I'm uploading a video to youtube, and it's taking forever. Perfect time to write, I suppose, since i'm doing nothing but sitting and waiting; watching the little navy bar lengthen across the screen. And so I write...
but what about?..........
once again i find myself needing to move my fingers. hoping that at some point inspiration will hit me and I will begin a thoughtful rant about something interesting. i should hope some of my rants are interesting... if not, that doesn't speak much to my writing ability. not to say that i'm a writer by any means... although i have written a play and am 'writing' a few others currently... that does not necessarily make me a writer. I am an artist. I am an artist who writes. I am an actor who writes plays. I suppose, I can label myself whatever I want. there is no quota of plays one must write before they can bill himself as a playwright. if i have written one, i suppose i am. whatever that word means....
whatever it means to me...
stream on consciousness writing is good. its currently not getting me anywhere but i might as well do it every now and then just to keep in the simple habit of writing. of moving my fingers. of thinking.
because when you are unemployed, and you spend most of yours days in a house alone, its difficult to find inspiration for your writing. particularly when the play you are focusing your energies on is about relationships. hard to write about them when you are alone. i can think back, sure. i can imagine ahead, sure. i can build off of what i have heard, what i know. but it always seemed so much easier when i was writing Inferno to write after an actual event in my life. something would happen... then i would write. then i would edit and turn it into something usable in a script. but right now, with nothing happening... i have nothing to write rants about except the fact that i have nothing to write rants about.
so here i am. still writing about having nothing to write.
we begin again.
.break.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
[omit] ??
I like.
punctuation.
a lot.
and needless breaks in the structure of sentences.
as though. it. adds some sort of meaning. to otherwise meaningless
words.
and as it so happens, so do my friends.
breaking up words with brackets, hyphens, commas, periods.
Why?
who the hell knows.
perhaps because we have read too many sarah kane plays.
too many beckett plays.
too many.
many.
because, in the end, what does any of it actually mean? when audiences see one of our broken word plays, they can't tell that it was written with only three words to a page, broken apart by a semicolon after the second word.
what difference does it make if i space the words out.
i suppose, in most instances, the actor reading the text will glean some meaning behind the breaks. interpret a way that the dialog was 'meant' to be read.
and perhaps i do mean for it to be read in that particular, peculiar way.
Indeed, in the past, i have written text that cascaded down the page, indenting as it went along, and i did intend for it to roll off the tongue as though it were water traveling over a rocky brook, often times being spoken by multiple people, each a rock in the broken stream of the sentence.
but then again. how much of it was simply me trying to be artsy.
??
let's call it half and half and leave it at that.
there is meaning. but sometimes it just looks cooler to play with punctuation.
period; the. end.
punctuation.
a lot.
and needless breaks in the structure of sentences.
as though. it. adds some sort of meaning. to otherwise meaningless
words.
and as it so happens, so do my friends.
breaking up words with brackets, hyphens, commas, periods.
Why?
who the hell knows.
perhaps because we have read too many sarah kane plays.
too many beckett plays.
too many.
many.
because, in the end, what does any of it actually mean? when audiences see one of our broken word plays, they can't tell that it was written with only three words to a page, broken apart by a semicolon after the second word.
what difference does it make if i space the words out.
i suppose, in most instances, the actor reading the text will glean some meaning behind the breaks. interpret a way that the dialog was 'meant' to be read.
and perhaps i do mean for it to be read in that particular, peculiar way.
Indeed, in the past, i have written text that cascaded down the page, indenting as it went along, and i did intend for it to roll off the tongue as though it were water traveling over a rocky brook, often times being spoken by multiple people, each a rock in the broken stream of the sentence.
but then again. how much of it was simply me trying to be artsy.
??
let's call it half and half and leave it at that.
there is meaning. but sometimes it just looks cooler to play with punctuation.
period; the. end.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
just out of reach
500 days of summer. autumn. summer.
breaking down the broken down. seeing youself on the screen in the weaker character. seeing yourself within the character that can't move on.
but that's the point. they want you to identify with the man. not te girl that has intimacy issues. not the one that gets married without any time for courting. you are expected to identify with the one that does not know how to cope at the end.
and i do. we do.
we know that guy. we see ourselves within his actions. within his thoughts. because we have also put ourselves out there like that. loved someone unconditionally and in return gotten nothing but broken words and empty promisses.
is that all i have gotten? no...
at one point, i was the woman. the girl that was not ready for something serious. i was the one who didn't believe in that word. love. because i had never known it. never felt it. never had those words cross my lips in truth.
but they would.
only it would be too late for them. their death had already passed and they were wandering ellicium.
so the question becomes. why do we all identify with the man? why are we expected to see ourselves in this man who's expectations don't allign with realty? because the world is broken. love is not that simple.
i have loved. but do i know what it's like to be in love? no.
words.................... that's all this comes down to. what are words? labels upon labels of a relationship.
life. love is not that simple.
on tv. mtv kids are trying to become base jumpers on made. jumping off cliffs for the sheer thrill. i need to learn how to do that. to jump off the safety of what i know is true, and throw myself into the unkown. for all i know.... this word.... love... is out there.... floating in mid-air.
no more.
love. a wish. a thought. a prayer.
so much more than i think it will be, and yet just out of reach.
breaking down the broken down. seeing youself on the screen in the weaker character. seeing yourself within the character that can't move on.
but that's the point. they want you to identify with the man. not te girl that has intimacy issues. not the one that gets married without any time for courting. you are expected to identify with the one that does not know how to cope at the end.
and i do. we do.
we know that guy. we see ourselves within his actions. within his thoughts. because we have also put ourselves out there like that. loved someone unconditionally and in return gotten nothing but broken words and empty promisses.
is that all i have gotten? no...
at one point, i was the woman. the girl that was not ready for something serious. i was the one who didn't believe in that word. love. because i had never known it. never felt it. never had those words cross my lips in truth.
but they would.
only it would be too late for them. their death had already passed and they were wandering ellicium.
so the question becomes. why do we all identify with the man? why are we expected to see ourselves in this man who's expectations don't allign with realty? because the world is broken. love is not that simple.
i have loved. but do i know what it's like to be in love? no.
words.................... that's all this comes down to. what are words? labels upon labels of a relationship.
life. love is not that simple.
on tv. mtv kids are trying to become base jumpers on made. jumping off cliffs for the sheer thrill. i need to learn how to do that. to jump off the safety of what i know is true, and throw myself into the unkown. for all i know.... this word.... love... is out there.... floating in mid-air.
no more.
love. a wish. a thought. a prayer.
so much more than i think it will be, and yet just out of reach.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
just putting down some thoughts
There's a great space between us, and it's filling up with everything we don't say to each other... and everything we do.
------------------------------------------
i meant it when i said i loved you. even if i was too late
there was ever only you.
please understand.
please.
stay.
------------------------------------------
There is always light to see. Even in the darkest of nights the moon and stars guide you on your path. Have no fear, for the light is always there. You may have to search a bit, but it's there.
You will never be so broken that you can't be fixed. There's simply too much light to grab your tools.
------------------------------------------
maybe tomorrow i'll find my way home. maybe. just maybe.
so much work put into that bread. those crumbs. only to have them torn apart by the bitter forest.
maybe the path will be a bit clearer. maybe all those breadcrumbs i left along the way won't matter so much.
so soon was it that we had held hands. gretel and i. skipping through the forest. yet sooner still was it that we tumbled down the hill. breaking crown. breaking down.
where do i begin when every ending puts me right back at the start?
how do i mend this broken shell, with not but gum and string and a distant star to throw my wishes at?
and where were you when everything was falling apart? when goose's walls came crashing down? when wishing stars fell from the sky and interlocked fingers were torn apart? when toy soldiers rusted up? when jumping candles burned the skin and riding hood was never seen again?
when childhood dreams of love met their end under undertaker's blade.
where were you. in this sad and broken tale of woe.
with no crumbs, no stars, no path to guide my step...
maybe tomorrow i'll find my way home. maybe. just maybe.
------------------------------------------
i meant it when i said i loved you. even if i was too late
there was ever only you.
please understand.
please.
stay.
------------------------------------------
There is always light to see. Even in the darkest of nights the moon and stars guide you on your path. Have no fear, for the light is always there. You may have to search a bit, but it's there.
You will never be so broken that you can't be fixed. There's simply too much light to grab your tools.
------------------------------------------
maybe tomorrow i'll find my way home. maybe. just maybe.
so much work put into that bread. those crumbs. only to have them torn apart by the bitter forest.
maybe the path will be a bit clearer. maybe all those breadcrumbs i left along the way won't matter so much.
so soon was it that we had held hands. gretel and i. skipping through the forest. yet sooner still was it that we tumbled down the hill. breaking crown. breaking down.
where do i begin when every ending puts me right back at the start?
how do i mend this broken shell, with not but gum and string and a distant star to throw my wishes at?
and where were you when everything was falling apart? when goose's walls came crashing down? when wishing stars fell from the sky and interlocked fingers were torn apart? when toy soldiers rusted up? when jumping candles burned the skin and riding hood was never seen again?
when childhood dreams of love met their end under undertaker's blade.
where were you. in this sad and broken tale of woe.
with no crumbs, no stars, no path to guide my step...
maybe tomorrow i'll find my way home. maybe. just maybe.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
light
Not sure exactly how to start this blog. I know I need to write. That's about all I know right now. And since a rant of mine usually comes from me simply moving my fingers, I figured that would be the best place to start.
You see, I haven't had any major drama in my life worth writing about. Worth putting into a play. I haven't lost a friend, lost a love, lost an apartment, lost myself... recently, so where does that leave this space when for so long it has been dedicated to my loses.
But I always find them again. Always return to something inspiring or something meaningful. The balance of the good and the bad. The lost and the found.
.... lately, though, my mind returns to those previous blog topics. To the things I swore to myself I would never talk about again. I am living in a world with lost romantics who wax on about how they haven't found their love yet, and i am unable to utter the same sentiment. There are three things I think about in solitude: time, previous relationships, and .... well... the same thing that's on every man's mind when he spends too much time alone.
I get too stressed when I have nothing to do. I function better when I am overwhelmed. Maybe that's because I function best when I am distracted from my problems.
My world at rest spins too fast. I have to keep running to slow it down.
-------------------------------------------------
quiet. hush...
Don't you find the air stale tonight?
no.
I find it rather nice. especially in this light.
what?
especially in this light.
the air.
i don't catch your meaning.
the air.
it best carries us along when there is light.
we drift along like a leaf on the wind when all the darkness has gone.
you cannot be carried on in life when your darkness pulls you down.
-------------------------------------------------
So let me start this up again. Let me begin with some light, before I find some darkness to pull my leaf back down.
I speak in too many metaphors, i think. Too used to using poetry to emote. Or rather... live the angst ridden teen life. Rants are just easier when focused on a single style. Whatever, that's all I have for now.
Metaphors. metaphors. maybe i should learn to speak in plain text.
You see, I haven't had any major drama in my life worth writing about. Worth putting into a play. I haven't lost a friend, lost a love, lost an apartment, lost myself... recently, so where does that leave this space when for so long it has been dedicated to my loses.
But I always find them again. Always return to something inspiring or something meaningful. The balance of the good and the bad. The lost and the found.
.... lately, though, my mind returns to those previous blog topics. To the things I swore to myself I would never talk about again. I am living in a world with lost romantics who wax on about how they haven't found their love yet, and i am unable to utter the same sentiment. There are three things I think about in solitude: time, previous relationships, and .... well... the same thing that's on every man's mind when he spends too much time alone.
I get too stressed when I have nothing to do. I function better when I am overwhelmed. Maybe that's because I function best when I am distracted from my problems.
My world at rest spins too fast. I have to keep running to slow it down.
-------------------------------------------------
quiet. hush...
Don't you find the air stale tonight?
no.
I find it rather nice. especially in this light.
what?
especially in this light.
the air.
i don't catch your meaning.
the air.
it best carries us along when there is light.
we drift along like a leaf on the wind when all the darkness has gone.
you cannot be carried on in life when your darkness pulls you down.
-------------------------------------------------
So let me start this up again. Let me begin with some light, before I find some darkness to pull my leaf back down.
I speak in too many metaphors, i think. Too used to using poetry to emote. Or rather... live the angst ridden teen life. Rants are just easier when focused on a single style. Whatever, that's all I have for now.
Metaphors. metaphors. maybe i should learn to speak in plain text.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
i just wanna hold on a bit longer
"It is too late. The evacuation still proceeds, but it’s all theater."
-'The Seventies Now' by Stephen Miller
---------------------------------------------------------
I'm packing up the last of my things at my apt and moving home today. It's all stuff that I have taken with me, moved with me, for years now. And yet, as I move once again, I can't help but have this irrational fear that I am somehow losing a whole store of memories that I connect to this place. I realize that memories will last and stay with me wherever I am, but its hard when I know I am losing something that has proven to be a reminder of those events. I have connected so much of this place with my last relationship, with my friends and with my own growth over the past year.
That doorway was where we had our first real kiss.
That was the spot on the floor where I sat when we played spin the bottle.
I made snappy molasses crinkles with Jamie in that kitchen, ate dinner on the floor and talked for hours.
I wrote my play on my bed, on my couch, on my desk, in my kitchen, on my patio.
That's where I wrote the rant that later became Margaret.
That's where I watched the Grind House movies with Dane.
That's where I storyboarded my show from start to finish.
That's where I sent a text using the 'L' word for the first time.
That's the shower I spent nine hours in one day when I had mono, just so i could breathe.
That's the spot where I was sitting when I knew I had to end it.
That spot in the living room was where I slept for a whole month after the breakup.
Sigh... there are so many more... I'll leave those out.
But. I still have those memories. Those events happened, and will stay with me even when I am someplace else. But there seems to be a need in me to hold onto this tangible reminder. This physical tie to a relationship, a play, a party, some words. I am holding on too much. It's time for a move. It's time to let go of reminders.
It's time.
-'The Seventies Now' by Stephen Miller
---------------------------------------------------------
I'm packing up the last of my things at my apt and moving home today. It's all stuff that I have taken with me, moved with me, for years now. And yet, as I move once again, I can't help but have this irrational fear that I am somehow losing a whole store of memories that I connect to this place. I realize that memories will last and stay with me wherever I am, but its hard when I know I am losing something that has proven to be a reminder of those events. I have connected so much of this place with my last relationship, with my friends and with my own growth over the past year.
That doorway was where we had our first real kiss.
That was the spot on the floor where I sat when we played spin the bottle.
I made snappy molasses crinkles with Jamie in that kitchen, ate dinner on the floor and talked for hours.
I wrote my play on my bed, on my couch, on my desk, in my kitchen, on my patio.
That's where I wrote the rant that later became Margaret.
That's where I watched the Grind House movies with Dane.
That's where I storyboarded my show from start to finish.
That's where I sent a text using the 'L' word for the first time.
That's the shower I spent nine hours in one day when I had mono, just so i could breathe.
That's the spot where I was sitting when I knew I had to end it.
That spot in the living room was where I slept for a whole month after the breakup.
Sigh... there are so many more... I'll leave those out.
But. I still have those memories. Those events happened, and will stay with me even when I am someplace else. But there seems to be a need in me to hold onto this tangible reminder. This physical tie to a relationship, a play, a party, some words. I am holding on too much. It's time for a move. It's time to let go of reminders.
It's time.
Friday, May 29, 2009
call you me fair?
"I'm not about to settle for anything less than maturity, honesty, humor, and unbridled passion.
When you kiss me, it better be good.
When you touch me, it better be tender but firm with clear intent from the start.
When you speak to me, you better make me laugh HARD.
When you meet me, you better look me in the eye.
When we embrace, you better smell like heaven.
When we wake up in the morning, you better roll over and get into my arms.
When we go out places, you better not hide me for one moment.
When we see a movie, you better hold my hand and squeeze at the good parts. Or bad ones.
When you see my art, you better tell me what you think AND WHY.
When we get ready to go to dinner, you better help me tie my tie even if you're bad at it."
-From John's Blog
----------------------------------------------------
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
256
when you dig my grave
gravedigger
damn.
where was I?
250- something?
counting the dots on my popcorn ceiling
waiting
waiting.
procrastinating.
i can almost smell you now.
sitting here in the dim light. if i stay just still enough, with the covers up over my nose, i can almost still smell you. your skin leaving its mark on the sheets.
257?
258
259
260
i remember the first time i was near you after the end. you standing just close enough. the wind blowing in just the right way. that your smell overcame me all at once, like a large wave knocking over a child. pulling it back in as it goes.
i had to clench my teeth just to keep from breaking.
i wrote it into my show. no. i stole it from another show and called it my own.
"sometimes i turn around and catch the smell of you, and i cannot go on i cannot fucking go on without expressing this terrible so fucking awful physical longing i have for you..."
but all was good. we were. good.
and now here i am counting the dots on my popcorn ceiling, trying to catch the last note of you.
but it has been gone a long time. you have been gone a long time. and its not that i miss you anymore. its not that i wish things were different between us. but the silence. the quiet. under this popcorn ceiling. i cant help but hold the covers a little closer. waiting. wishing.
261
262
i have figured out the formula to this madness. the reason behind the thoughts. its not you that i am missing. its the body. the entity. the person. a reason to wake up in the morning. someone to stand by me. to hold me. someone for me to wrap my arms around and call mine. someone for me to kiss and whose eyes i can get lost in. someone who will look after me when i am sick. someone for me to hold hands with. someone for me to give that 'slanted smile' to. i miss the idea of you.
or so i tell myself.
i am en expert at holding on to pain. residual feelings. missing things that may not have ever been there to begin with. call me an emotional masochist. i seem to enjoy the torture. revel in my misery, simply because you are happy.
no. thats not true.
we begin again.
1
2
3
4
5
stop it. ha...
"tried that, didn't work..."
i am an endless box of quotations. give me time, and i can make art out of my babble. catch me off guard, and all you get is mud. i have no solutions for this rut. no instant formula to solve this world of popcorn ceilings.
where is the sky?
[omit]
we begin again.
1
2
3
4
how do i begin again when all i do is compare the next one to you? to this idea in my mind that isnt even true? nothing compares. thats the problem. my imagination has taken over. my mind has created world upon world. vast cities of love. and when reality doesnt match up, i hide under my covers, trying to smell what could have been.
its time to pull off these sheets. no. its time to pack these sheets away in a box and move. put away my ideas and stop staring at my popcorn ceiling.
my sky is out there.
stupid. inspirational. clap-trap.
cheesy.
no more.
When you kiss me, it better be good.
When you touch me, it better be tender but firm with clear intent from the start.
When you speak to me, you better make me laugh HARD.
When you meet me, you better look me in the eye.
When we embrace, you better smell like heaven.
When we wake up in the morning, you better roll over and get into my arms.
When we go out places, you better not hide me for one moment.
When we see a movie, you better hold my hand and squeeze at the good parts. Or bad ones.
When you see my art, you better tell me what you think AND WHY.
When we get ready to go to dinner, you better help me tie my tie even if you're bad at it."
-From John's Blog
----------------------------------------------------
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
256
when you dig my grave
gravedigger
damn.
where was I?
250- something?
counting the dots on my popcorn ceiling
waiting
waiting.
procrastinating.
i can almost smell you now.
sitting here in the dim light. if i stay just still enough, with the covers up over my nose, i can almost still smell you. your skin leaving its mark on the sheets.
257?
258
259
260
i remember the first time i was near you after the end. you standing just close enough. the wind blowing in just the right way. that your smell overcame me all at once, like a large wave knocking over a child. pulling it back in as it goes.
i had to clench my teeth just to keep from breaking.
i wrote it into my show. no. i stole it from another show and called it my own.
"sometimes i turn around and catch the smell of you, and i cannot go on i cannot fucking go on without expressing this terrible so fucking awful physical longing i have for you..."
but all was good. we were. good.
and now here i am counting the dots on my popcorn ceiling, trying to catch the last note of you.
but it has been gone a long time. you have been gone a long time. and its not that i miss you anymore. its not that i wish things were different between us. but the silence. the quiet. under this popcorn ceiling. i cant help but hold the covers a little closer. waiting. wishing.
261
262
i have figured out the formula to this madness. the reason behind the thoughts. its not you that i am missing. its the body. the entity. the person. a reason to wake up in the morning. someone to stand by me. to hold me. someone for me to wrap my arms around and call mine. someone for me to kiss and whose eyes i can get lost in. someone who will look after me when i am sick. someone for me to hold hands with. someone for me to give that 'slanted smile' to. i miss the idea of you.
or so i tell myself.
i am en expert at holding on to pain. residual feelings. missing things that may not have ever been there to begin with. call me an emotional masochist. i seem to enjoy the torture. revel in my misery, simply because you are happy.
no. thats not true.
we begin again.
1
2
3
4
5
stop it. ha...
"tried that, didn't work..."
i am an endless box of quotations. give me time, and i can make art out of my babble. catch me off guard, and all you get is mud. i have no solutions for this rut. no instant formula to solve this world of popcorn ceilings.
where is the sky?
[omit]
we begin again.
1
2
3
4
how do i begin again when all i do is compare the next one to you? to this idea in my mind that isnt even true? nothing compares. thats the problem. my imagination has taken over. my mind has created world upon world. vast cities of love. and when reality doesnt match up, i hide under my covers, trying to smell what could have been.
its time to pull off these sheets. no. its time to pack these sheets away in a box and move. put away my ideas and stop staring at my popcorn ceiling.
my sky is out there.
stupid. inspirational. clap-trap.
cheesy.
no more.
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