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| I have a problem with honesty.
Either i unleash a torrent of needless little white lies, or i explode like really ugly fireworks with all the truth no one wanted to know.
i can't find a comfortable medium.
i'm a volatile tire-swing all the time.
it's pretty out today. | | |
| my mathematical mindI need to write a screenplay for a class.
...
And I'm stuck.
I can write stories, I can write memoirs, I can write monologues, I can write reviews and essays and pull my thoughts out of my head and put them on paper in a perfectly eloquent (or at very least coherent) fashion. I think. I've been told. I'm pretty sure.
But god, writing a screenplay...
I know it doesn't have to be good or even slightly plausible. It just needs to be a screenplay, like ten pages long, follow the format, have stage directions and actions and dialogue probably. It doesn't need to be anything I'm proud of.
I can't just write crap. I can't totally bullshit something unless it's something I really honestly don't give a shit about. I'd love to be able to write a screenplay I was proud of, or at least satisfied with.
The problem with movies is that they all strive to be deep and meaningful and I hate that.
I despise movies that try to be deep and meaningful and fail (see: Garden State, Juno, Night, etc. etc. etc. and Juno was cute but so so so so annoying, especially in that everyone told me I looked/sounded like Ellen Page for MONTHS after it came out. They still do. I'm still teetering on whether I find it insulting or somewhat flattering.)
Books can be deep. Music can be deep. Art can be deep. Someone ad-libbing can be deep. But for some reason in my head, things that are 100% scripted and 100% visual... it's just way too visceral and rooted in reality and physical and human to be considered deep.
Actually I don't even like people who think they're deep. At lunch this dude named Josh walked up to me with a pad of paper and pointed to two lines he wrote, which read:
A B C D E
10 11 12 13
He said to read them out loud, so I did.
Then he circled B and 13 and said "These are the same symbol. I wrote them the same way, and yet you named them differently. This leads me to believe that our language is defined by patterns in a context. This is the same as this, only in this one frame of reference. Outside of that, it's something different. Our reality is resting on an intangible truth that we've derived from one context in disregard of so many other existing contexts."
...I smirked. It was all I could do to keep from laughing.
People talk like that when they're high. I know a lot of people who do.
I'm the kind of smot poker who giggles and is silly, but retains some amount of common sense and when any other member of the circle attempts to make some grandiose conjecture about the universe and our individual conscious, I smirk, laugh, and respond with something along the lines of "Wow, you're a total dipshit."
....My true colors. They are shining. All the time.
But yeah. I despise things that strive for depth. They're all just vaguely intellectual silly-putty, stretching to new lengths and getting no where and drying out.
Fuck do I love metaphors, though.
Goddamn I love metaphors.
I lvoe cursing too!
Everything I say, everything I write, everything I draw even: it all has the same degree of passion behind it. I love cursing because dammit I'm full of emotion all the time, and the social standing is, apparently, that cursing is only warranted when the speaker has a lot of emotion that needs to be let out.
I think that's stupid, but I am in no way affected by this social standing because nothing I say is without passion and emotion. Therefore, cursing is always okay.
Actually, no. That social standing is alright. I can't stand the people who insert some lewd expression after every other word as a matter of habit when it doesn't make any sense in context. I hate superfluous words. I hate superfluous everything.
"Shit, I had a fucking boring weekend. I sat on the goddamn couch and watched that one shitty movie that came out that one time. Haha, goddamn I'm such a fatass. Hey bitch, next weekend we should fucking hang out or some shit, so at least I have some fucking thing to do and I don't have to sit on the goddamn couch the whole time."
...If I were on the receiving end of that monstrosity, I would puke, decline and puke again.
Which brings me back to my difficulty with writing scripts.
So many movies are so fucking superfluous.
I think we all would have been reasonably functioning human beings had "Stewart Little 2" stayed on the drawing board. And "Son of the Mask?" I rest my case.
It's so hard to just come up with something that's worth writing... that could potentially BE a movie, and not a totally sucktastic one.
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I'm putting way too much thought into this, it's just a homework assignment. I should write the screenplay for a porno or some b-grade horror film. That would at least be entertaining. | | |
| "There may be some people who kill themselves in order to achieve a calm and control they never find in life." -The Savage God
...
Sarah Kane committed suicide February 20th, 1999. I was in 2nd grade, I had no affiliation with her or even a vague notion of who she was, much less what she was writing about or the turbulence that must have been going on inside her.
Today, blindly exploring the interwebs, I came upon a video clip advertised as "...NSFW, but it is a really great short film. Her only film for TV, it originally aired on the BBC and was reviewed as “One of the most violent and racially offensive programmes ever to be made for television in this country.” Despite this, director Vincent O’Connell was nominated for a Golden Bear award for the film at the 1996 Berlin International Film Festival."
Naturally, I was curious. The second I pressed -play,- I still had no knowledge of who Sarah Kane was or why she was important in any way.
11 minutes and 10 seconds later, the facial expression I'm wearing is really fucking bizarre, but no where near as bizarre as what I just watched. I can't even name it. It's fascination, disgust, terror, curiosity, nausea, and discovery wrapped up in one weird eyebrow-furrowing package.
I'm so fucking confused. And uncomfortable. But... not in a bad way. I'm not even sure if the English language can help me out on this one, I don't even know what to say.
It's called "Skin." It's from 1995. I feel like I'm missing something. Was that really it? Is it really just 11 minutes and 10 seconds? I... I feel the plunge into universal truths and eye-opening metaphors, but... no way. What?
I watched this... cinematic heart attack... before I knew anything about the context, though I doubt that would have helped much. Knowing that Sarah Kane committed suicide brings a different element into her work; it changes the lens through which one views the product of her mind and her soul. Like... what if she knew at the time she was writing this... that she was going to bring about her own abrupt end? What does this fragment of HER, essentially, say about who she was as a whole and what she was going to become just 4 years later...?
Writers who commit suicide I feel are very different from musicians who commit suicide.
I mean... I can't read Richard Brautigan without getting an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can't think about Sylvia Plath as just... someone. I just can't even fathom the internal conflict that must have been taking place... I think it becomes much more eery and heart-wrenching when that internal conflict is manifested into a work of fiction rather than a song.
Chuck Klosterman is the author of one of my favorite books: Killing Yourself to Live. It brought a new light to how people in general view the dead; that strange respect and admiration a person earns when they suddenly stop living. James Dean wasn't a phenomenal actor by any means, he just had a pretty face. I mean, he was alright, but nothing completely extraordinary. And then he dies suddenly at the peak of his career, and now he's immortalized as an extremely handsome Adonis-type figure. Buddy Holly's music would be real crap if he put it out today, but people still listen to his odd sort of 1950's crooning because he died so young... and so his music lives on without him. Whatever.
It's not the same way with writers. I don't know why, I can't put my finger on it. The taste in one's just becomes much more bitter.
..........
There was thunder and lightning this morning. It was nice. | | |
| Is this blog of yours a secret from your family? If so, why?
I just answered this Featured Question; you can answer it too!
it was supposed to be.
cuz it's like a diary. i write my thoughts down because they're in my head and i feel the need to free them.
i have no qualms about people who don't know me personally reading my thoughts and giving me advice, that's fine.
but people who are really close to me... i don't want to change their perception of me, for worse or for better.
i want them to know me at face-value.
it's creepy when they think they can look inside my head. | | |
| i've been thinking a lot.
and we've been hanging out a lot.
more than me and alex ever did, anyway.
hugging each other in the halls doesn't count as hanging out, that just means you can't escape each other.
but no, this time i think it's different.
i'm not going to jinx anything now, nor am i going to claim it's destiny or anything shitty like that.
but i really think i love him.
which is weird because i've said "i love you" many times before, but it's never felt like this.
maybe i'm saying that because i just don't remember what it felt like before, or i blocked it out, or it's been so long.
i probably have felt like this before.
but it feels so good i don't even care.
and i don't have the reservations that i usually do...
"i love you" but god are you one ugly motherfucker.
"i love you" but this will never work out because we're so far apart.
"i love you" but the visible earwax in your ear is making me feel like throwing up at any given second.
"i love you" but shit, i really wish i was going out with him.
"i love you" but you kiss like a moose.
......etc. etc. etc.
there aren't any "but's" afterwards. when i say "i love you" i don't have anything left to putz about.
true, he's so skinny and he makes me feel like a fat blob, but it makes me want to be better. he says he's going to work out more and get a six-pack again. hopefully that means he might gain a little bit more mass, cuz he is super lanky. but of course in the mean time i'm watching what i eat again and trying to not be so goddamn lazy. he's my inspiration for that.
we're both into tattoos and piercings, and we're both excited about the prospect of the other getting a few (him with an eyebrow piercing would be SO hott, and he's really into the idea of me getting my lip done).
we make-out in public and people stare... they don't get upset or disgusted, they get aroused. it's highly entertaining.
i know there's no feasible way that i could be beautiful all the time... but he tells me i am. and he doesn't say it because he thinks he has to... he really means it. he's so earnest and sincere.
he's beautiful and sensitive and every moment i'm with him and we're just cuddling or whatever, i'll close my eyes and forget everything and open them again and be so fucking happy that the whole situation seems too surreal; too good, like it must be happening to someone else, not me.
...but it is me, and i'm so so so so so fucking happy about that.
granted he's not 100% perfect... he's 5 months younger than me and can't drive (usually my prerequisites in boyfriends are experience+car, and there's neither... but it's not a big deal. they're things he'll get eventually), his friends are really nice to me but total assholes to him and he takes it in stride (i feel bad liking them when they're occasionally complete dicks to him and i don't get how their friendship works when he never does anything slightly dickish at all in retaliation), he gets really sensitive about some things (i accidentally call him stupid in a joking way and it really upsets him, it's something i'm going to have to learn to not do), his mom is super conservative and he hates his dad with a passion (not without reason... see the item prior to this one. it just makes getting to know his family really awkward and almost impossible, but that doesn't have anything to do with him as a person)...
...
but if i've learned anything from living thus far, life love and the pursuit of happiness are about sacrifices: the lesser of two evils, choosing your battles, doing things you don't want to do so that someday you can do things you DO want to do, and having patience and respect for other people.
if you nit-pick someone, you'll find flaws in them no problem.
but it's not about you all the time.
and i'm the happiest i've been in a long long long time.
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