Monday, January 17, 2011
Screenwriting
I did it. Almost 11 pages of crap. It's all based on a theory that makes lots of sense philosophically...that it's easier to rearrange things when there are things to rearrange, and until now I have been constantly rearranging as I went. This prevented finishing....well so the theory goes. I am going to try it. So far, 11 pages..............of crap.
No seriously I am actually doing it. I am a writer today. All the other days were fakes. All the other, "This is really it!" speeches were lies. There is no reason for me to even believe myself, but somehow, against the odds, I really think, feel and believe this is it!
Today I start the hard part of something that comes so easy to me. Everything has always come so easy to me. Everything was possible and available, and I was always so sure I could have it I didn't even try. Until now.
Today I start the hard part of something that comes so easy to me. Everything has always come so easy to me. Everything was possible and available, and I was always so sure I could have it I didn't even try. Until now.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
I don't know.....I've been thinking about it a lot. I would love to feel like this was a space that was safe, but I can't even end that sentence with a period....not one declarative statement without doubts peeking over my shoulder. Wait...that's a bad metaphor being that doubts sit atop a large cushy neck supported by my shoulders.
This just doesn't feel safe. It seems ill advised to make this the place. There is danger in being public but a word doc doesn't have the performance aspect that drives expression. If it's not here then it's a bunch of, "Oh yeah." Then nodding and not typing. Who reads this?
Who could read this? Why do I care. I am a tactician. I do not say what I think. I say what I think is appropriate, which leads to the question:
Is this safe? No, and no, that's not the question.
Is this ill advised? Yes, still not the question.
Ah....I have it. Is it worth the risk?
Well for the moment what risk...who the hell cares! I will ease into it.
Now where was I.....Cramerton, NC 1978 or so.
Houses were places where the floors echoed with even children's steps. If you were in an official place the floors were silent almost despite you, but in the houses where I lived at that time even my footed pajama covered feet flogged rhythmically about the house. The house I live in now only has one room that ripples throughout, and that's fittingly my office....the rest has the serenity of a schoolhouse or courthouse or hospital or church....no. The church had warped plyboard floors as if put down by some well intentioned member who overstated his qualifications in the planning. I bet that floor is still the closest thing that church has to a pipe organ....that and a stout lady named Rhonda.
Yes....Rhonda is real, but this isn't what I'm really thinking. Hard floors mean nothing to me now, but I think their sounds must have informed me then. If you were to be walked, blindfolded through buildings; police stations or someone's grandmother's single wide you would know a great deal about the culture you were visiting just from the feel of the floor and the sound.
The floor seems a fitting way to start, and I might have loads of other insights if I hadn't moved on so quickly. One day the put me down on my belly to wiggle and the next thing you know I was getting things out of the fridge on my own, and my footed pajamas were a victim as so many pieces of clothing and the feet became bell bottomed style faux feet hanging inches above mine ever growing own left uncovered slapping around a house with kick drum floors. I remember a picture of me feeding a goat.
It will have to wait. I hope it does.
I am more excited about tomorrow than Christmas. There are no obstacles. I will be a writer for the day... a little writing a little french study, a little drum learning/practice.....a late day walk. Working biceps and triceps and something quite tough on my shoulders.....a little painting in the early evening...just getting back in to it, just picking up something that was unfinished last winter. Something like Fluticasone sp? has turned me from a guy spending hours sneezing per day to 10 sneezes in a month tops....I just had one and didn't hate all existence, quite a change....I recommend it heartily.
Strawberry oatmeal for breakfast. Aderall. Great coffee! I will not be hungry for my light lunch until 10 pm by which time I hope I am ready to start it all over.
Gotta shoot for 10 pages. I will let you know how it goes, but right now is bed time. Aurevoir bonne nuit, dormir bien.....schlaff gut, suss traume, buenos noches a tu y a tus.
Tomorrow I am a writer!
This just doesn't feel safe. It seems ill advised to make this the place. There is danger in being public but a word doc doesn't have the performance aspect that drives expression. If it's not here then it's a bunch of, "Oh yeah." Then nodding and not typing. Who reads this?
Who could read this? Why do I care. I am a tactician. I do not say what I think. I say what I think is appropriate, which leads to the question:
Is this safe? No, and no, that's not the question.
Is this ill advised? Yes, still not the question.
Ah....I have it. Is it worth the risk?
Well for the moment what risk...who the hell cares! I will ease into it.
Now where was I.....Cramerton, NC 1978 or so.
Houses were places where the floors echoed with even children's steps. If you were in an official place the floors were silent almost despite you, but in the houses where I lived at that time even my footed pajama covered feet flogged rhythmically about the house. The house I live in now only has one room that ripples throughout, and that's fittingly my office....the rest has the serenity of a schoolhouse or courthouse or hospital or church....no. The church had warped plyboard floors as if put down by some well intentioned member who overstated his qualifications in the planning. I bet that floor is still the closest thing that church has to a pipe organ....that and a stout lady named Rhonda.
Yes....Rhonda is real, but this isn't what I'm really thinking. Hard floors mean nothing to me now, but I think their sounds must have informed me then. If you were to be walked, blindfolded through buildings; police stations or someone's grandmother's single wide you would know a great deal about the culture you were visiting just from the feel of the floor and the sound.
The floor seems a fitting way to start, and I might have loads of other insights if I hadn't moved on so quickly. One day the put me down on my belly to wiggle and the next thing you know I was getting things out of the fridge on my own, and my footed pajamas were a victim as so many pieces of clothing and the feet became bell bottomed style faux feet hanging inches above mine ever growing own left uncovered slapping around a house with kick drum floors. I remember a picture of me feeding a goat.
It will have to wait. I hope it does.
I am more excited about tomorrow than Christmas. There are no obstacles. I will be a writer for the day... a little writing a little french study, a little drum learning/practice.....a late day walk. Working biceps and triceps and something quite tough on my shoulders.....a little painting in the early evening...just getting back in to it, just picking up something that was unfinished last winter. Something like Fluticasone sp? has turned me from a guy spending hours sneezing per day to 10 sneezes in a month tops....I just had one and didn't hate all existence, quite a change....I recommend it heartily.
Strawberry oatmeal for breakfast. Aderall. Great coffee! I will not be hungry for my light lunch until 10 pm by which time I hope I am ready to start it all over.
Gotta shoot for 10 pages. I will let you know how it goes, but right now is bed time. Aurevoir bonne nuit, dormir bien.....schlaff gut, suss traume, buenos noches a tu y a tus.
Tomorrow I am a writer!
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Ultra-Normal: New Use?
Ultra-Normal: New Use?
http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&rlz=&q=brooklyn+street+cramerton+nc&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=Brooklyn+St,+Cramerton,+NC+28032&gl=us&ei=BgchTfKELIT7lwedlJGyDA&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=image&resnum=1&ved=0CBsQ8gEwAA
http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&rlz=&q=brooklyn+street+cramerton+nc&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=Brooklyn+St,+Cramerton,+NC+28032&gl=us&ei=BgchTfKELIT7lwedlJGyDA&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=image&resnum=1&ved=0CBsQ8gEwAA
New Use?
I have an idea for this blog. It's gone through so many changes over the past few years, but I've been thinking a lot about getting older. The older I get the more I think about it. Memories are growing fuzzy, and current norms are supplanting old ones moment by moment. I am, like everyone around me becoming less human all the time. I'm not reinventing the journal here, or the blog. So basically that's it....a journal of everything I can remember. How to be Aaron/Human. Useless to everyone but me, but, you know, interesting....maybe.
Ok...let's get started right away. First thing.......I remember.
Ok. Ready. I remember being young. I don't remember being small. I don't remember being aware that I was a thing or that I was alive as opposed to anything else. Self awareness is something I'd like to explore, but at first it was just mom and dad and putting on my coat and washing my face and so on.
I think maybe I will have to intermingle memories with facts that are less than memory for the moment....facts and anecdotes that exist because they have been revisited, but I remind myself that these facts....third house on the left on Brooklyn St. in Cramerton aren't how to be me, and are as descriptive of the changes since then as anything, and that memories are the point. I remember the front porch of a house we lived in when I was 2 maybe 2 and a half, and now the facts:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)