stuck. stuck. stuck.

im stuck at page 35. these scenes are the most important because they turn a very important corner. evan and sabrina must connect so completely. this is my thought process, or at least part of it. you might not care, but it might help me.

[2:48pm]
these scenes are dead. utterly fucking dead. they were probably never really alive. what's worse is that sabrina is coming off as a caricature. she cant do that. i cant do that.

[2:53pm]
cutting away anything that doesnt reek of truth. big red marks all over the page (yes, i use red pens... liberally).

[3:05pm]
i think i have an idea to lead this out of the valley of cliché. i just need to find an in.

[3:23pm]
passion is not enough.

[3:26pm]
evan and sabrina need to be pulled together with the city swirling around them. theyll have plenty of time to be pushed apart later.

[3:35pm]
feeling too restricted by the current scenes. going to delete and start over. at least from the farmers market thru the schlock montage to the apartment. gonna eat an apple first though. a pink lady. aint no fuji, but still nicely tart. they also have strange bums that remind me of pomegranates.

[3:54pm]
someone stuffed a pillow up thru my eyelids.

[4:04pm]
cant figure out how to start the scene that isnt completely tired and uninspired. need to let it percolate in the ole subconscious. i feel better now that everything else is gone now.

f this s.

ive pretty much had enough of this. im done talking. im going to make this work. as soon as i get home (haha, conditions already), im going to hit the ground running and start getting my next two projects together.

project 1:
spec. commercial (possibly the VW one i had in mind... i'll have to detail my car and find a parking garage... and a new cast... and an HD video camera... and this is a long parenthetical)

project 2:
a music video that DOES NOT make me cringe every time i see it (good luck with that!)

oh, and finish everything else thats on my plate. HA.

as phantoms are want

these fingers and toes
ive done them into
cracked glass ice lakes
water black as
mountains
before night
against a red/greying sky
asthmatic clouds
sewing big city lights
and
cosmic kites

once warm
before your
yawning neck
your
arcing back
a bridge
suspended by
spent breath
joining
cocked hips
to
climbing orphaned shoulders

a phantom
whispering
between sheets
/caution now/

/c/a/u/t/i/o/n/
/n/o/w/

before im comatose

i want this like buddha wants nothing.

these days are killing me. slipping by, digging me in the ribs on the way thru to something else (presumably better), reminding me that im sitting idly by. i need to finish my film. i need to get work from this. i need to plan my next project. i have an idea for a vw commercial, but im a little worried that my car might be getting a bit old for such antics. anyone know anyone that can do a good german accent? or even just a funny one that would piss a couple germans off?

ive been watching a lot of music videos lately. i guess ive kind of forgotten how completely satisfying they can be. how freeing to make. no commitment to story or general logic really. just a little light, a little crooning. its stunning how many performance videos are so good.

(sorry if i make little to no sense at the moment, im still a bit on the tipsy side from the wine during christmas dinner (a nice local petite sirrah if you must know))

i used to hate performance videos so much. what the hell was i thinking? although, it was a little difficult to get access to an artist at 14... and even then, i knew getting some mid-pubescent twat to sing a smashing pumpkins song was a bit... much.

keep it simple, right? right?

so many videos either shake a bunch of ass in your face or feel compelled to provide some sort of twist ending to some irresponsible or dross rain-swept love story (am i really that fucking jaded?).

but, even after making an abysmal performance video (sorry, jeremy and jessica, it's all my bad. we should have gone for that extra day), i still feel that if you cant deliver a compelling video with an artist just performing their music, you really have no business doing anything. ever. go home.

an artist/singer is usually successful for some reason, and if you cant capture that - or worse, you stifle it or cock it up... anyway, who the fuck am i? how many mtv music video awards have i won?

i need some song ideas. anyone know any local bands?

think postive, right? and the light of the universe will shine on you... or some bullshit like that. haha.

more rooms, no doors

random thoughts for today.

need to renew my passport. i have no plan (other than fantastical daydreams), but i feel the need to escape. the air must be getting thin. im craving france. im craving spain. im leaning toward london/japan. maybe just leave for a month and hit them all? reinvent the jet-setter. buy some hand tailored suits in italy... fuck it, maybe africa. find our real home. haha. somewhere where i need shots and full medical.

i need to fix my protools computer. i need to work on music. my brain feels like an overfilled water balloon longing for an untrimmed blade of grass. i hear nothing but fuzz and bleeps and bips and acoustic reverberations. i cant find the music i really want to listen to, so i guess i have to make it, fail miserably, and be sick of it by the end anyway. but i also need something like these (crosses fingers).

i want to read something new (even though i have several books started...). im still trudging thru the iliad and reading a book for a friend (shes adapting the screenplay and i think it would be a little difficult to offer useful notes unless i read the source material... i think. maybe not). i havent read a novel i cant put down in quite a while.

but most of all, i really want to be able to get thru all these small things so i can get back to writing. ideas are slowly moving for 'the self portrait of a pretentious bastard,' i still need to find an ending to 'marathon' that doesnt make me cringe, and something is brewing in my head for 'gaia.' i dont know what it is, but i feel bits working themselves out in my head. who knows, i might actually get a draft out of myself by summer? (woah, lets not push it there buddy).

i think i need to make this place more into an actual blog. i think i need an outlet. for some reason, it seems rational and expected to actually over-think things here... like why i want to type "over-thing" instead of "over-think" ... must be some muscle memory bullshit in my fingers fucking with me. stupid fingers, why cant you remember your own songs? i guess thats another story. ha.

ok, im done. im shutting you out now. happy winter solstice eve pagans :)

toes fingers nose

it's 4am and it's singing to the dark
it's 11pm and it's shiny waxy vinyl
it's 3am and it's mending thru fog
it's 1am and it's fingers spiraling thru hair
it's 11am and it's longing. already.
it's 2am and it's lost hands and it's closed eyes
it's 5am and it's dawn tumbling round its bend
it's 7pm and it's a smile, it's a laugh

it's not being able to say enough
it's worrying about saying too much


it's time stretching out like a bow to play two notes together
quiet
subtle
quaking
piercing
tremulous
hushed
and returning

the catch of a cresting breath

2008 in a line (or less (or more))

this will likely be updated as i remember more... so chill.

radiohead at hollywood bowl - underwelming... until (edit) the gloaming.
m83 saturdays = youth - yes, they do indeed.
m83 at henry fonda - why couldnt we dance all night?
portishead 3 - perfect album, perfect timing.
why? alopecia - still feels like it was made for me.
titus andronicus / no age at the troubador - a storm of interesting events.
garth marenghi's darkplace - new to me and saved my life.
myspace - hello facebook.
christian's graduation/show - a big bright shining star.
audi r8 in person - thy name is lust.
rock & roll acid test - LA cast and crew = most glorious bastards ever.
dark knight returns - i MUST do an entire film in imax.
indy 4 - limp-wristed, at best.
rambo - hahahahaha. so much blood!
wall-e - i hate it when robots make me feel.
the happening - still want to see it and laugh my ass off.
hellboy ii - sorry chris, i was non-plussed.
tropic thunder - tom cruise almost undid it for me.
star wars: clone wars - could not be bothered.
academy awards (yes, i know its technically FOR '07) - paul thomas anderson was robbed.
playing live at the viper room - im soooo sorry.
playing live at the el rey - we'll be good next time, i promise.
betty i am - couldnt be more proud of jose.
election - obama not bad, still was hoping for mckinney.
proposition 8 - some things still amaze me.
the greatest love letter ever written - took way too long to get together.
sigg - everyone should have one, not just the hipsters.
love - putting one foot in front of another.
finishing moleskine sketchbook - next one will be even better, more worn out, awesome.
the orange box - i know im late to the party, but portal is the best game ever.
mlg national championship - str8 rippin FTW, next year walshy, next year!
summer olympics - glorious HD... MUST go to the 2012 games in London... end of story.
the curious case of benjamin button - can. not. wait.
new friends - from the strangest places.
finishing the photo-a-day project - SEE i can finish something.
food / cooking - pork-chop with radicchio and apple... god came in my mouth.
turning 28 - friends are meaning more than ever.

. . .

looking forward to in 2009:

finishing the greatest love letter ever written
spain
london
japan
film work
a studio
more cooking
finishing: the self portrait of a pretentious bastard/marathon
new music: whatever i can find/am given and the camerahead/and the holy roman empire
taking time

i still believe in choice (looking for corners and finding hope)

it thunders across the sky like large ships through the sand. it implodes in rooms and sizzles on wires. this is what fuzz and mellotrons are for. the whole measurement of here to there. marked bit by bit. recorded in catalogs and almanacs.

so we lift the fallen fruit. we take the tender ripened labor of another year. the sum of falling rain and drifting ash on a hill. on a hill sliding to the sea. does it call, does it shine, will it last the winter.

but,

and this is important.

there are rumblings, there are mumblings of;;; a slowly cresting silver dawn for crippled children and wounded sloping memories filled with golden apples in the glen. if there is the will and if there is the stay it,ll be pianos calling you softly, warmly from an early grave... to dance once more upon this earth we are bent to till again and again.

honeycomb & wild apples & starships

like fiery-eyed troublemakers
running through the thick
of
an early morning dream
a faint taste
like
dead batteries
at the top of my throat

maybe,
the bitterness of honey

rub your wrists together
strain your fingers apart
the amber
running to
the crook of
barely splayed
fingers

one knuckle
two knuckles

dancing with your feet locked
with your knees locked
hinging/unhinging
its your neck that does the
rocking
like
wild apples
on tender thin branches
like starships
'round
black holes

two knuckles
three knuckles

no tooth has loosed itself

so many dreams about loose teeth. chipped. uprooted. rotting. spitting them out. one. spittouh. two. spittouh. three. spittouh. they fall before i can catch them. lost in grass. down the drain. swallowed.

your face is a blur. an amalgamation of sky and skin. strands of hair across your face. only a mouth and chin. but i know its you. i assume its you. i question if its you. i dont think its you. but i tell myself, its you.

where does this toothless hole and that eyeless face meet? where does it all come together? where are the lines drawn? a promise made on the riverbank is still a promise before the forgotten kings of the cold and trembling caverns.

sometimes i wake in a sweat. sometimes i wake with an erection. usually i have to piss. with an erection.

the point is.

the point is.

the point is... is that this verse chorus verse is killing me almost as much as im killing you.

porcelain nails

in stuttered shutters
a well rehearsed genuflection
breathes in
breathes out
the olive oil
across your palms
between your
breasts
and across your
temple and tabernacle

you beat me to the punch
caught me hands up
reclining in a wooden chair
over lacquered concrete
waiting to fall
and split the prize
one for me
two for you
salt on our tongues
preserving our languages

///LINE///

my sky is black
my shoes are red
just a mouth full of loose teeth

hold the phone
pump the brakes

crack the glass against
sleeping shoulders and doubled knees
hands done up
hands done up in
pink and blue bouquets

if where ive been
tells me who i am
i lost my way long ago
and i am
i am my kingdom come

less and less and less

the windows are down and the arms are out. the drops cascade in blankets of plush. a summer rain offering gardenias on the warmth.;

several minutes and my hands are numb. the maze of my ears waiting for/ the pulsing of/ the rhythm of/ the needles in/

your heart
your heart
your heart

your voice, your feet, the sheet wrapped and translucent pink between our limbs, under the arms of, leafless trees.

the sparrow on the bough sings the rain that streams into us both

me/without\you
in a cloud at the bottom of a well

(yeah, im the only one here now)

gonna shake these spirits right outta my limbs

and falling through the trees. scratchety scratch scratch; that tiny place at the corner of my eye. the crook where my memories glow like flies.

its better up here
its better up here

///than down at the bottom of a well\\\

when you see the moon once a month, and you hear the crow(nine times it caws),,, you want the water, you want the sky, you take the kaleidoscope of stars [forgetting how far,how irrepressibly radiant,] you take it for yourself. into the hollows, but lose it to: the yawning, the purple and green of morning. every. last. time.

id rather to the pink and blue. the brown-red-blonde. a remembered sigh forgotten before its over. lose it all to the hand on my chest and your breasts drawn (in dawn) against these ribs

years years years

i dig through the earth (between the open,crooked roots of the last willow). shining somewhere below, i can feel it, like sweat collecting on the coast of your spine. cool. salty. despite the summer sweetness of nights tumbling under unbroken clouds.

what was i saying?

where was this going?

must, must, MUST watch

i think i caught a bit of this over on [adult swim] one night... and to be honest, my life has never been the same. i see things ive never seen before and i feel things ive never felt before (like... love).

if you ever intend to speak with me again, you must watch all 6 episodes of garth marenghi's drakplace. here's part one of episode one. after this, youll have to do the rest of the digging yourself... but its well worth it... WELL worth it. you NEED this.

and heres a little gem that pops into my mind every now and then... ENJOY.

youre welcome.

belly of the beast

chris invited me over to his senior show in laguna. he's graduating from the laguna college of art and design in a couple of days and this was essentially the culmination of his artistic education. beautifully inspired (to say the least), i cant wait to see what he does next.

yeah, he really cant bitch about his commute.

the pretense began immediately.

luxurious.

"i may not know art... but i know a good ass." well, he didnt say that... but he would.

been here done this.

2 of 5 (notice... the bastard on the left...)

talk of the town and priced to sell.

yeah, you know... it's gonna be a masterpiece.

he said i could have it when he was done... yeahYEAH (and now its in writing).

bask much?

saturdays = youth

perfect summer album for long warm nights.
.gorgeous.

persimmon (collection of nonsense)

a sable horse. between the trees. a brush stroke of god /// its funny. how she threads her smile. time shakes off like a ripened persimmon.

.it was the crow.

a sable horse. winds its mane /// golden hair. glowing filament. falling like. feedback calling to itself (in) .lustful. .fevered. .tones.

a sable horse. a line of yarn. into (out of) the glen.

( w i d e )

the back
of my head
is
a line of clouds

forgotten blue skies
as black as
inky fingers

an echo
sleeping
in the sand

a midnight tide
slips in
thru
an open mouth

like pollen
into the sky
onto an eyelash

languid.lazy.laconic

its almost funny how this doesnt work. its almost funny how time slips by ///and its more than a year, more than a decade, more than a lifetime/// chasing arrows into the snow. but it only melts and im tired, tired, so tired. sleep tries to crawl over me, running its fingers through my hair, but i cant find the right song. look at me, im scatterbrained. its shaking my head, ready for the roll. here comes the piano, running circles, tripping down the stairs.

im sorry

where is my house

where is my home

there were lazy afternoons. there was time to laze about. languid languid hours. there was time to warm your hands. there was time to listen for echoes and hear the whispers in your hips. there was time.

its almost funny.

[ 2 . 1 8 . 0 8 ]

she takes it all away. there is no recourse. she walks through walls and passes through my skin... but it doesnt hurt, i dont feel a thing,,,, like water trickling from the branches of a naked tree... reaching through the fog... it soaks in and holds my bones. there are dreams, and i often find you there, i turn and see you stealing away with my thoughts, spilling out of your arms like fallen leaves.

she takes it all, she takes it all away. she comes over me like the scent of sunlight, her nails followed by lips, drawing maps, drawing shadows across my back,,, i feel her like an empty glass,,, you can still smell the wine// like an echo without a voice.

((she makes it all go away / and im gone))

one.sixteen.oh-eight

it washes in and it washes out. it takes me and it buries me,,, beneathe the trees beneath the sea beneath the here and now and the then and there. there is no movement in your eyes, there are no sighs that take their time to trace the corners, the hills, the mountains and valleys and glaciers of my ears and and and diving into the pool of your arms through the ring i do my tricks,,, trained and fraught so well., im undone unclosed unprepared for what i say what slips and tumbles from my lips, crows on a tether. but the seasons change, but the shadows crawl, and im older and fatter and slower and less/more complicated i lie less to myself and i know (or at least hope) that when all is said and done, and my children bless their dreams before they slip with a certain ceremony into sleep that i used to enjoy,,, i hope they find a peace, i hope im not tracing the same lines, longing for the same shores, longing for the sea, longing for the limbs reaching for the surface of a black tide. you were my light, but im learning to see in the dark.

when the dawn comes on the blank ocean. will the clouds part,,, or will the rain blur the line between heaven and horizon.