One Baby (9,998)
[weird found this in my drafts never published… what is says from years ago resonates perfectly with right now, so here it is] The work day settles on me like soot, a patina builds with every hour. By the end of it there is so much obscured underneath that the I am left weary of investigation. How much more relaxing it is to just play off of what is before you undigested, in the ping pong...
I hope to never lose the tether of loneliness, remain repulsed by the adjusted. That is just the way it is. It has been this way for as long as I can remember. A suicidal poem line about playing with survivors, that has been a touchstone. It is not that I want to overcome this ‘terrible affliction’ nor that I want the world to compensate for me - the friction is integral to the being....
Writers tend to jaw on about the dreaded blank page. For me it is not so much dread but foreknowledge that only when the mind gets moving can anything reach the speed of insight. You write in order to write. Not the same with thinking out an idea; an idea can strike like lightening and it is a matter of finessing it with concentration. Writing is rarely thinking for me. It starts as a game of...
So something changed during the film festival fog, as is expected considering that the festival is like taking an introspection pill, all bets are off, the boat is untethered from the pier and it is anybody’s guess where I am going to land. Less films this year than years past, but the effect no less profound. First. I want to only write for myself and the sort of modest posterity that...
Thinking there has got to be a better way to write reviews, what exists now is either too vague or too archival to be much fun. I want my reviews to be fiction writing, to be expressionistic, to show some real involvement with the subject, not write copy. reviews should create a conversation, should be slightly demented in that way like talking to yourself through a screen. I have the nagging...