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.

[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.

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.

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.
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i meant it when i said i loved you. even if i was too late

there was ever only you.

please understand.

please.

stay.

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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.

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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.