it as I tell myself I should. Also, I know where it comes from- a genuine dislike for myself, currently the root of all of my issues (issues? yes. I have actually regressed in the past month. terribly. I spent 4 days in bed at one point, and I can't even put into writing the sort of thoughts that kept me up at night talking to myself like a crazy person. but that is another story). But still, this doubt becomes very pervasive... I have spent alot of time just seeking comfort as I've been told I can, but I feel the equivalent of a spiritual cold shoulder. Why, when I need it so much, is warmth absent? And the wheels churn. I don't have an answer to that- my guess is there's something internally at work preventing the peace that I'm looking for- but my friend did say something to me in regards to my doubts and God's expression of love. It's something that's definitely been discussed, but I don't suppose it ever sunk in for me: God expresses his love and insures our comfort by giving us loved ones. By providing us with friends and family and sometimes even strangers he gives us a piece of Himself and a method of cheer and consolation every day- even when these people are not about their presence and thoughts of them remain. IN THIS WAY (preacher man speak) we are provided for and loved.
Which is an excellent thought. On the other hand. I don't feel that in my current state that I have too much of that going on... most of the people that I felt made life livable are pretty far away from me- not just physically- so I suppose it makes sense that their absence would lead me to doubt- but eff. It does not make life pleasant sometimes.
On that note, I've been thinking quite a bit about love and relationships and whatnot. The other night I had a quiet epiphany about the subject, which I will put into the immortal text of the blogosphere once I've formulated an appropriate description of it, but I will say this little thought: I do think I'll be "alone" for most of my life- that is, not partnered. This is because of my clamhood and my self-dislike and, let's face it, I'm not pretty. Never was, and I could never fool anyone for an extended period of time into thinking otherwise. Pity party aside, I think I can accept this if I don't think about it too much-- but if this is the case I think what is desperately necessary is platonic male companionship in general. No-- not creepily, as some sort of boyfriend/husband REPLACEMENT-- you know, the guy friend who's essentially used as a romantic/chastely sexual character in one's mind without it being too clear in one's actions (ie flirtatious objects of projection). No, I just think true manly company is essential, at least to me. It reminds me of the wholeness of us as the human race and the goodness that can be found in figures that I can't seem to help finding pretentious or intimidating in theory or image. My guy friends, few as they really were (the close ones) have not been in my life so much lately, and for some reason interaction with the opposite sex on this campus is too painfully postured for my functionality. This must change.
Today, I was walking in U-hall and fell down a frozen (nonworking) escalator. I gashed my knee. I would have laughed, because I usually do at my ridiculousness, but coming after my rehearsal last night I was very quick to hop up and carry on. If I were watching me, however, falling forward then down an ESCALATOR I would have laughed.
I GOT SOUL BUT I'M NOT A SOLDIER!
My Prod 200 class has been really interesting... I can't tell whether or not I'm any good at what I'm doing, but I think I do have an eye. I got an A on my first project, which I didn't think was going to be very impressive. Though I have to say when we watched it in class, projected onscreen all big and with the music all loud, it looked really beautiful to me (and I got alot of positive response). For my second project I hatched a plan to do a silent film- in the spirit of the real silent films- and thus grabbed Laura Mueller, she of the adorable face, to do my bidding. I haven't edited it yet, but I think it's going to be pretty cute. I also filmed something with Kate, she of the beautiful blue eyes, which could turn out very interesting if it's ever completed, and still intend on drowning Ophelia one of these days in preparation for a big script I plan to write on the subject one day. My final for the class is going to be a love story about a shy record store clerk (jon of the golden flecks) and a girl who is terribly hard of hearing. Very O. Henry cliche, but I'm excited.
To wrap up:
bothering me: doubt of God's love, essentially. Struggle with self-dislike. Homelessness (a topic, along with the concept of Family, that I would like to go on about ad infinitum.. and probably will eventually). My lack of get-up- but I think that's changing.
good: Yeah- it's changing. I'm getting better. Remember that epiphany I mentioned? Emotionally, things seem strangely clear on a few subjects that have been somewhat murky as of late and I'm very glad. Also, in the face of feeling a little loveless I've been pleased at my capacity for love and that I have been able to help some people out recently as best I could.
I GOT RINGO BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am at my best when creative. I feel so much more purposeful.
And, finally, a quote that has given my existence meaning this evening:
C.S. Lewis was one of the most incredible insights in the history of the world, in my humble opinion.
Goodnight moon.
So what does this mean? This means I get 226 to myself, baby.
The other night at rehearsal I practiced my "big scene" for the first time outside with the other actors, completely off-book and I sucked. Unless I was better than I thought I was. But I thought I was damn awful. It's so hilarious how one can build up an image of themselves in their own minds and once they begin the process of actualizing it-- well, it doesn't always work out. In my defense.... I was going on 2 hours of sleep (strange thing-- I went to bed at 5 and woke up at 7 feeling as if I just couldn't sleep any longer, so I just got up... whereas most times it's me going to bed at 1 and feeling like I can't get up until almost 11, wtf), not very much food, I hadn't been to Fr. Grant's rehearsals since we had moved outside, and I had no freaking idea how the staging was going to work (we weren't even rehearsing where we were going to perform... confusing). Still. I really thought I had my lines down and that I could pull it off, but as I started to speak I realized I sounded TERRIBLE. Placeless. I had no clue who the eff this guy is- strong, emotional, crafty- or just sad?- my voice sounded incredibly flat (though i had been in the cold doing nothing but watching them rehearse for 3 hours) and all of a sudden I was putting inflections on syllables I had consciously chosen beforehand to avoid. The worst part was everyone was not only present to witness it, they were held up by my error. Oh woe. Been awhile since I was embarrassed.
I was pretty much kicking myself for the rest of the night (though I had other extremely emotional things going on that day-- funny, also, how I could cry at the drop of a hat ALL DAY-- two hours sleep, mind you) yet when it came to my scene I was emotionless as a stone. Anyway, I felt horrible for the rest of the night, but come this morning I was refreshed. Rededicated to the whole thing and glad to have something that will iron me out and stretch me in ways that I hadn't really planned on. I opted to do this so that I could prove to myself that I am a multi-talented person, that I could just have more in my life to show for my existence. You know. "What, second semester Junior year? I was in a play!" And yes. I wanted to be different, I wanted to prove myself to other people who seem so quick to classify me as unworthy and uninteresting (my fault, as I don't seek their attention but somehow resent their disinterest-but still). But that's not what this is going to be, apparently. This going to be... a learning experience. DAMMIT!! Who knew? Anyway, on the one hand I'm pissed that I'm not just a natural (like it seemed I was once) but on the other... and ultimately... I'm glad overall and I'm very motivated to do this learnin'.
Lately I've reignited my appreciation for Grounds for Divorce, an Elbow song that was pretty popular last year after it was in Burn After Reading. I liked it and all but this week I CANNOT GET ENOUGH.
What else?
So far school's been okay. Great at moments, not so at others. Screenwriting-wise I've learned that the quirky comedy thing probably isn't going to work so well for me in the long run- it'll be alright for the shorts and I'd really like to have a sense of humor present in everything I write, but overall I think I'm the most interested in writing fairly dark, serious dramas. I like the tone of the classic films and darker, grey sort of subjects keep me more on task. There's alot to explore there. Though I wish I could balance the two- one About A Boy this year, one No Country for Old Men the next, I don't think I quite have that capability. All this to say, I'm trying my hand at comedy and my screenwriting teacher has a very broad sense of it- she's wonderful, but her direction is taking me somewhat away from what I'm seeking to express in my story. I really, really like the story but I don't know if I'm fit to tell it- or funny enough.
Been dealing with doubt in a very weird form- distrust of everlasting love. When feeling what I perceive to be its absence I begin to doubt it's existence. Not concretely, and... I mean, I believe technically in its existence, or that I should, but I don't FEEL it as I tell myself I should. Also, I know where it comes from- a genuine dislike for myself, currently the root of all of my issues (issues? yes. I have actually regressed in the past month. terribly. I spent 4 days in bed at one point, and I can't even put into writing the sort of thoughts that kept me up at night talking to myself like a crazy person. but that is another story). But still, this doubt becomes very pervasive... I have spent alot of time just seeking comfort as I've been told I can, but I feel the equivalent of a spiritual cold shoulder. Why, when I need it so much, is warmth absent? And the wheels churn. I don't have an answer to that- my guess is there's something internally at work preventing the peace that I'm looking for- but my friend did say something to me in regards to my doubts and God's expression of love. It's something that's definitely been discussed, but I don't suppose it ever sunk in for me: God expresses his love and insures our comfort by giving us loved ones. By providing us with friends and family and sometimes even strangers he gives us a piece of Himself and a method of cheer and consolation every day- even when these people are not about their presence and thoughts of them remain. IN THIS WAY (preacher man speak) we are provided for and loved.
Which is an excellent thought. On the other hand. I don't feel that in my current state that I have too much of that going on... most of the people that I felt made life livable are pretty far away from me- not just physically- so I suppose it makes sense that their absence would lead me to doubt- but eff. It does not make life pleasant sometimes.
On that note, I've been thinking quite a bit about love and relationships and whatnot. The other night I had a quiet epiphany about the subject, which I will put into the immortal text of the blogosphere once I've formulated an appropriate description of it, but I will say this little thought: I do think I'll be "alone" for most of my life- that is, not partnered. This is because of my clamhood and my self-dislike and, let's face it, I'm not pretty. Never was, and I could never fool anyone for an extended period of time into thinking otherwise. Pity party aside, I think I can accept this if I don't think about it too much-- but if this is the case I think what is desperately necessary is platonic male companionship in general. No-- not creepily, as some sort of boyfriend/husband REPLACEMENT-- you know, the guy friend who's essentially used as a romantic/chastely sexual character in one's mind without it being too clear in one's actions (ie flirtatious objects of projection). No, I just think true manly company is essential, at least to me. It reminds me of the wholeness of us as the human race and the goodness that can be found in figures that I can't seem to help finding pretentious or intimidating in theory or image. My guy friends, few as they really were (the close ones) have not been in my life so much lately, and for some reason interaction with the opposite sex on this campus is too painfully postured for my functionality. This must change.
Today, I was walking in U-hall and fell down a frozen (nonworking) escalator. I gashed my knee. I would have laughed, because I usually do at my ridiculousness, but coming after my rehearsal last night I was very quick to hop up and carry on. If I were watching me, however, falling forward then down an ESCALATOR I would have laughed.
I GOT SOUL BUT I'M NOT A SOLDIER!
My Prod 200 class has been really interesting... I can't tell whether or not I'm any good at what I'm doing, but I think I do have an eye. I got an A on my first project, which I didn't think was going to be very impressive. Though I have to say when we watched it in class, projected onscreen all big and with the music all loud, it looked really beautiful to me (and I got alot of positive response). For my second project I hatched a plan to do a silent film- in the spirit of the real silent films- and thus grabbed Laura Mueller, she of the adorable face, to do my bidding. I haven't edited it yet, but I think it's going to be pretty cute. I also filmed something with Kate, she of the beautiful blue eyes, which could turn out very interesting if it's ever completed, and still intend on drowning Ophelia one of these days in preparation for a big script I plan to write on the subject one day. My final for the class is going to be a love story about a shy record store clerk (jon of the golden flecks) and a girl who is terribly hard of hearing. Very O. Henry cliche, but I'm excited.
To wrap up:
bothering me: doubt of God's love, essentially. Struggle with self-dislike. Homelessness (a topic, along with the concept of Family, that I would like to go on about ad infinitum.. and probably will eventually). My lack of get-up- but I think that's changing.
good: Yeah- it's changing. I'm getting better. Remember that epiphany I mentioned? Emotionally, things seem strangely clear on a few subjects that have been somewhat murky as of late and I'm very glad. Also, in the face of feeling a little loveless I've been pleased at my capacity for love and that I have been able to help some people out recently as best I could.
I GOT RINGO BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am at my best when creative. I feel so much more purposeful.
And, finally, a quote that has given my existence meaning this evening:
“Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself (for God did not need to create). It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.”
C.S. Lewis was one of the most incredible insights in the history of the world, in my humble opinion.
Goodnight moon.
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