once upon a time
i did that thing that theyve been telling us from the very begining not to do
and i tried to stop the split reel with my hand and i sliced my finger in two places.
but i like it
cuz ill have a scar to show next years freshmen. "look," ill say "dont try to stop a rewind with your hand. youll loose a finger."
and i also like it cuz i get to wear a blue band aid on it.
but it hurt.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Not Editing
Behind a sign on the door that says "im editing in here. go away" i am actually not editing. i am sitting on the editing room floor, writing this poem.
Small Teeth
There's this place in a city somewhere
The part of the city where
The buildings are tight together
And the washing hangs on lines like street fair banners
From your window to my window on a pulley that if pulled the right way
Brings my clothes to me
And the wrong way sends my clothes to you.
It's spring in this part of the city and
Cherry trees that only wish they were cherry trees
They're not really
They're really just pink
which cherries aren't
The cherry trees drop petals but it's fine
They always have more... always.
And the the petals get everywhere
But mostly they gather
In piles in the corners
That the trash cans make with the walls.
After you buzz up and I buzz you inside.
I grin so widely that
I have to cover my mouth even though
There's no one to see
I'm afraid you'll notice how small my teeth are.
And the minute you open the door you can smell
The sweet and stale smell of emulsion on reversal film
Which i know I've told you before
Reminds me of 'The Day After'
Spent in a basement room, looking at the projection screen
Or at the back of the boy's head.
Wondering if he knew that that had been my first kiss
And wondering what I was supposed to do.
And you hand me my whites
Which had ended up through your window
"Thats really just my excuse
For coming to see you." you say
And I smile and show you all my small teeth
Small Teeth
There's this place in a city somewhere
The part of the city where
The buildings are tight together
And the washing hangs on lines like street fair banners
From your window to my window on a pulley that if pulled the right way
Brings my clothes to me
And the wrong way sends my clothes to you.
It's spring in this part of the city and
Cherry trees that only wish they were cherry trees
They're not really
They're really just pink
which cherries aren't
The cherry trees drop petals but it's fine
They always have more... always.
And the the petals get everywhere
But mostly they gather
In piles in the corners
That the trash cans make with the walls.
After you buzz up and I buzz you inside.
I grin so widely that
I have to cover my mouth even though
There's no one to see
I'm afraid you'll notice how small my teeth are.
And the minute you open the door you can smell
The sweet and stale smell of emulsion on reversal film
Which i know I've told you before
Reminds me of 'The Day After'
Spent in a basement room, looking at the projection screen
Or at the back of the boy's head.
Wondering if he knew that that had been my first kiss
And wondering what I was supposed to do.
And you hand me my whites
Which had ended up through your window
"Thats really just my excuse
For coming to see you." you say
And I smile and show you all my small teeth
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Jumpsuit
In this highly hypothetical situation a hypothetical person bought a blue and white striped romper/jumper/ one-piece piece of clothing at the salvation army.
she, the hypothetical person, is wearing it right now.
she likes it.
it looks like summer and a sailboat in the 50's.
when she sits down on the floor and leans over to type on her laptop which is also on the floor in front of her, the jumpsuit, being one piece, does not reveal any part of her but crack.
all in all is quite a wonderful article of clothing apart from the two tiny suspiciously brown stains on hem of the left leg.
but.
the reason i am telling her story, the hypothetical girl's story, is because she is afraid to wear the jumpsuit.
shes afraid of wearing a lot of things.
even things that look good.
its not that she is afraid of looking bad. its quite the opposite actually.
for some reason, that she has begun recently to blame on certain converstations and experiences with women in her childhood- this hypothetical girl is afraid of looking good.
isnt that odd?
i think so.
the sound of the thoughts that accompany this fear are mostly about people noticing that she is trying to look good.
or trying in any way to be anything really.
whats wrong with trying? i asked her quite recently and she said that she didnt think that there was anything wrong with trying. that in fact she loves people who try. it makes them seem alive when they try, try to look good, try to climb a mountain, try to dive off a high dive...
anything that they cannot do that they are trying to do is beautiful to the girl. but somehow in herself... even though shes gottan over most of the problems with looking like shes trying... for instance: she cannot climb a mountain but would not be embarressed for you to see her try to climb a mountain or paint with oil paint of load a bolex camera...
for some reason clothing is still hard...
but
just like 'fat ankels" being her least favorite thing about herself
she supposes that
being afraid to wear a jumpsuit is not the worst thing to be afraid of.
for instance... shed rather feel this fear than a fear of spiders..
or a fear of feet.
she knows people who are afraid of feet and she knows people who are afraid of spiders..
she wonders if effects thier sunny days just as overpoweringly as fear of trying to look good and actually... she doubts that it does.
she, the hypothetical person, is wearing it right now.
she likes it.
it looks like summer and a sailboat in the 50's.
when she sits down on the floor and leans over to type on her laptop which is also on the floor in front of her, the jumpsuit, being one piece, does not reveal any part of her but crack.
all in all is quite a wonderful article of clothing apart from the two tiny suspiciously brown stains on hem of the left leg.
but.
the reason i am telling her story, the hypothetical girl's story, is because she is afraid to wear the jumpsuit.
shes afraid of wearing a lot of things.
even things that look good.
its not that she is afraid of looking bad. its quite the opposite actually.
for some reason, that she has begun recently to blame on certain converstations and experiences with women in her childhood- this hypothetical girl is afraid of looking good.
isnt that odd?
i think so.
the sound of the thoughts that accompany this fear are mostly about people noticing that she is trying to look good.
or trying in any way to be anything really.
whats wrong with trying? i asked her quite recently and she said that she didnt think that there was anything wrong with trying. that in fact she loves people who try. it makes them seem alive when they try, try to look good, try to climb a mountain, try to dive off a high dive...
anything that they cannot do that they are trying to do is beautiful to the girl. but somehow in herself... even though shes gottan over most of the problems with looking like shes trying... for instance: she cannot climb a mountain but would not be embarressed for you to see her try to climb a mountain or paint with oil paint of load a bolex camera...
for some reason clothing is still hard...
but
just like 'fat ankels" being her least favorite thing about herself
she supposes that
being afraid to wear a jumpsuit is not the worst thing to be afraid of.
for instance... shed rather feel this fear than a fear of spiders..
or a fear of feet.
she knows people who are afraid of feet and she knows people who are afraid of spiders..
she wonders if effects thier sunny days just as overpoweringly as fear of trying to look good and actually... she doubts that it does.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Making the Monster
im typing on my white mac keys with black fingers... ive been making a monster.
a huge black monster with hands where its eyes should be.
and angel wings... white feathers hot glued to chicken wire attached on hinges to a harness that looks like a gun holster.
im making a movie...
the movie is about a play.
my main character is the costume designer/ creature designer for the play.
the character/ the filmmaker (heh me) makes these creatures and brings them to the theater and the actors try on their wings and devil horns and yeah....
i ran out of hot glue so i have to wait to get a ride to AC more the get more.
i really need to learn to drive.
i used to say i didnt need a license because i got along so well with my parents that i could always ride int eh car with them... that was a stupid thing to say.
because now im nineteen and i dont have a license and i need more hot glue.
"and i do believe its true that there are roads left in both of our shoes and if the silence takes you then i hope it takes me too."
im listening to last years playlists on my computer. because i havent been on this computer in like a year because ive had my lap top at school with me...
"i want to float higher above waves of electric wire and stare down onto the street. i see you drunk with cute glazed eyes. telling me about the girl i should meet someday."
Monday, March 22, 2010
fog
This morning i woke up and my window- which is bigger than the average dorm room window- because this room used to a be lounge- so the window is the whole wall- the window was all white.
Copmletely white with fog. i couldnt see the other square brick dorm across teh quad. i couldnt see anything but the branches of the tree that is right outside the glass.
and then i sat a up a little more and i could just barely make out the outline of the building across the quad and the tress across the quad and now i can look down and see the grass...
and i wish it were all white again.
i like being nowhere.
i wrote a story a million years ago (like three or four years ago) it was about a girl named Danya who lived in The Mist. The Mist seperated two halves of an island and the people on one half, the warm half, dont know that the people on the other half, the cold half, exist. and vice versa.
Danya is the only one who goes back and forth because she is the only one who knows that there is another side of the island and she is the only one who knows how to get through the mist. as far as the people are concerned the mist is one end of the world and the sea is the other half.
This is the story, or the introduction to the story. I never wrote more than an introduction. i didnt care what happened my worlds i just created them and set down the realities and characters and rules... Then lost interest.
I Wrote this when i was fifteen. i know that because the girl in the story is fifteen.... enjoy.
To the south the River Folk are stirring and stepping out onto the beach, the children are bathing in the warm ocean laughing and splashing each other in the pink rays of the sunrise.
To the north the people of ice and snow, the Grenyens, are reawakening the last nights fires and shivering in the never ending cold. The sun does not shine on them, it is hidden behind the grey clouds which promises more snow before the day is out.
A thin barrier of mist is all the separates the to different countries, the are in fact part of the same island that, if traversed in a very straight line, would take no more then three weeks to cross on foot. But the people know nothing of each other.
Within the mists there is nothing, nothing but swirling whiteness, and in the precise middle of the fog, a sleeping fifteen year old girl.
She is the only one, as far as she knows, to move between the countries. She sleeps on the ground with no shelter and no blanket but the mist, the ground feels like snow and water, and ice and sand, not warm or cold. She sleeps with her head on her arms and her legs curled close to her body.
Her hair is black and curling like that of the river folk, her hair is the only thing that seems solid about her.
Her skin is the bright white of the mist and like that of the Grenyens, and her shift is of the lightest white silk similar to those worm by the River folk but they wear their’s decorated and in the most beautiful colors.
There is no shift in light or any animal call to mark to coming of the morning, but Danya knows and she is awake.
She stands and looks around. Hanging around her neck is a tiny silver compass, though she never looses her bearings the compass is a nessasary precaution in a world where nothing looks the same from day to day.
Kneeling next to the spot where she was sleeping she places a hand on the ground and finds a thin rope of what looks like solid gass or liquid metal, she pulls it up and a trap door opens at her feet. She slips inside and closes the door quickly after her, so that the mist cannot fill the cave.
Inside hanging on the walls are clothes from every island she has visted. She steps out of the white shift and hangs it on an empty hook.
She stands naked before the many garments thinking which she should wear and where she should visit today.
She decides on the river folk and slips into their small shirt a flowing skirt of blue cotton. She also takes the furs of the north and places them in a bag for later.
She leaves the cave and secures the trap door. Standing upon it she checks the compass unnessasarily, out of habit, and sets off. She’ll spend the morning in the warm water under palm trees and the afternoon hunting in the snow.
Copmletely white with fog. i couldnt see the other square brick dorm across teh quad. i couldnt see anything but the branches of the tree that is right outside the glass.
and then i sat a up a little more and i could just barely make out the outline of the building across the quad and the tress across the quad and now i can look down and see the grass...
and i wish it were all white again.
i like being nowhere.
i wrote a story a million years ago (like three or four years ago) it was about a girl named Danya who lived in The Mist. The Mist seperated two halves of an island and the people on one half, the warm half, dont know that the people on the other half, the cold half, exist. and vice versa.
Danya is the only one who goes back and forth because she is the only one who knows that there is another side of the island and she is the only one who knows how to get through the mist. as far as the people are concerned the mist is one end of the world and the sea is the other half.
This is the story, or the introduction to the story. I never wrote more than an introduction. i didnt care what happened my worlds i just created them and set down the realities and characters and rules... Then lost interest.
I Wrote this when i was fifteen. i know that because the girl in the story is fifteen.... enjoy.
To the south the River Folk are stirring and stepping out onto the beach, the children are bathing in the warm ocean laughing and splashing each other in the pink rays of the sunrise.
To the north the people of ice and snow, the Grenyens, are reawakening the last nights fires and shivering in the never ending cold. The sun does not shine on them, it is hidden behind the grey clouds which promises more snow before the day is out.
A thin barrier of mist is all the separates the to different countries, the are in fact part of the same island that, if traversed in a very straight line, would take no more then three weeks to cross on foot. But the people know nothing of each other.
Within the mists there is nothing, nothing but swirling whiteness, and in the precise middle of the fog, a sleeping fifteen year old girl.
She is the only one, as far as she knows, to move between the countries. She sleeps on the ground with no shelter and no blanket but the mist, the ground feels like snow and water, and ice and sand, not warm or cold. She sleeps with her head on her arms and her legs curled close to her body.
Her hair is black and curling like that of the river folk, her hair is the only thing that seems solid about her.
Her skin is the bright white of the mist and like that of the Grenyens, and her shift is of the lightest white silk similar to those worm by the River folk but they wear their’s decorated and in the most beautiful colors.
There is no shift in light or any animal call to mark to coming of the morning, but Danya knows and she is awake.
She stands and looks around. Hanging around her neck is a tiny silver compass, though she never looses her bearings the compass is a nessasary precaution in a world where nothing looks the same from day to day.
Kneeling next to the spot where she was sleeping she places a hand on the ground and finds a thin rope of what looks like solid gass or liquid metal, she pulls it up and a trap door opens at her feet. She slips inside and closes the door quickly after her, so that the mist cannot fill the cave.
Inside hanging on the walls are clothes from every island she has visted. She steps out of the white shift and hangs it on an empty hook.
She stands naked before the many garments thinking which she should wear and where she should visit today.
She decides on the river folk and slips into their small shirt a flowing skirt of blue cotton. She also takes the furs of the north and places them in a bag for later.
She leaves the cave and secures the trap door. Standing upon it she checks the compass unnessasarily, out of habit, and sets off. She’ll spend the morning in the warm water under palm trees and the afternoon hunting in the snow.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Spring
One of the first times that i fell in love i was fifteen.
He was the keyboard player in the celtic canadian group that sang at the music festival at Green Meadow.
It rained on the festival that year and i was wearing a dark blue dress with a yellow and lighter blue patturn, a tight elastic threaded top and a ruffle around the skirt.
i wasnt wearing a bra, i remember that, because the tight elastic threaded top of the dress was tight and worked like a bra and i was dancing, barefoot in the muddy grass in the rain.
and the bands wernt playing because they were afraid of being electricuted because of the rain.
and the kid, the keyboard playing canadian danced in the mud with me.
at first he didnt want to. I said "dance with me!" and he said that he couldnt get wet because then when he went onstage it would look like he was sweating. And i laughed at that. He was standing under the tent, staying dry
and then
after a little while, of him watching me dance
he danced with me.
and held my hands and spun around.
i remember he was eighteen.
i remember i thought that was way to old to think anything about me, i felt so little.
i remember i thought that he liked me.
i remember when it dawned one me that eighteen year olds were allowed to like fifteen year olds and allowed to dance with them.
and i remember my legs were covered in mud.
and when he went onstage he did look like he was sweating and i felt bad.
and they played the song that i asked them to play. they had done it earlier and i really liked it and asked him if they would do it again. and they did.
and then he left, at the end of the day
and even though i was pretty sure that i would marry him
im not sure about that anymore.
i dont remember his name.
i spose i could google it.
the band is moderately legit now.
He was the keyboard player in the celtic canadian group that sang at the music festival at Green Meadow.
It rained on the festival that year and i was wearing a dark blue dress with a yellow and lighter blue patturn, a tight elastic threaded top and a ruffle around the skirt.
i wasnt wearing a bra, i remember that, because the tight elastic threaded top of the dress was tight and worked like a bra and i was dancing, barefoot in the muddy grass in the rain.
and the bands wernt playing because they were afraid of being electricuted because of the rain.
and the kid, the keyboard playing canadian danced in the mud with me.
at first he didnt want to. I said "dance with me!" and he said that he couldnt get wet because then when he went onstage it would look like he was sweating. And i laughed at that. He was standing under the tent, staying dry
and then
after a little while, of him watching me dance
he danced with me.
and held my hands and spun around.
i remember he was eighteen.
i remember i thought that was way to old to think anything about me, i felt so little.
i remember i thought that he liked me.
i remember when it dawned one me that eighteen year olds were allowed to like fifteen year olds and allowed to dance with them.
and i remember my legs were covered in mud.
and when he went onstage he did look like he was sweating and i felt bad.
and they played the song that i asked them to play. they had done it earlier and i really liked it and asked him if they would do it again. and they did.
and then he left, at the end of the day
and even though i was pretty sure that i would marry him
im not sure about that anymore.
i dont remember his name.
i spose i could google it.
the band is moderately legit now.
Sunny Day On The High Line
"look molly, its simba."
Kid: bla bla..something something.. reshoot... bla bla character.
me: are they talking about film?
john: yeah ive been listening to them for ten minutes
me: are they flim kids?
molly: yeah. NYU. i heard them say NYU
me: (sitting up and looking over) omgod! they all have filmmaker glasses. all of them. all the same glasses!
(they did. one girl and four boys, all the same rectangular thick framed glasses)
me:am i grinding your hip bones into the ground?
molly: i dont really know where my hip bones are right now.
...sunlight is blue.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Today its raining in a misty way and i have no classes and i have to write a screenplay and my garbage smells like rotten rice.
Yesterday Plum, the beta fish that molly bought for her film, died. We came into the soundstage and plum was swimming upside down and then plum stopped swimming and we were sure he was dead and then he started twitching his fins and then we flushed him town the toilet.
And i thought. We could have left Plum anywhere... in the water fountain, on the floor in the hallway...
i thought: fish can only be in water. and about how odd that is and about how id never want to touch a fish in the air but how its okay to carry one in a bowl and about how thin a bowl is and how if i was swimming i wouldnt mind touching a fish.
Tomorrow i will eat the second half of my avocado for breakfast.
Today i ate the first half and i ate pieces of rosemary bread.
Tonight i will have finished my screenplay and sent it to my class so they can read it.
Tonight i will wear pants to sleep so that I'm not cold again.
Last night i was cold.
The screenplay is about a boy who lives in a college town but doesnt go to college.
He's friends with a girl who goes to the college.
He's kind of in love with her but maybe not.
The asignment for the screenplay was "a flaw."
i think my character's flaw is that he doesnt know what he wants to do.
The second half of the asignment, which i am pretending to have forgottan about, is "the worst thing that could happen to a person with this flaw." so put a person into the worst case scenerio for someone who has the flaw that you've given your person...
Worst case scenerio...
actually, it might work.
if my guy's flaw is that he doesnt know what he wants than maybe the worst thing that could happen to him would be that he falls in love with someone who knows what she wants.
i mean, the bigger picuture is that its not the worst thing, that she will actually solve his flaw for him, maybe, help him want things...
but as far as he's converned, from the inside of his flaw, he's pretty content to be where he is and he doesnt want someone pointing out to him that he shouldnt want to be where he is.
Today i will waste 80 feet of 16mm because on saturday i shot only a tiny bit of a roll because im silly. and i have to give the camera back and so i obviously have to take my film out so i have to finish the roll.
im going to film the rain.
Yesterday Plum, the beta fish that molly bought for her film, died. We came into the soundstage and plum was swimming upside down and then plum stopped swimming and we were sure he was dead and then he started twitching his fins and then we flushed him town the toilet.
And i thought. We could have left Plum anywhere... in the water fountain, on the floor in the hallway...
i thought: fish can only be in water. and about how odd that is and about how id never want to touch a fish in the air but how its okay to carry one in a bowl and about how thin a bowl is and how if i was swimming i wouldnt mind touching a fish.
Tomorrow i will eat the second half of my avocado for breakfast.
Today i ate the first half and i ate pieces of rosemary bread.
Tonight i will have finished my screenplay and sent it to my class so they can read it.
Tonight i will wear pants to sleep so that I'm not cold again.
Last night i was cold.
The screenplay is about a boy who lives in a college town but doesnt go to college.
He's friends with a girl who goes to the college.
He's kind of in love with her but maybe not.
The asignment for the screenplay was "a flaw."
i think my character's flaw is that he doesnt know what he wants to do.
The second half of the asignment, which i am pretending to have forgottan about, is "the worst thing that could happen to a person with this flaw." so put a person into the worst case scenerio for someone who has the flaw that you've given your person...
Worst case scenerio...
actually, it might work.
if my guy's flaw is that he doesnt know what he wants than maybe the worst thing that could happen to him would be that he falls in love with someone who knows what she wants.
i mean, the bigger picuture is that its not the worst thing, that she will actually solve his flaw for him, maybe, help him want things...
but as far as he's converned, from the inside of his flaw, he's pretty content to be where he is and he doesnt want someone pointing out to him that he shouldnt want to be where he is.
Today i will waste 80 feet of 16mm because on saturday i shot only a tiny bit of a roll because im silly. and i have to give the camera back and so i obviously have to take my film out so i have to finish the roll.
im going to film the rain.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Regression
when it snows here we all forget how old we are.
actually the truth is that we remember how old we are and we scream in terror at the thought of being so old and we run outside and race away from our twenties and back to our toddler years and we build snow men and snow forts.
we put on our mittens before our jackets so that our sleeves are on the outside of our mittens and no snow or cold gets it.
we ask our friends to zip our zippers so we dont have to take off our mittens.
we pull our socks out of our boots, over our jeans. we let our hair fall into our eyes. we let our cheeks turn red.
everyone is cuter in the snow... i think.
red cheeks, frizzy hair, big smiles, sniffling noses, bright colored hats.
im watching them from my window.
on the last snow day i built a chair. molly, jordan, molly and i built a chair.
in the back of my mind i was eight years old and grinning. in the front of my mind i was trying to build the best most chair like chair out snow.
it became an assignment.
a few yards away some kids were building a snow fort. molding snow bricks inside a plastic bin. we are civilized, we have taken an architecture corse, we know about the indiginus peoples of the south pole, we know they built igloos with snow bricks.
look at our technology. this is how we have fun in the snow.
and it is fun.
but... in a differnt sort of way.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
A Tiny FIlm
this is the film i blogged about a few months ago.
i video taped the screen of the steenbeck. hence the ridiculously bad quality.
i video taped the screen of the steenbeck. hence the ridiculously bad quality.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Wolf With The Red Roses
Last night, in john's car, while we were lost somewhere in westchester, trying, half heartedly, to get back to campus (half heartedly because we both enjoy being lost and had admitted that, as long as we didnt have to pee and as long as the car had a tank of gsa, we didnt need to be found just yet) he played me a meatloaf song that started with this silly little exchange that he told me is supposed to be marriage vows.
man: On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
woman:Will he offer me his mouth?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his teeth?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his jaws?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his hunger?
man: Yes!
woman: Again, will he offer me his hunger?
man:Yes!
woman: And will he starve without me?
man: Yes!
woman: And does he love me?
man: Yes!
woman: yes!
man: On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
woman: Yes!
man: i bet you say that to all the boys.
And what i think about it is this:
Will she starve with being eaten? Will he offer her his throat? Does she love him?
And if this question had been posed to me, i would have answered: Well, Sir, it would depend entirely on the amount of swagger of the wolf in question.
If the wolf has enough swagger for my taste, than sure, sure, have my throat.
And by the way, what im measuring when i measure swagger is this: The probability that the wolf will be able to swallow and stomach me and the probability that he will choke.
man: On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
woman:Will he offer me his mouth?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his teeth?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his jaws?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his hunger?
man: Yes!
woman: Again, will he offer me his hunger?
man:Yes!
woman: And will he starve without me?
man: Yes!
woman: And does he love me?
man: Yes!
woman: yes!
man: On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
woman: Yes!
man: i bet you say that to all the boys.
And what i think about it is this:
Will she starve with being eaten? Will he offer her his throat? Does she love him?
And if this question had been posed to me, i would have answered: Well, Sir, it would depend entirely on the amount of swagger of the wolf in question.
If the wolf has enough swagger for my taste, than sure, sure, have my throat.
And by the way, what im measuring when i measure swagger is this: The probability that the wolf will be able to swallow and stomach me and the probability that he will choke.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Starbucks
"what should i write about?"
"whats it for?" he asks
"for thinking about something other than my film."
"im telling you, blog about me." she says from the next chair. we're all sitting in easy chairs in starbucks, all behind our matching apple logos. we're sharing one charger cord. we're both at 19% battery.
"why?" i ask her. "why should i blog about you?"
"im ferociously inspiring. do it..." i read that line, '"im ferociously inspiring. do it...' out loud, back to her, as i i type it here.
"tell me you typed that and didnt just recount it from memory."
"no" I say and type at the same time "the only things i can recount from memory are Gandalf monologues."
"do one."
"are you serious?"
"yeah."
i cant bring myself to say it out loud so ill type it here: "so do all who live to see such times but that is not for them to decide. all you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you...
"what did you do to your hand?" i ask him, out loud.
"i cut my hand with a hatchet, while chopping wood. isnt that the most manly injury ever?"
"getting shot is the most manly... no. they're like on the same level." that was the boy on the next couch. hes trying to write a poem for an application. "im not a poet." hes staring into space, i wander if hes thinking in witty rhyming cuplets. hes the only Dell around our short flat table. "how do you spell damaged?" he asks the girl in the blue rain boots whos reading a hardcover book without a jacket and playing with a piece of her blonde ponytail.
"op. katie i want that car." shes looking out the window, "look behind you, the yellow jeep. a yellow jeep with all the jeep accessories. thats my dream car."
theres a girl on the starbucks line wearing a short orange jacket and skinny jeans. she has long dirty blond hair thats kind of wavy and thrown over her shoulder and coght in her orange hood.
shes standing with all her weight on one foot and holding her wallet in the hand thats hanging by her side.
im watching her and pretending she is sophia.
all that, all that description, that all looks like sophia...
sophia moved to san francisco this year.
she defferred all her college admissions and moved to San Francisco.
"what are you going to do?" we asked her.
"work. make money. build up my portfolio."
...be a real perosn.
i throw that phrase around.
"a real person."
basically what ive decided constitutes reality has a lot to do with independence and fast moving decision making. spontinaity.
"how do you spell spontinaity?"
"i dont know."
"its okay. i never spell things right on my blog. my readers dont expect it from me." i smile in a pretentious way
"i could never blog."
"what?"
"i could never blog. i dont have that thirst to connect with other people."
"by the way im typing everything you say" i say and type.
"o i figured that out. thats why im not going to tell you the saddest story of my life... cuz youll write it down... what if i stop talking?"
"i dont know."
shes stopped talking.
"uhhh. im so hunry." she begins again. "theoretically if a person eats a chip they shouldnt be hungry anymore."
there are two acting students rehearsing a scene behind me.
as they memorize more and more of the diologue its gets more and more bizzare to listen to them. right now the girl is putting on her jacket, theyre getting ready to leave but shes still rattling off some argumentitive outburst, completely contrasting to the way shes nonchalantly zipping up her zipper.
Friday, February 12, 2010
driving
in my dream i was driving on the highway between home and the mall. i was going to see a movie. i was excited.
but the sun was shining in my eyes and i suddenly i couldnt see.
i was driving but the sun was so bright in my eyes (i realized later as i woke up that, in real life, the sun was shining on my face through the window) i coudnt open my eyes, even to stare into the sun, it was as thought my unconcious brain functions had taken over, for my eye's preservation. "you will not look into the sun, it will hurt you." was what i imagined my brain was thinking and it continued to squint and shut my eyes while i tried to watch the road.
-ive had dreams like this before. dreams where the fact that i am asleep, the feeling that my real body is feeling of my eyes being closed, begins to infiltrate the dream and in the dream some circumstance arrises where i cannot open my eyes.
anyway, i was driving and i couldnt open my eyes and i kept thinking, i should really pull over but i cant pull over because i cant see how to pull over, maybe i should stop but im on the highway and if i stop the people behind me will crash into me.
so
as i began to wake up i began, right away, to analyze the dream.
i dont like analyzing dreams by 'meanings' that someone else has assigned to them. usually i like to analyze my dreams by the way they make me feel. i mean, they are inside my brain so they are created by me so the analyzations should be created by me as well.
now, that said, there are some symbols that i like. and that make sense to me and that my brain, uses (i suppose) to communicate with itself because the brain that creates the dreams is the same one that is going to analyze them later... so anyway- my brain likes driving as a symbol.
driving is supposed to symbolize life. which is pretty straight forward.
if you are driving you are driving you life.
if you are in the passenger seat take note of who it is who is driving you life.
if you are about to go over a cliff and you are driving... thats interesting. if you are about to go over a cliff and someone else is driving... thats interesting.
anyway
i am driving down a highway very very fast, blinded by sunlight, unable to see, but still feeling, under the fear and confusion, intense frustration that this really extreme emergency of a situation is preventing me from getting to the mall where the movie that i want to see is happening.
that was the feeling of the dream...
this huge life altering possibly deathly situation and im so incredibly frustrated that it seems i will have to take myself off the road and not make it to my movie, or die and not make it to my movie.
and even though dying is something that im scared of, the bigger fear was that i would die and not make it to the movie.
anyway
i think that i made that point like eight times.
i woke up and wondered if the dream was about the stress of planning and making my freshmen final film.
but i think its more about even though im pretty clueless about what im doing, im still blindly hurtling towards it really really fast pretending that i know how to drive, pretending that i know how to drive blind and pretending that im worried about dying. but really i have no idea what im doing, or how to do it and im definatly not afraid of anything... which is kinda strange.
but the sun was shining in my eyes and i suddenly i couldnt see.
i was driving but the sun was so bright in my eyes (i realized later as i woke up that, in real life, the sun was shining on my face through the window) i coudnt open my eyes, even to stare into the sun, it was as thought my unconcious brain functions had taken over, for my eye's preservation. "you will not look into the sun, it will hurt you." was what i imagined my brain was thinking and it continued to squint and shut my eyes while i tried to watch the road.
-ive had dreams like this before. dreams where the fact that i am asleep, the feeling that my real body is feeling of my eyes being closed, begins to infiltrate the dream and in the dream some circumstance arrises where i cannot open my eyes.
anyway, i was driving and i couldnt open my eyes and i kept thinking, i should really pull over but i cant pull over because i cant see how to pull over, maybe i should stop but im on the highway and if i stop the people behind me will crash into me.
so
as i began to wake up i began, right away, to analyze the dream.
i dont like analyzing dreams by 'meanings' that someone else has assigned to them. usually i like to analyze my dreams by the way they make me feel. i mean, they are inside my brain so they are created by me so the analyzations should be created by me as well.
now, that said, there are some symbols that i like. and that make sense to me and that my brain, uses (i suppose) to communicate with itself because the brain that creates the dreams is the same one that is going to analyze them later... so anyway- my brain likes driving as a symbol.
driving is supposed to symbolize life. which is pretty straight forward.
if you are driving you are driving you life.
if you are in the passenger seat take note of who it is who is driving you life.
if you are about to go over a cliff and you are driving... thats interesting. if you are about to go over a cliff and someone else is driving... thats interesting.
anyway
i am driving down a highway very very fast, blinded by sunlight, unable to see, but still feeling, under the fear and confusion, intense frustration that this really extreme emergency of a situation is preventing me from getting to the mall where the movie that i want to see is happening.
that was the feeling of the dream...
this huge life altering possibly deathly situation and im so incredibly frustrated that it seems i will have to take myself off the road and not make it to my movie, or die and not make it to my movie.
and even though dying is something that im scared of, the bigger fear was that i would die and not make it to the movie.
anyway
i think that i made that point like eight times.
i woke up and wondered if the dream was about the stress of planning and making my freshmen final film.
but i think its more about even though im pretty clueless about what im doing, im still blindly hurtling towards it really really fast pretending that i know how to drive, pretending that i know how to drive blind and pretending that im worried about dying. but really i have no idea what im doing, or how to do it and im definatly not afraid of anything... which is kinda strange.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Tattoo
i dreamed i had a tattoo on my chest of an egyptian looking couple, facing eachother, like egyiptian drawings do, in profile.
a man and a woman, inside a ancient style border. they were both very narrow and they almost fit on the center of my chest.
my chest was disproportionate and too wide.
i was lying on the hill in front of the kindergarden building at green meadow.
i think the fall fair was going on.
i was lying on my back and leaning forward with just my neck, to look at the tattoo.
and i couldnt remember if it was real so i picked at it like one might scratch at a temporary tattoo.
instead of peeling or not peeling the lines of the tattoo started to lift out of my, leaving indentations where they peeled away.
as though they were metel strips that had been welded into these crevices in my skin, like i had been carved and then the lines of the carving had been filled with molten medal that then hardened but was still moldable, like wax.
i peeled the metel out and off and it left a crevice in my chest and i thought "what will my breasts be fastened to?"
because there was empty space under them, a dent, a reverse relief, in the shape of that couple facing eachother.
and then a boy ran down the hill and i quickly covered my chest with my shirt.
and the boy lay down on top of me
and told me that he was in love with me
and that he hoped that was okay with me
and did i want to try him out.
i dont remember what words he used but it was something like that like "please just give me a try, see if you like me."
and he asked if he could pull the rest of the metel out of me with his teeth, like that would turn him on. like he thought it was turn me on.
so i let him
and he bit at the metel strips and pulled them off me which didnt hurt but felt odd.
and i lay on the hill in front of the green meadow kindergarden bulding, while the fall fair was going on, while he was pulling metal out of me and i thought about how i would try very hard to love him, but i didnt now. not yet.
a man and a woman, inside a ancient style border. they were both very narrow and they almost fit on the center of my chest.
my chest was disproportionate and too wide.
i was lying on the hill in front of the kindergarden building at green meadow.
i think the fall fair was going on.
i was lying on my back and leaning forward with just my neck, to look at the tattoo.
and i couldnt remember if it was real so i picked at it like one might scratch at a temporary tattoo.
instead of peeling or not peeling the lines of the tattoo started to lift out of my, leaving indentations where they peeled away.
as though they were metel strips that had been welded into these crevices in my skin, like i had been carved and then the lines of the carving had been filled with molten medal that then hardened but was still moldable, like wax.
i peeled the metel out and off and it left a crevice in my chest and i thought "what will my breasts be fastened to?"
because there was empty space under them, a dent, a reverse relief, in the shape of that couple facing eachother.
and then a boy ran down the hill and i quickly covered my chest with my shirt.
and the boy lay down on top of me
and told me that he was in love with me
and that he hoped that was okay with me
and did i want to try him out.
i dont remember what words he used but it was something like that like "please just give me a try, see if you like me."
and he asked if he could pull the rest of the metel out of me with his teeth, like that would turn him on. like he thought it was turn me on.
so i let him
and he bit at the metel strips and pulled them off me which didnt hurt but felt odd.
and i lay on the hill in front of the green meadow kindergarden bulding, while the fall fair was going on, while he was pulling metal out of me and i thought about how i would try very hard to love him, but i didnt now. not yet.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
clean
id like to be cleaner.
id like to not feel like my clothes are contaminating.
i don't know why me feet have started to smell and i dont know why there are red lines like scratches on my back.
in target i put on a leprican hat and it left green sparkles on my forehead, the tops of my cheeks, n the hood of my jacket and in my eyebrows.
tonight, while watching avatar for the second time, i left the theater to pee and ran down the hall so i wouldnt miss much of the film and while i was running on the black carpet between the red rope lights i realized that i was running because avatar makes me want to run. it makes me want to run to get somewhere to do somthing that i love.
the silly thing is that movies are what i love so i was running to get back to my seat to get back to the world in the screen. and the blue people in the movie are running to run because they love to climb in their trees and their running to teach jake sully how to run or shes running to leap and fall and shes falling to get to the ground to kill a animal to hunt.
id like to be more windswept.
i drank a sip of water from a water bottle on my dresser adn i realized that that water had been there for about two months and was probably dusty
dusty water
id like to be less dusty.
my hair grows in the winter. its grown at least an inch in three months.
i bought a silver ring with a moonstone in it.
i hope it doesnt turn my finger green.
im going to take a shower.
and pretend im a blue person in a water fall.
i hope i get cleaner.
i hope the red lines on my back go away.
id like to not feel like my clothes are contaminating.
i don't know why me feet have started to smell and i dont know why there are red lines like scratches on my back.
in target i put on a leprican hat and it left green sparkles on my forehead, the tops of my cheeks, n the hood of my jacket and in my eyebrows.
tonight, while watching avatar for the second time, i left the theater to pee and ran down the hall so i wouldnt miss much of the film and while i was running on the black carpet between the red rope lights i realized that i was running because avatar makes me want to run. it makes me want to run to get somewhere to do somthing that i love.
the silly thing is that movies are what i love so i was running to get back to my seat to get back to the world in the screen. and the blue people in the movie are running to run because they love to climb in their trees and their running to teach jake sully how to run or shes running to leap and fall and shes falling to get to the ground to kill a animal to hunt.
id like to be more windswept.
i drank a sip of water from a water bottle on my dresser adn i realized that that water had been there for about two months and was probably dusty
dusty water
id like to be less dusty.
my hair grows in the winter. its grown at least an inch in three months.
i bought a silver ring with a moonstone in it.
i hope it doesnt turn my finger green.
im going to take a shower.
and pretend im a blue person in a water fall.
i hope i get cleaner.
i hope the red lines on my back go away.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
crying
we watched Adam yesterday.
It's about Adam who has aperbergers and Beth who doesnt. and how she takes care of him and how she loves him and how he, in every way possible, doesnt know what to do.
i cried.
the last time i cried in a movie
was the last time i saw Adam.
i dont cry in movies.
i dont cry a happiness and i dont cry at sadness.
what makes me cry in adam is when he is standing at his door, and Beth who invited him to go out, is calling to him from the hall, and he CANT he just CANT go.
he sits on the floor and opens his hands wide and stretches his fingers. and presses his palms against his face and he just cant go!
what makes me cry is the fear of everything!
but its not normal fear its literally fear of fear.
he has no idea what to do. he doesnt have an idea of an idea of what to do.
he literally paralyzed by nothing. but the lack of understanding.
all he does is misunderstand and be misunderstood. but as far as being misunderstood he doesnt even understand hes been misunderstood.
its the most heart wrenchingly solution-less situation.
but hes trying!
really really trying but
but
how do you try?
and how do you explain that youre trying and how do you try?
and this is how i used to feel when i didnt do my homework.
btw, mommy, this is how i used to feel.
i could tell you why i should do it.
i wanted to do it.
but, first of all. i didnt know how, i didnt understand, i was so fucking frustrated with the "you poeople" of the education system because they didnt follow common sense, and everything else that iw as feeling while i understood, because im smart because "albert einstien, thomas jefferson, motzart, they all had lots of imagination." i am smart and i know its rediculous to feel this way of this. just do the fucking homework, just open the door.
but i CANT!
so i sit on the floor and press my strechted out palms over my eyes and cry.
but that was then.
now the only time i feel like that is when i watch this movie.
so i hide under the blanket and whisper "i love this movie. i love this movie" until one of the mollys kicks me.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Story
who was it who said
"write what you know"
its good advice
and i do it.
but sometimes i get confused and write what i am
and think that that is what im supposed to do.
and then during critique
my teachers say
"its all one note"
"not much happens"
"your characters sound confused"
"this character doesn't know what she wants."
and i say
"yes it is"
" isnt that the truth"
" she is confused"
" and no she doesn't."
"write what you know"
its good advice
and i do it.
but sometimes i get confused and write what i am
and think that that is what im supposed to do.
and then during critique
my teachers say
"its all one note"
"not much happens"
"your characters sound confused"
"this character doesn't know what she wants."
and i say
"yes it is"
" isnt that the truth"
" she is confused"
" and no she doesn't."
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