Had a dream that I was hanging out with someone I know in real life (let's say AB) and we were running errands together. We were at a store and a little kid started singing the "You Break It You Buy It" song after he dropped something (I didn't know there was a song). She recommended this Spiderman shower curtain to me, and I admittedly lived at home when I said "I don't know what my mom is going to think of that."
We got done shopping and she was a terrible driver. She drove me home. She was in the wrong lane stopped at an intersection and ran the light. When we got back to my parent's place, she came back to my room with me. We were laying together in my bed. She liked being cuddled but didn't want to be kissed. I was a little huffy about this, and then she pointed out that it was only 7pm and it seemed to be a weekend night and that there was no point in laying in bed.
I assume she went out after that. On my own, I found myself at a pet store, looking at dogs. There was one who was a tall hound who stood on his hind legs and spoke like an old African American man. He sized me up. "You look about 5'6" but you still growin." He was wrong about the growing part but I took him to be potentially a great bartender. Then i met a golden retriever who was really smart and beautiful and just wanted to hug. The embrace got a little bit awkward when I started to think that maybe she *liked* me; I told her she needed to find the perfect human version of herself to take care of her, and that together they'd get along famously. I saw a guy walking her later who couldn't figure out where her crate was as he was trying to bring her back. She was on a leash, which I thought was unnecessary. He also had a large sack with him. She graciously hopped into the sack, pretending it would be fun, even though she was perfectly capable of walking on her own; but only because the man encouraged her to hop into it.
Evidently this was some version of Short Beach because we walked along a section of street with trolley tracks and I began rattling off factual information about the trolley line. We went back and found her crate and I discovered she was incredibly expensive. Then, I woke up.
I fell back asleep. There was more to this dream. I found myself on a rooftop, trying to get into an apartment (apparently I had moved during the short time I was awake). The best way to get into this apartment, presumably because I didn't want to be seen going in through the front door, was to jump across an alleyway onto a fire escape which led directly to my window. It was snowing and the rooftop was slippery and I was having a difficult time finding the right position to jump from. The longer I pontificated the best point to jump from, the more the rooftop began to become populated with children who appeared to be doing a version of ice skating which seemed to be just sliding around on the snow. I eventually made it in.
Back at the Luckey's, I wandered in during a party, awkwardly stating that I forgot that I didn't live there anymore. I spent the rest of my time there just simply doing dishes, as there were thousands of dishes which needed to be cleaned. I also got a chance to play music on the stereo. I wanted to check on my old room but the door was closed. There was a girl who came to visit, who told me that she broke up with her boyfriend because of a conversation she and I had a few months ago. I didn't mean to see this as an opportunity but I invited her to go kayaking and I showed her some routes we could take. I was so preoccupied with washing dishes that by the time I was done, she had already left.
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
History of a Painting
I carried around this 60's map of midtown for years and years. I think I found it at a tag sale one day when I was younger. It remained a mainstay on my walls for years to come.
I brought it to Short Beach when I lived at Tom Luckey's, after he passed away. It was on the wall behind the stereo. It first made its home when i brought into that god forsaken "purple house" in East Rock, where it hung on the wall for years. It probably was acquired at a stoop sale in Prospect Park in 2013 or so.
Anyway, this map of New York, missing the 2nd Ave Subway on it, existed at various iterations of my apartment for years. It came to a point where it became iconic, and I couldn't have a room without it. Fast forward to Court Street, when I decide to make it into an oil painting.The significance is that I work in Manhattan now. I used to dream about it. And just as that moment came to fruition, it happened. And I have this to prove for it.
I brought it to Short Beach when I lived at Tom Luckey's, after he passed away. It was on the wall behind the stereo. It first made its home when i brought into that god forsaken "purple house" in East Rock, where it hung on the wall for years. It probably was acquired at a stoop sale in Prospect Park in 2013 or so.
Anyway, this map of New York, missing the 2nd Ave Subway on it, existed at various iterations of my apartment for years. It came to a point where it became iconic, and I couldn't have a room without it. Fast forward to Court Street, when I decide to make it into an oil painting.The significance is that I work in Manhattan now. I used to dream about it. And just as that moment came to fruition, it happened. And I have this to prove for it.
On Playing Piano
Hey ok so, sometimes I play piano. That is to say, I sit behind the keys of a piano and attempt to make arrangements. These are sequences that repeat, and then migrate to other patterns. These patterns, honestly, though... I have no idea what I'm playing. I don't know what key I'm in, I don't know what notes are being played. All I know is that I like it, and it sounds good.
There are patterns in music. And I'm not trying to base what I play on what other people are doing. I'm just trying to find patterns that fit and work together, as well as in conjunction with other patterns. These become familiar, and then I start to play those more frequently in the same chronology. Possibly find other ways to make it sound even better. I try to find patterns which sound familiar but that which I can't claim that are from other places, which is why I'm so reluctant to learn cover songs. I like the plausible deniability of not knowing how to play other people's music, so that mine can remain my own. It's a tactic I've used a whole bunch.
I've written a bunch about music, chords and harmonies and some of what I know is based on theory. Right now there are a few piano songs that I've been interested in listening to. There's this one by Beethoven which was also utilized as the background music to the Coleco game "Antarctic Adventure," there's some of the pieces Yann Tierson wrote for the Amelie soundtrack (particularly the one called... I forget, it's in French but it's awesome). And some of these renditions of Lana Del Rey songs that I found entertaining to listen to. I like the piano versions of Old Money, Radio, as well as Ultraviolence, although the ones I found on iTunes are played somewhat robotically.
Before I really understood how to play piano, I was composing on the Reason software. That's something I picked up when I was about 22, because all of my earliest compositions were from 2002. I've saved everything I've ever written in Reason, and there's tons of pointless nonsense in the folders, but they're all arranged by year of the composition in folders that go all the way back to 2002. We're at 2017 and I've taken a sabbatical from composing, and took a detour in 2013 with Space Pirate for a couple of years, but it seems that because of the interest in film work that I've been developing, it's going to go back to classical style compositions as it once was in the early days.
In the beginning, I was writing really complicated pieces simply by clicking the mouse on points, composing with precision in the midi board itself. There were a few odd chord changes here and there, and a lot of it was point / counterpoint. There were a series of "synthonies" (synthetic symphonies) and it compelled me to become interested in the magic of the electromechanical devices known as Band Organs, which were like giant wooden computers that could only do one thing: play music. As I thought in that time how the fundamentals of early logic switches worked, often in those applications as physical switches controlled by electromechanical devices, I began to develop a more profound understanding of what an incredibly magical world we truly live in.
There are patterns in music. And I'm not trying to base what I play on what other people are doing. I'm just trying to find patterns that fit and work together, as well as in conjunction with other patterns. These become familiar, and then I start to play those more frequently in the same chronology. Possibly find other ways to make it sound even better. I try to find patterns which sound familiar but that which I can't claim that are from other places, which is why I'm so reluctant to learn cover songs. I like the plausible deniability of not knowing how to play other people's music, so that mine can remain my own. It's a tactic I've used a whole bunch.
I've written a bunch about music, chords and harmonies and some of what I know is based on theory. Right now there are a few piano songs that I've been interested in listening to. There's this one by Beethoven which was also utilized as the background music to the Coleco game "Antarctic Adventure," there's some of the pieces Yann Tierson wrote for the Amelie soundtrack (particularly the one called... I forget, it's in French but it's awesome). And some of these renditions of Lana Del Rey songs that I found entertaining to listen to. I like the piano versions of Old Money, Radio, as well as Ultraviolence, although the ones I found on iTunes are played somewhat robotically.
Before I really understood how to play piano, I was composing on the Reason software. That's something I picked up when I was about 22, because all of my earliest compositions were from 2002. I've saved everything I've ever written in Reason, and there's tons of pointless nonsense in the folders, but they're all arranged by year of the composition in folders that go all the way back to 2002. We're at 2017 and I've taken a sabbatical from composing, and took a detour in 2013 with Space Pirate for a couple of years, but it seems that because of the interest in film work that I've been developing, it's going to go back to classical style compositions as it once was in the early days.
In the beginning, I was writing really complicated pieces simply by clicking the mouse on points, composing with precision in the midi board itself. There were a few odd chord changes here and there, and a lot of it was point / counterpoint. There were a series of "synthonies" (synthetic symphonies) and it compelled me to become interested in the magic of the electromechanical devices known as Band Organs, which were like giant wooden computers that could only do one thing: play music. As I thought in that time how the fundamentals of early logic switches worked, often in those applications as physical switches controlled by electromechanical devices, I began to develop a more profound understanding of what an incredibly magical world we truly live in.
The Illusion Strategy (Anecdotal Evidence)
In the grand scheme of things, I don't think that we are to blame for our feelings. Things happen which cause us to have certain emotional reactions, and that's natural. However, the responsibility falls upon us to determine how we wish to respond to those feelings: how we behave as a result.
I think that in my life I'd like to demonstrate, through multiversal literature (ML) plot mechanisms, later converted through film, that how we bahave has an income on our future. And that our choices - with words, actions, as well as intentions, is how we hold onto the reigns of our future: to become successful time travelers.
For the people who are stuck in a loop of endless repetitiveness, they're not really time traveling. Yet we all have aspects and areas of our life which turn into patterns. Whether it's our social life (hanging out with the same people) our work life (doing nearly the same exact thing every day with few minor exceptions) or our relationship(s) (having the same conversations over and over, or making love the same exact way) - we all experience "loops" or patterns in our behavior which cause us to experience the same or similar things on a very frequent basis.
Most of those experiences are desirable. We don't mind going to our job because the pay is rewarding enough to put up with the nonsense, and in most cases, it's negligible. What could be considered unimaginable is life without a job. One of these dangerous fantasies some people might entertain is the prospect of living on vacation, and that's why the lottery is so popular, even though if most people didn't have to work, they would have absolutely no idea what to do with themselves, and likely implode upon the vast amounts of pointless time and money they've been given.
But some of these experiences are undesirable. An argument with a significant other, or a disagreement with a friend, can be seen as a one time problem or a perpetual issue, depending on how frequently it occurs. As problems become patterns, they become easier to identify. And that's why we do something about them, by changing jobs, getting out of a relationship, or no longer associating with friends who are not friends.
The word "Friend" comes from an old Germanic word meaning "to love" (freund) and it's exclusive to mostly refer to those we are close to whom we are not family nor in a relationship with. The ancient Latin form is "amicus" which eventually made its way into Spanish as "amigo" and has essentially the same meaning.
Throughout this, we are just planets, orbiting around the body of light which brings us life. We are only atoms, assembled into molecules. Our thoughts are like chemicals, often not even nearly as complicated as the compounds which compose us; so how is this possible?
If you believe The Illusion Strategy, then you are of the opinion that you are living some form of dream, and that the experiences that you have when you are asleep are only dreams within dreams, which signify that life itself is as real as our imagination as made evident by the sometimes convincing way that dreams are conveyed. That doesn't mean you should try to jump off a building with a windbreaker that you think can function as a wingsuit, but it does lend some credibility to the song "Row Your Boat," because in fact, life could potentially be just a dream.
The stream, referred to in the song Row Your Boat, could be considered the very stream of consciousness we spend our lives with our thoughts inhabiting. Going against the current or doing anything to cause wake or resistance could be considered counterproductive, which is why it's recommended we row our boats "gently" down the stream, rather than ferociously against the current, and it's understandable why that is. It's clear from almost every aspect of life that stress is a factor leading to health problems and a shortened life span. It might be considered that not getting stressed out contributes to a healthier life.
I think that in my life I'd like to demonstrate, through multiversal literature (ML) plot mechanisms, later converted through film, that how we bahave has an income on our future. And that our choices - with words, actions, as well as intentions, is how we hold onto the reigns of our future: to become successful time travelers.
For the people who are stuck in a loop of endless repetitiveness, they're not really time traveling. Yet we all have aspects and areas of our life which turn into patterns. Whether it's our social life (hanging out with the same people) our work life (doing nearly the same exact thing every day with few minor exceptions) or our relationship(s) (having the same conversations over and over, or making love the same exact way) - we all experience "loops" or patterns in our behavior which cause us to experience the same or similar things on a very frequent basis.
Most of those experiences are desirable. We don't mind going to our job because the pay is rewarding enough to put up with the nonsense, and in most cases, it's negligible. What could be considered unimaginable is life without a job. One of these dangerous fantasies some people might entertain is the prospect of living on vacation, and that's why the lottery is so popular, even though if most people didn't have to work, they would have absolutely no idea what to do with themselves, and likely implode upon the vast amounts of pointless time and money they've been given.
But some of these experiences are undesirable. An argument with a significant other, or a disagreement with a friend, can be seen as a one time problem or a perpetual issue, depending on how frequently it occurs. As problems become patterns, they become easier to identify. And that's why we do something about them, by changing jobs, getting out of a relationship, or no longer associating with friends who are not friends.
The word "Friend" comes from an old Germanic word meaning "to love" (freund) and it's exclusive to mostly refer to those we are close to whom we are not family nor in a relationship with. The ancient Latin form is "amicus" which eventually made its way into Spanish as "amigo" and has essentially the same meaning.
Throughout this, we are just planets, orbiting around the body of light which brings us life. We are only atoms, assembled into molecules. Our thoughts are like chemicals, often not even nearly as complicated as the compounds which compose us; so how is this possible?
If you believe The Illusion Strategy, then you are of the opinion that you are living some form of dream, and that the experiences that you have when you are asleep are only dreams within dreams, which signify that life itself is as real as our imagination as made evident by the sometimes convincing way that dreams are conveyed. That doesn't mean you should try to jump off a building with a windbreaker that you think can function as a wingsuit, but it does lend some credibility to the song "Row Your Boat," because in fact, life could potentially be just a dream.
The stream, referred to in the song Row Your Boat, could be considered the very stream of consciousness we spend our lives with our thoughts inhabiting. Going against the current or doing anything to cause wake or resistance could be considered counterproductive, which is why it's recommended we row our boats "gently" down the stream, rather than ferociously against the current, and it's understandable why that is. It's clear from almost every aspect of life that stress is a factor leading to health problems and a shortened life span. It might be considered that not getting stressed out contributes to a healthier life.
Monday, August 7, 2017
The Show - Part I
I thought of this really strange concept for a short film or movie. It went something like this. There was a guy who was really into this girl, and everything that happened felt like magic. Each interaction, every occasion, felt like he was continuing this strange, wonderful story.
He told his best friend Sophie about it. "I just think that if only I could live this out on film, then the rest of the world would see what an amazing experience this is."
And she said, "We could act it out. I would play her in a film." So he said, yeah.
He got his friends to do it. A whole crew, who would re-enact scenes from the previous evening, about the girlfriend, who was too shy to act in the first place.
And then what would it be? She asked herself after he proposed they re-enact all of their authentic intimate moments in front of their friends. Would it be real...
And at one point, she even asked him, "Are you doing this for us? Or are you doing this for your friends. Or are you just doing it for yourself," she scolded him one afternoon for all of his theatrics. He was trying to bide her into the same old argument, about the difference between fate and
"You watched that stupid pillow talking video and now all you want to do is talk about aliens. I'm not having it."
And he smiles and says, "That's perfect!" As though it was his version of "CUT!" as he moves along and continues on his mission to find that matching sock. She feels abated by this, dismissed, and it doesn't resolve the conflict.
He seems to think that by moving forth with the conversation by calling it "CUT" ... I don't want to see how he interprets how I behave. I can't watch that show.
This continued, and although it sounds like an unusually unhealthy relationship, the only thing true about that statement is that it's just unusual. Many relationships are unhealthy in the exact same ways. We wonder what our friends or family are going to say or do when they find out the he said this to me, or she did that, but do we ever really think about or understand the consequences of not living in the moment.
Living in the moment is one of the easiest things in the world to do. Dogs do it all day long. When they want food, they're hungry. When they're anxious, they want to walk around. They don't need anyone to explain to them how they feel. We could be the same way, but that would be impossible because unlike dogs, we think too much. About everything.
And that's why it was such a dangerous move for this kid to try to make an ongoing movie about his relationship. While performing and acting out the scenes with another girl. That's where we bring in Sophie, who doesn't understand (or pretends not to see) the complexity in the situation, hardly asks any questions to prevent any misunderstanding, and doesn't understand why things are misunderstood.
"Sure, I can play her. What does she look like?"
"She's really pretty, and really smart, and really funny."
"I can be like that. For sure. Like what kinds of things does she say?"
"She said this the other day: 'Pediddle.' Can you believe that Pediddle!"
"What's that mean?" Sophie says enthusiastically.
"Well, apparently, it means that when there's a car with only one headlight, then it's a peddiddle."
"That's so fascinating. Like the Wallflowers song."
"Exactly. It should have been the Pediddle Song."
"Great point."
So as time goes by, and things progress, we see that Sophie has developed a certain personality for it. And at times, Darcy was cool with Sophie playing her on TV. But then she started to realize that if she kissed Dan, that Sophie might kiss Dan; or that anything that actually happened in real life could happen in the show. So one night they're out and she tries to kiss her.
"I don't want you to kiss me tonight."
"What are you afraid of, that people might see?"
"No, not that, just that you might kiss Sophie in the show... you know, to re-enact it."
"How do you feel about Sophie?"
"I think she's attractive. I find her very..."
She paused.
"Honestly, pretty intimidating. I'm not sure how I feel about this whole thing."
"It's a huge success, all our friends watch it. They support the idea, big time."
"I know but, what happens if we break up?"
"Then, I guess... we break up in the show."
"Would it really happen like that?"
"I mean, yeah, the relationship is over then the show is over."
But that's not how it happened. And you'll find that out later, as though it wasn't obvious already. She puts up with him, and finds the whole experience odd and creative. There's something about it that she actually enjoys, knowing that there's an actress who plays her on TV. One day she comes up with another idea.
"Why don't you get Bobby to play you on the show from now on?"
"Honey, that would be disruptive. To the show. I mean, people might not understand we're the same person if we change the main character in the middle of the show."
"But if you did, then Bobby could kiss Sophie and that would be better for me, you know? Because I want there to be some privacy in our relationship. I want to be the one that kisses you."
"That's the same thing as me asking you to be on the show. I'll tell you what. If you want to be the lead actress, then I'll make it look like Sophie and I broke up. And then I'll meet you the next episode, and you and I could be on the show together, which is what I always wanted."
"I can't do that," she said, with her legs dangling off of a waterfall in Beacon Falls. "I just can't."
Fast forward 12 months later, the show becomes a huge success. It makes it to the news and everyone is talking about it. It's a really big deal, and Bobby and Sophie get invited onto a TV show to talk about the experience.
"Yeah, it's been so interesting and fun working with Sophie. She does such a great part of playing my girlfriend."
"And you write these about your own actual experiences?"
"Actually..." says Sophie sheepishly, "I'm based on someone else."
"Yeah," says Bobby. "I have an actual girlfriend, who's like, a different girl."
"So who's your actual girlfriend?"
"Her name's...." and he pauses, "I can't say. I mean, part of the reason why she's not on the show is because in real life, she's such a private person and if I gave up her identity I think I'd be betraying that."
Says Sophie, "She's so wonderful. I mean, I would never have thought of the things that she says. They're all her real quotes, Bobby writes them down and we re-enact it and it's become such a popular show."
Says the host, "Bobby, you must be proud."
"I am, and I'm really grateful that the show has taken off, and I hope so has she."
One night, the show wins an award. Sophie gets stuck in traffic because she originally put in the wrong city in her GPS and ended up on the other side of the state, though at the right address on the wrong street.
"Is it shaped like a farm house?" she asks.
"No, it's a theatre in downtown New Haven."
"Are there cows? Can you hear a dog barking?"
"Sophie, I think you're in the wrong town."
"It says I'm at 266 College Street."
"I think it's the wrong city."
"Who's Sharon?"
So as Sophie sat next to a barn in Sharon, CT, everyone in the theatre awaiting the awards anxiously looked for her, wondering where she was. Bobby was there with Darcy, and no one had every seen Darcy before. She had done herself up to the total nine's for this, and looked absolutely stunning. People thought she was a model and everything felt amazing, until one man asked, "Where's Sophie?"
"Sophie is in Sharon, Connecticut. She put in the wrong address on her GPS. Right street, wrong town!" They all laughed.
"That would be something she would do!" said one of the reporters. "He's right!" says another, and they laugh more. Darcy's feeling of pride left her as she she looked at the floor.
"This is my real girlfriend Darcy! She's who the character of Sophie is based on, you know," as Bobby's voice trailed off, "things we talk about, and stuff."
So they both sat there in the audience watching Sophie play her in front of everyone. She kept thinking back to how things actually happened, and found little flaws in all of it. She noticed only the discrepancies and the differences, but she could never tell what about it was accurate or not because the show itself caused her to constantly question the past. It was it's own twisted form of gaslighting. It was that night that she began to believe that she was in an abusive relationship.
Darcy started going out again after that. She went out with her girlfriends on Friday night, who were all out lesbians at this point, but they all had a guy friend or two that they would tell everyone they were together with, just so that no one felt threatened by their behavior or continuously hit on them. She became part of this clique for a while. Cigarette smoking, whiskey drinking lesbians who prowled around all night, looking for trouble.
He had no idea about this, at first, because he was too busy himself out celebrating with his guy friends, and the occasional lingering female who liked to hang around with the boys. Sophie was certainly one of those, on heavy rotation, until one of his friends started actually dating her.
"I can't believe you're dating Brendan!" said Bobby to Sophie.
"Why?" She replied, "You've been dating Darcy for years."
"I don't want to act like Brendan. I don't want you to write plots so that I can..."
"Wait, wait wait," said Sophie. I'm not a writer. I don't write the show. You and --"
"I mean, I guess I'm cool with it. As long as he treats you good. Is he nice to you?"
"He's your friend! I met him through you. Do you think he was nice before he met me?"
"Yeah, he's always nice. I just never knew you two would get together, that's so weird."
"Why is it weird?"
Next scene, Darcy is out with her friends, who are smoking weed behind a dumpster. She's still just as quiet as ever, barely saying a word, observing everything.
"Darcy when are you going to break up with him."
"Yeah and who is this bitch that plays you? She looks nothing like you."
"You're 20 times funnier than she is in real life."
She burps.
"See?" They all laugh. "Like, who would do that, right then and there?"
The show is continuing. Bobby is making dinner with Sophie. It's something that happened 5 years ago, because at this point, he's having a really difficult time figuring out what to write about. The relationship is completely deteriorating and falling apart, and people are starting to notice because the reviews in the paper are saying that he's not acting too good. And it's true, his ability to act has declined.
One night, Bobby and Sophie almost hook up. Brendan is out of town. Bobby goes out and Darcy stays at home because he says he's going to hang out with his friends. But none of his friends happen to be around, including Brendan because he's out at a bachelor party with them, leaving Sophie behind. Bobby talks to Sophie via text message (whispering) and she comes over to the bar where he's at and sits next to him.
"Get us both shots."
"Bobby!" she proclaims.
The shots arrive and he cheers it to the show. "To the show!" and she starts to think that perhaps Bobby isn't doing too good and she show is basically over. "Bobby how are things with Darcy?" she asks. He's not particularly sober.
"They're fine, just fine," he says. "How are things with Brendan?"
"Well I'm a little nervous about this bachelor party thing. It makes me so uncomfortable. Do you think..."
"Do I think that he might be what? Hooking up with some random chick at this thing?"
"Yeah, exactly."
He takes a sip of beer. "Do you trust him?" Puts down the beer. "Sounds like something you should ask him when he gets back."
"I don't want to wait that long. Let me text him."
Bobby says "Noooo.. no no.. Bad idea. No texting. Give him some space, you know? Show him you trust him a little bit."
"You're right, dammit. Bobby, you're so smart. What are we going to do next?"
"Let's go to a show. The Right Off's are playing at Cafe Nine later."
"Ok, let's go."
So Bobby and Sophie go to The Right Off's show over at Cafe Nine, and everyone sees them when they walk in the door and all the guys give Bobby high-fives, and all the girls give Sophie a big hug, the first round was on the bartender, and the door guy didn't even charge them a cover. They each go to respective corners and engage in various conversations.
On the girl's side, everyone is asking Sophie how things are going.
On the guy's side, all the people are asking Bobby how everything is.
Then they both ask them about what the next episode of the show is going to be about.
"I have absolutely no idea," says Bobby.
So says Sophie, almost the exact same way.
At the end of the night, Bobby walks Sophie home and he says, "It feels like we're on the show."
"Yeah, that was kind of almost like a real date."
"You know how real dates end," says Bobby as he made a move.
"Bobby are you for real?"
And he held his face out in front of hers for what was probably about 5 seconds. She remained silent and frozen, thinking of what to do. Faced in that moment with the prospect of kissing Bobby for real, also having been on the show with him for so long, it almost felt natural. Plus imagining Brendan getting grinded on by some hoochie at a bachelor party did all kinds of weird things to her that night.
They made out in front of her building for what was probably about a half hour. Eventually she said "I have go to in, I'm getting cold," and he says, "want me to walk you up?" and his pocket vibrates.
"Bobby, you need to go home. And I need to go inside."
"Okay. Good night Sophie."
He got home late and went to bed. Darcy wasn't having it. She could smell a woman's perfume on him but she couldn't place it.
"Who do you smell like?" she asked in the morning. He regarded it as just another one of her Darcyisms.
"Who do I smell like? What do you mean?" He stands up close to her. "I smell like me."
"I could swear you smelled like women's perfume when you got into bed last night."
"Why on earth would I be wearing women's perfume?"
"I was out with my guy friends last night. I told you already."
The conversation was interrupted by a news bulletin on the television, that there's been a string of robberies in the neighborhood.
Fast forward later that same day. Darcy was in line at the coffeeshop and guess who walks into line. It's Sophie. They smile and wave at eachother. Darcy is ahead in line. Sophie is a few customers behind. By the time Darcy is fixing her drink at the counter, Sophie catches up to her.
"Darcy it's so good to see you!"
Instantly, she smells the scent that she recognized on Bobby the night before. Her face goes from apathetic to angry in an instant. "You were with him last night, weren't you."
"What do you mean?"
"You were out with him, I could smell you on him. What were you doing?"
"What did he tell you?" said Sophie, fearfully.
"She hasn't told me anything, that's the problem," says Darcy, through her teeth.
The girls behind the bar duck and cover, with just their eyes above the counter.
"You two were just supposed to be friends. And you have a boyfriend."
"My boyfriend is at some stupid bachelor party, probably smooching on some hoochie."
"Well then we got the same problem," says Darcy back, ferociously.
She gives her an evil look, storms out of the shop, forgets her drink, has to go back inside to get her drink, and drives away, kind of angrily, but still stopping for a stupid yellow light.
Bobby came home a few days later after deciding that Darcy needed some space. He went back to the apartment where they both lived after spending some time at his parents. He and Darcy didn't communicate the whole time, which was his idea of rest and relaxation.
When he returned, everything was gone. Except this note, in the middle of the floor.
"Have fun re-enacting that on your show." with a heart sign and a crude illustration of a middle finger, it was signed, Darcy (in cursive).
He sat on the floor, in shock, and remained motionless, until the sun set, where he remained there on the floor, in the dark.
The very next day, he was awoken by a phone call. It was Sophie. She wanted to meet up.
"I feel so terrible about what happened, we need to talk," she said on the phone.
They met up at the very same coffeeshop as was the confrontation between Sophie and Darcy. "I really don't know how she knew. Maybe she was psychic."
"I don't know. There was something really special about her, though. I'm going to miss her forever."
"I'm so sorry, Bobby, I didn't mean to mess this up."
"How are things with you and Brendan?"
"He broke up with me after the bachelor party. He admitted to cheating on me and felt really bad about it."
"Did you tell him about us?"
"We just kissed, that's not really cheating."
She took a sip of coffee and looked out the window.
"And we do that on TV all the time."
"So how do we end the show?"
"How did she break up with you?"
"She just left. It's very anti-climactic."
"Yeah, that is. You want to go for a walk or something?"
"Sure, we can do that."
So Sophie and Bobby took a hike in the woods, maybe smoked some weed, and started talking about the show a lot more. "Yeah but we have to end it, it needs to be over."
"But Bobby it was so much fun, and people loved it."
"Yeah but when things got rough with me and Darcy, it became harder to write episodes. I mean, some of that stuff is completely made up. Like, not even close to the real thing."
"That's what makes it so great though, is that you wrote it."
"We wrote it," as she and he got close again and things got sweet.
"Sophie, I have the craziest idea here."
"What's that?" she asked, both excited and fearful in her eyes.
"I can't tell you, but we need to do one last episode."
She agrees.
She's given a script, as usual. It goes on towards the end, and she's read the script but she doesn't like the ending. "What's this ending all about?" she says.
"It's just a regular ending."
"That's how we're going to end the show? With... Bye?"
"Yeah, exactly. Like, we're saying it to our audience."
When they get to that part of the episode, they're playing pool and talking about life in Three Sheets. That's where she's supposed to take a taxi to the airport to see about this dream job in L.A., which surely to the presumptive audience means the beginning of the end for the show, he pauses, and breaks from the script.
"Will you marry me?"
And to the audience, forever, may you wonder if that was just part of The Show, or if it were for real.
He told his best friend Sophie about it. "I just think that if only I could live this out on film, then the rest of the world would see what an amazing experience this is."
And she said, "We could act it out. I would play her in a film." So he said, yeah.
He got his friends to do it. A whole crew, who would re-enact scenes from the previous evening, about the girlfriend, who was too shy to act in the first place.
And then what would it be? She asked herself after he proposed they re-enact all of their authentic intimate moments in front of their friends. Would it be real...
And at one point, she even asked him, "Are you doing this for us? Or are you doing this for your friends. Or are you just doing it for yourself," she scolded him one afternoon for all of his theatrics. He was trying to bide her into the same old argument, about the difference between fate and
"You watched that stupid pillow talking video and now all you want to do is talk about aliens. I'm not having it."
And he smiles and says, "That's perfect!" As though it was his version of "CUT!" as he moves along and continues on his mission to find that matching sock. She feels abated by this, dismissed, and it doesn't resolve the conflict.
He seems to think that by moving forth with the conversation by calling it "CUT" ... I don't want to see how he interprets how I behave. I can't watch that show.
This continued, and although it sounds like an unusually unhealthy relationship, the only thing true about that statement is that it's just unusual. Many relationships are unhealthy in the exact same ways. We wonder what our friends or family are going to say or do when they find out the he said this to me, or she did that, but do we ever really think about or understand the consequences of not living in the moment.
Living in the moment is one of the easiest things in the world to do. Dogs do it all day long. When they want food, they're hungry. When they're anxious, they want to walk around. They don't need anyone to explain to them how they feel. We could be the same way, but that would be impossible because unlike dogs, we think too much. About everything.
And that's why it was such a dangerous move for this kid to try to make an ongoing movie about his relationship. While performing and acting out the scenes with another girl. That's where we bring in Sophie, who doesn't understand (or pretends not to see) the complexity in the situation, hardly asks any questions to prevent any misunderstanding, and doesn't understand why things are misunderstood.
"Sure, I can play her. What does she look like?"
"She's really pretty, and really smart, and really funny."
"I can be like that. For sure. Like what kinds of things does she say?"
"She said this the other day: 'Pediddle.' Can you believe that Pediddle!"
"What's that mean?" Sophie says enthusiastically.
"Well, apparently, it means that when there's a car with only one headlight, then it's a peddiddle."
"That's so fascinating. Like the Wallflowers song."
"Exactly. It should have been the Pediddle Song."
"Great point."
So as time goes by, and things progress, we see that Sophie has developed a certain personality for it. And at times, Darcy was cool with Sophie playing her on TV. But then she started to realize that if she kissed Dan, that Sophie might kiss Dan; or that anything that actually happened in real life could happen in the show. So one night they're out and she tries to kiss her.
"I don't want you to kiss me tonight."
"What are you afraid of, that people might see?"
"No, not that, just that you might kiss Sophie in the show... you know, to re-enact it."
"How do you feel about Sophie?"
"I think she's attractive. I find her very..."
She paused.
"Honestly, pretty intimidating. I'm not sure how I feel about this whole thing."
"It's a huge success, all our friends watch it. They support the idea, big time."
"I know but, what happens if we break up?"
"Then, I guess... we break up in the show."
"Would it really happen like that?"
"I mean, yeah, the relationship is over then the show is over."
But that's not how it happened. And you'll find that out later, as though it wasn't obvious already. She puts up with him, and finds the whole experience odd and creative. There's something about it that she actually enjoys, knowing that there's an actress who plays her on TV. One day she comes up with another idea.
"Why don't you get Bobby to play you on the show from now on?"
"Honey, that would be disruptive. To the show. I mean, people might not understand we're the same person if we change the main character in the middle of the show."
"But if you did, then Bobby could kiss Sophie and that would be better for me, you know? Because I want there to be some privacy in our relationship. I want to be the one that kisses you."
"That's the same thing as me asking you to be on the show. I'll tell you what. If you want to be the lead actress, then I'll make it look like Sophie and I broke up. And then I'll meet you the next episode, and you and I could be on the show together, which is what I always wanted."
"I can't do that," she said, with her legs dangling off of a waterfall in Beacon Falls. "I just can't."
Fast forward 12 months later, the show becomes a huge success. It makes it to the news and everyone is talking about it. It's a really big deal, and Bobby and Sophie get invited onto a TV show to talk about the experience.
"Yeah, it's been so interesting and fun working with Sophie. She does such a great part of playing my girlfriend."
"And you write these about your own actual experiences?"
"Actually..." says Sophie sheepishly, "I'm based on someone else."
"Yeah," says Bobby. "I have an actual girlfriend, who's like, a different girl."
"So who's your actual girlfriend?"
"Her name's...." and he pauses, "I can't say. I mean, part of the reason why she's not on the show is because in real life, she's such a private person and if I gave up her identity I think I'd be betraying that."
Says Sophie, "She's so wonderful. I mean, I would never have thought of the things that she says. They're all her real quotes, Bobby writes them down and we re-enact it and it's become such a popular show."
Says the host, "Bobby, you must be proud."
"I am, and I'm really grateful that the show has taken off, and I hope so has she."
One night, the show wins an award. Sophie gets stuck in traffic because she originally put in the wrong city in her GPS and ended up on the other side of the state, though at the right address on the wrong street.
"Is it shaped like a farm house?" she asks.
"No, it's a theatre in downtown New Haven."
"Are there cows? Can you hear a dog barking?"
"Sophie, I think you're in the wrong town."
"It says I'm at 266 College Street."
"I think it's the wrong city."
"Who's Sharon?"
So as Sophie sat next to a barn in Sharon, CT, everyone in the theatre awaiting the awards anxiously looked for her, wondering where she was. Bobby was there with Darcy, and no one had every seen Darcy before. She had done herself up to the total nine's for this, and looked absolutely stunning. People thought she was a model and everything felt amazing, until one man asked, "Where's Sophie?"
"Sophie is in Sharon, Connecticut. She put in the wrong address on her GPS. Right street, wrong town!" They all laughed.
"That would be something she would do!" said one of the reporters. "He's right!" says another, and they laugh more. Darcy's feeling of pride left her as she she looked at the floor.
"This is my real girlfriend Darcy! She's who the character of Sophie is based on, you know," as Bobby's voice trailed off, "things we talk about, and stuff."
So they both sat there in the audience watching Sophie play her in front of everyone. She kept thinking back to how things actually happened, and found little flaws in all of it. She noticed only the discrepancies and the differences, but she could never tell what about it was accurate or not because the show itself caused her to constantly question the past. It was it's own twisted form of gaslighting. It was that night that she began to believe that she was in an abusive relationship.
Darcy started going out again after that. She went out with her girlfriends on Friday night, who were all out lesbians at this point, but they all had a guy friend or two that they would tell everyone they were together with, just so that no one felt threatened by their behavior or continuously hit on them. She became part of this clique for a while. Cigarette smoking, whiskey drinking lesbians who prowled around all night, looking for trouble.
He had no idea about this, at first, because he was too busy himself out celebrating with his guy friends, and the occasional lingering female who liked to hang around with the boys. Sophie was certainly one of those, on heavy rotation, until one of his friends started actually dating her.
"I can't believe you're dating Brendan!" said Bobby to Sophie.
"Why?" She replied, "You've been dating Darcy for years."
"I don't want to act like Brendan. I don't want you to write plots so that I can..."
"Wait, wait wait," said Sophie. I'm not a writer. I don't write the show. You and --"
"I mean, I guess I'm cool with it. As long as he treats you good. Is he nice to you?"
"He's your friend! I met him through you. Do you think he was nice before he met me?"
"Yeah, he's always nice. I just never knew you two would get together, that's so weird."
"Why is it weird?"
Next scene, Darcy is out with her friends, who are smoking weed behind a dumpster. She's still just as quiet as ever, barely saying a word, observing everything.
"Darcy when are you going to break up with him."
"Yeah and who is this bitch that plays you? She looks nothing like you."
"You're 20 times funnier than she is in real life."
She burps.
"See?" They all laugh. "Like, who would do that, right then and there?"
The show is continuing. Bobby is making dinner with Sophie. It's something that happened 5 years ago, because at this point, he's having a really difficult time figuring out what to write about. The relationship is completely deteriorating and falling apart, and people are starting to notice because the reviews in the paper are saying that he's not acting too good. And it's true, his ability to act has declined.
One night, Bobby and Sophie almost hook up. Brendan is out of town. Bobby goes out and Darcy stays at home because he says he's going to hang out with his friends. But none of his friends happen to be around, including Brendan because he's out at a bachelor party with them, leaving Sophie behind. Bobby talks to Sophie via text message (whispering) and she comes over to the bar where he's at and sits next to him.
"Get us both shots."
"Bobby!" she proclaims.
The shots arrive and he cheers it to the show. "To the show!" and she starts to think that perhaps Bobby isn't doing too good and she show is basically over. "Bobby how are things with Darcy?" she asks. He's not particularly sober.
"They're fine, just fine," he says. "How are things with Brendan?"
"Well I'm a little nervous about this bachelor party thing. It makes me so uncomfortable. Do you think..."
"Do I think that he might be what? Hooking up with some random chick at this thing?"
"Yeah, exactly."
He takes a sip of beer. "Do you trust him?" Puts down the beer. "Sounds like something you should ask him when he gets back."
"I don't want to wait that long. Let me text him."
Bobby says "Noooo.. no no.. Bad idea. No texting. Give him some space, you know? Show him you trust him a little bit."
"You're right, dammit. Bobby, you're so smart. What are we going to do next?"
"Let's go to a show. The Right Off's are playing at Cafe Nine later."
"Ok, let's go."
So Bobby and Sophie go to The Right Off's show over at Cafe Nine, and everyone sees them when they walk in the door and all the guys give Bobby high-fives, and all the girls give Sophie a big hug, the first round was on the bartender, and the door guy didn't even charge them a cover. They each go to respective corners and engage in various conversations.
On the girl's side, everyone is asking Sophie how things are going.
On the guy's side, all the people are asking Bobby how everything is.
Then they both ask them about what the next episode of the show is going to be about.
"I have absolutely no idea," says Bobby.
So says Sophie, almost the exact same way.
At the end of the night, Bobby walks Sophie home and he says, "It feels like we're on the show."
"Yeah, that was kind of almost like a real date."
"You know how real dates end," says Bobby as he made a move.
"Bobby are you for real?"
And he held his face out in front of hers for what was probably about 5 seconds. She remained silent and frozen, thinking of what to do. Faced in that moment with the prospect of kissing Bobby for real, also having been on the show with him for so long, it almost felt natural. Plus imagining Brendan getting grinded on by some hoochie at a bachelor party did all kinds of weird things to her that night.
They made out in front of her building for what was probably about a half hour. Eventually she said "I have go to in, I'm getting cold," and he says, "want me to walk you up?" and his pocket vibrates.
"Bobby, you need to go home. And I need to go inside."
"Okay. Good night Sophie."
He got home late and went to bed. Darcy wasn't having it. She could smell a woman's perfume on him but she couldn't place it.
"Who do you smell like?" she asked in the morning. He regarded it as just another one of her Darcyisms.
"Who do I smell like? What do you mean?" He stands up close to her. "I smell like me."
"I could swear you smelled like women's perfume when you got into bed last night."
"Why on earth would I be wearing women's perfume?"
"I was out with my guy friends last night. I told you already."
The conversation was interrupted by a news bulletin on the television, that there's been a string of robberies in the neighborhood.
Fast forward later that same day. Darcy was in line at the coffeeshop and guess who walks into line. It's Sophie. They smile and wave at eachother. Darcy is ahead in line. Sophie is a few customers behind. By the time Darcy is fixing her drink at the counter, Sophie catches up to her.
"Darcy it's so good to see you!"
Instantly, she smells the scent that she recognized on Bobby the night before. Her face goes from apathetic to angry in an instant. "You were with him last night, weren't you."
"What do you mean?"
"You were out with him, I could smell you on him. What were you doing?"
"What did he tell you?" said Sophie, fearfully.
"She hasn't told me anything, that's the problem," says Darcy, through her teeth.
The girls behind the bar duck and cover, with just their eyes above the counter.
"You two were just supposed to be friends. And you have a boyfriend."
"My boyfriend is at some stupid bachelor party, probably smooching on some hoochie."
"Well then we got the same problem," says Darcy back, ferociously.
She gives her an evil look, storms out of the shop, forgets her drink, has to go back inside to get her drink, and drives away, kind of angrily, but still stopping for a stupid yellow light.
Bobby came home a few days later after deciding that Darcy needed some space. He went back to the apartment where they both lived after spending some time at his parents. He and Darcy didn't communicate the whole time, which was his idea of rest and relaxation.
When he returned, everything was gone. Except this note, in the middle of the floor.
"Have fun re-enacting that on your show." with a heart sign and a crude illustration of a middle finger, it was signed, Darcy (in cursive).
He sat on the floor, in shock, and remained motionless, until the sun set, where he remained there on the floor, in the dark.
The very next day, he was awoken by a phone call. It was Sophie. She wanted to meet up.
"I feel so terrible about what happened, we need to talk," she said on the phone.
They met up at the very same coffeeshop as was the confrontation between Sophie and Darcy. "I really don't know how she knew. Maybe she was psychic."
"I don't know. There was something really special about her, though. I'm going to miss her forever."
"I'm so sorry, Bobby, I didn't mean to mess this up."
"How are things with you and Brendan?"
"He broke up with me after the bachelor party. He admitted to cheating on me and felt really bad about it."
"Did you tell him about us?"
"We just kissed, that's not really cheating."
She took a sip of coffee and looked out the window.
"And we do that on TV all the time."
"So how do we end the show?"
"How did she break up with you?"
"She just left. It's very anti-climactic."
"Yeah, that is. You want to go for a walk or something?"
"Sure, we can do that."
So Sophie and Bobby took a hike in the woods, maybe smoked some weed, and started talking about the show a lot more. "Yeah but we have to end it, it needs to be over."
"But Bobby it was so much fun, and people loved it."
"Yeah but when things got rough with me and Darcy, it became harder to write episodes. I mean, some of that stuff is completely made up. Like, not even close to the real thing."
"That's what makes it so great though, is that you wrote it."
"We wrote it," as she and he got close again and things got sweet.
"Sophie, I have the craziest idea here."
"What's that?" she asked, both excited and fearful in her eyes.
"I can't tell you, but we need to do one last episode."
She agrees.
She's given a script, as usual. It goes on towards the end, and she's read the script but she doesn't like the ending. "What's this ending all about?" she says.
"It's just a regular ending."
"That's how we're going to end the show? With... Bye?"
"Yeah, exactly. Like, we're saying it to our audience."
When they get to that part of the episode, they're playing pool and talking about life in Three Sheets. That's where she's supposed to take a taxi to the airport to see about this dream job in L.A., which surely to the presumptive audience means the beginning of the end for the show, he pauses, and breaks from the script.
"Will you marry me?"
And to the audience, forever, may you wonder if that was just part of The Show, or if it were for real.
Saturday, June 17, 2017
Leaving your Blanket Behind
Today was interesting. I picked the right day for this: AKG left a blanket which i believe once belonged to her brother or was hers from childhood, at my place in short beach and i still had it up until earlier. I had that, a hair tie, a newspaper article she reluctantly gave to me, and a flash drive with her website and a bunch of other files on it.
I tried texting her, to ask if i could give it back to her any other way besides just leaving it on her porch. but after 8 minutes i realized that wasn't going to work, and she wasn't going to write me back, and I would just have to leave it on her porch anyways. so i walked it all over, and sure enough, her father and brother were both moving her stuff out of the apartment she was living in around the corner.
I saw her father, in the house, and her brother in the truck. and i dropped the blanket with the newspaper on top of it onto the steps without setting foot on the property. i said to her father, "hi, you must be jonathan. these are yours." those were my exact words, and i left her blanket and everything else. And i didn't introduce myself, or tell him what my name was. Or ask him how things were going, or if i could see alexis. It was clear that I was just there to drop off stuff - and im sure that with the timing of it all, there was probably some question in his mind as to whether alexis asked me to bring the stuff over in the first place, which of course she didn't. because the timing was spot on.
what i loved about that experience is that i had heard him talk to her before on the phone. i had been witness to many very personal and intimate conversations he had with his daughter. as well as hearing her brother speak on the phone with her. these are two people whom i felt that i knew really well. but neither knew i existed.
well now they do. because otherwise why else would i have her blanket and her hair tie and everything else. so i found that to be a very interesting experience. it was intense: i mean, her father is jonathan edwards gage. he's a descendant of jonathan edwards. part of the reason why she thinks she's hot stuff or whatever. and that was my first and perhaps last interaction with him. but who cares.
there was nothing so poetic as leaving a blanket at his feet as he moved his daughter out of her apartment and his son watched from the moving van. i turned around and walked away without saying another word.
I tried texting her, to ask if i could give it back to her any other way besides just leaving it on her porch. but after 8 minutes i realized that wasn't going to work, and she wasn't going to write me back, and I would just have to leave it on her porch anyways. so i walked it all over, and sure enough, her father and brother were both moving her stuff out of the apartment she was living in around the corner.
I saw her father, in the house, and her brother in the truck. and i dropped the blanket with the newspaper on top of it onto the steps without setting foot on the property. i said to her father, "hi, you must be jonathan. these are yours." those were my exact words, and i left her blanket and everything else. And i didn't introduce myself, or tell him what my name was. Or ask him how things were going, or if i could see alexis. It was clear that I was just there to drop off stuff - and im sure that with the timing of it all, there was probably some question in his mind as to whether alexis asked me to bring the stuff over in the first place, which of course she didn't. because the timing was spot on.
what i loved about that experience is that i had heard him talk to her before on the phone. i had been witness to many very personal and intimate conversations he had with his daughter. as well as hearing her brother speak on the phone with her. these are two people whom i felt that i knew really well. but neither knew i existed.
well now they do. because otherwise why else would i have her blanket and her hair tie and everything else. so i found that to be a very interesting experience. it was intense: i mean, her father is jonathan edwards gage. he's a descendant of jonathan edwards. part of the reason why she thinks she's hot stuff or whatever. and that was my first and perhaps last interaction with him. but who cares.
there was nothing so poetic as leaving a blanket at his feet as he moved his daughter out of her apartment and his son watched from the moving van. i turned around and walked away without saying another word.
Friday, June 2, 2017
Messy Humans
I’m not one for sentimental homages to the perfect life, and in my life I’ve never experienced the plot arch of a typical love story: that a woman appears in a man’s life out of nowhere, she professes her love for him, to which he responds by prioritizing her happiness above all else, maybe there’s some conflict in there, and they both end up happily ever after.
Well, everything up to the happily ever after part. My history is a quagmire of messy break-up’s and failed relationships. Love is a story we tell each other. It’s one we tell ourselves, and it’s one told by others - often quietly in the comfort of our own homes, out of the reach of strangers, recanted passionately in the stories we tell our friends and family about why the so-and-so’s just aren’t in our lives anymore. There’s a pat on the back, a ‘you’ll find the right person,’ and the offer of a distraction, like to read more books or practice some kind of exercise.
In terms of self-betterment, I’ve put those things aside as a waste of time. And it’s good that I’m writing you this rather than telling you in person, because surely you’d immediately try to convince me otherwise: reading and exercise are not a waste of time. I exercise my mind when I write, and I don’t do that enough. So it’s time to get back into it.
Now, at this stage, everything is screenplays, or internal dialogue. I’ve lived in the same city my entire life, and I can’t go anywhere without running into some ex-girlfriend or seeing my initials next to hers with a heart in the middle. The most difficult part of a break-up, psychologically, is the separation between two people who are technically the same individual: the woman you thought you knew when you met her, and the person whom you find her out to be. Or the guy who completely changed the day something happened, and afterwards he was never the same.
Those types of scenarios are common in people’s lives, and I would say that the rate of failed relationships to successful ones actually surpasses it in number by many fold, not just because of divorce but also due to all of the other relationships which don’t even make it to engagements. The graveyard of false promises, and lost hope, this field of names carved into stone.
Some people have almost a contempt for love. They want it to fail. They’d rather see something crash and burn into a flaming wreckage simply because it would be more entertaining. Their minds can’t contemplate the possibility of one more day of waking up and having oat meal by the window, sitting opposite him or her reading the paper, or nowadays flipping around on his or her cellphone, reading literally whatever. The concept that one day could lead to another along this endless stream of repetitive blunders, relieved only by a chance encounter of some sort.
Women are crazy. Men are crazy. People are crazy.
And there is this debate over what are facts, and what is truth, and it seems to continue no matter what people say, or how strong their opinions are. It could be that we’ll never know, but what makes it so much more difficult is just how challenging coming to a consensus can actually be, and to some extent that is the source of much failure in many relationships. Once someone puts their foot down and says “i’m not budging” it’s as though the force of continental drift takes over and slowly tears it all away. Rips it to shreds.
Song, please.
Well, everything up to the happily ever after part. My history is a quagmire of messy break-up’s and failed relationships. Love is a story we tell each other. It’s one we tell ourselves, and it’s one told by others - often quietly in the comfort of our own homes, out of the reach of strangers, recanted passionately in the stories we tell our friends and family about why the so-and-so’s just aren’t in our lives anymore. There’s a pat on the back, a ‘you’ll find the right person,’ and the offer of a distraction, like to read more books or practice some kind of exercise.
In terms of self-betterment, I’ve put those things aside as a waste of time. And it’s good that I’m writing you this rather than telling you in person, because surely you’d immediately try to convince me otherwise: reading and exercise are not a waste of time. I exercise my mind when I write, and I don’t do that enough. So it’s time to get back into it.
Now, at this stage, everything is screenplays, or internal dialogue. I’ve lived in the same city my entire life, and I can’t go anywhere without running into some ex-girlfriend or seeing my initials next to hers with a heart in the middle. The most difficult part of a break-up, psychologically, is the separation between two people who are technically the same individual: the woman you thought you knew when you met her, and the person whom you find her out to be. Or the guy who completely changed the day something happened, and afterwards he was never the same.
Those types of scenarios are common in people’s lives, and I would say that the rate of failed relationships to successful ones actually surpasses it in number by many fold, not just because of divorce but also due to all of the other relationships which don’t even make it to engagements. The graveyard of false promises, and lost hope, this field of names carved into stone.
Some people have almost a contempt for love. They want it to fail. They’d rather see something crash and burn into a flaming wreckage simply because it would be more entertaining. Their minds can’t contemplate the possibility of one more day of waking up and having oat meal by the window, sitting opposite him or her reading the paper, or nowadays flipping around on his or her cellphone, reading literally whatever. The concept that one day could lead to another along this endless stream of repetitive blunders, relieved only by a chance encounter of some sort.
Women are crazy. Men are crazy. People are crazy.
And there is this debate over what are facts, and what is truth, and it seems to continue no matter what people say, or how strong their opinions are. It could be that we’ll never know, but what makes it so much more difficult is just how challenging coming to a consensus can actually be, and to some extent that is the source of much failure in many relationships. Once someone puts their foot down and says “i’m not budging” it’s as though the force of continental drift takes over and slowly tears it all away. Rips it to shreds.
Song, please.
The Feeling of Being In Love
I always thought that couples who sat opposite one another at dinner were doing it all wrong. I felt that sitting alongside someone allowed both to have a clear view of what the other was seeing. And then it wouldn’t become this echo chamber where the only ones who exist in the world is each other. There must somehow exist this shared perspective in order for the world to exist.
As time wore me down, I faced the same threats; of emptiness and loneliness. I had almost given up on the idea of companionship. The very thought that I could find someone to coexist with, who would be there to listen to my day and make dinner with me, and that if we did something else it was expected but discussed – not from fear or ownership or possessiveness but purely out of respect. I had been wondering if that was possible.
I fell in love for the first time at the age of 18. I was in college at Suny Purchase, and I was taking the only art class I ever took in my entire life. It was a photography course, and I was learning how to take, print and develop standard 35 mm film. There was a girl in the class, and we got paired up on an assignment and it was then in the darkroom that I ever felt the warm touch of a loving soul. A couple weeks later we were making out on a trampoline I had assembled far into the woods of the college campus, and at that point I felt pretty sure that I was experiencing what I thought or was hoping could be the feeling of being in love.
I’ve heard it more times in my life than having heard anyone tell me “Ian, I’m in love with you.” I’ve never heard anyone say that to me in my entire life. What I have heard, on occasion, is something to the effect of “I love you, but I’m not in love with you,” and every time after months and months (sometimes years) of placing all of my trust and hope and energy into a relationhip, I find my self puzzled and perplexed as to what that means. And to some extent, why I keep hearing it from different females.
Maybe it’s because I want everything from the one that I’m with. I want more than what would be considered reasonable. And I give more than what would be considered normal. The influx of generosity and complete wide openness doesn’t always work in my favor.
I got lost on a winding road with hens and chickens and all kinds of ducks. It was the back entrance to the trolley museum, and I found myself out there trying to find myself on these dirt roads full of farm animals not too far away from my hometown. Those were decent years.
These were solitary, quiet, peaceful and placative years. It was time spent really beside myself in awe of the beauty of nature – and the solace of solitude. I spent all my afternoons hanging with the ghosts in the house, wondering when my friends would come and visit.
It happened that perhaps all of that time was worth it. But the minute I found someone to potentially share it with, it all was taken away. I guess the message was that it wasn’t mine to share. And I get that, in a way. And it was better that she knew right away that was the case, rather than to mislead her into thinking that I was in any way shape or form responsible for the place – even though I believe my actions had an impact on the outcome of the place.
Years later< I still wonder what it is that I’m looking for. There’s no way to deny it, I most certainly am. I don’t want to be alone, and the world at large seems to have the same attitude: what’s the point. As thoug the idea of finding true love is a meaningless quest or pursuit, and I don’t believe that one bit. I happen to think that we all have a place and a goal and reasons for us to be here. And I was missing that for a while.
Down the path of rail leading us quietly into the maze of repeat patterns that is New York City,at the other end of that tunnel is a little place that I call home. It’s not like anywhere else in the world, and I believe that as time goes on, it will become even more different from the rest of the world, to the point where it will not resemble any other city.
I was always hoping for something like this… I was hoping for a woman to change my perspective. Someon who I could take to this magical place that I called home, to introduce her to all of the people who mattered to me. And it’s unrealistic to believe in this because it’s just fantasy to believe that someone would want to drop everything they were doing just to absorb every aspect of your life, and who would always know exactly what to say. And if I hadn’t experienced this in small dosages, mostly at the beginning of great but doomed to fail attachments to previous former lovers, the same ones who would say to me, “Ian I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”
There were times when I felt that the stories that I found endearing about myself, which were often tales of loss, hopeless optimism and redemption, that the message would become clear: no matter how much crazy stuff would happen to me, and regardless of the madness that I would face, I would always figure out a way to make it all work - and that’s how I became who I am. There needed to be some level of acceptance on that level for anyone who really truly wanted to get to know me, simply because it was such a strong part of what defined me.
There were times in the past when I truly believed that everything would always work out and there were times when I was faced in situations which made me ersiously question that. And throughout many of these steps, money was certainly absent from the picture, both as a plot design and simply as a form of tension. That iw as there only to drive the plot along, at certain points, but never there to buy me a car or take me on a trip when I needed any of that; because, for years, I didn’t need anything extra.
I was happy to go about living the same existence nearly every day. I felt that in some way I would be exempt from aging if everything each day stayed exactly the same. My body wouldn’t notice that time was occurring. Of course we all know that this is not the case, and in the process there’s arguably more work to be done to fix up the place. That still doesn’t’ stop me from saying that I welcome I and would never discourage anyone sitting by him or herself on a Friday night to ditch the same old friends and go on an adventure; or go on a walk to a place you haven’t been, or take a look at something from a perspective that hasn’t been already made into a movie somehow.
I was under the belief I met her in real life, several times over. But it turns out I was only seeing her shine through different sides of people I was meeting. I wasn’t sure if this was good enough in terms of proof, because what I was looking for really amounted to a quest to find god; or some version of the perfect human being who could bring me eternal happiness who was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen in my life.
In that sense, a woman can be like a god to a man. And you really can’t help but thing there’s something of an almost worshipful quality to any truly deep and powerful romantic relationship. What makes us always wonder what the truth is, when the facts are so obvious and in our face? Why should we bring one another through these loud and impersonal arguments about nothing in particular.
To see traffic patterns in cars sand then convert it to video games has been quite a task, but well worth every bit of it. To have a place called home we could both go to, and to find that place in each other’s hearts; these were not things that I found to be impossible, because I could see that it happened fro others with loving partners whom they could trust with their lives and entrust with their secrets in hopes of trading those for happiness – I believed it was possible and not worth giving up on believing.
I could see these specific places, these little moments in time which only lasted an instant. There were nights spent lost in the freezing cold, wondering if I would ever make it home. And other times I found myself not sure where home really was. Told as a story, to most women it seemed dangerous and sketchy to know that I knew what it was like to be homeless. But to her, she’d find it to be a source of strength as it actually is, rather than a sign of my weakness.
As time wore me down, I faced the same threats; of emptiness and loneliness. I had almost given up on the idea of companionship. The very thought that I could find someone to coexist with, who would be there to listen to my day and make dinner with me, and that if we did something else it was expected but discussed – not from fear or ownership or possessiveness but purely out of respect. I had been wondering if that was possible.
I fell in love for the first time at the age of 18. I was in college at Suny Purchase, and I was taking the only art class I ever took in my entire life. It was a photography course, and I was learning how to take, print and develop standard 35 mm film. There was a girl in the class, and we got paired up on an assignment and it was then in the darkroom that I ever felt the warm touch of a loving soul. A couple weeks later we were making out on a trampoline I had assembled far into the woods of the college campus, and at that point I felt pretty sure that I was experiencing what I thought or was hoping could be the feeling of being in love.
I’ve heard it more times in my life than having heard anyone tell me “Ian, I’m in love with you.” I’ve never heard anyone say that to me in my entire life. What I have heard, on occasion, is something to the effect of “I love you, but I’m not in love with you,” and every time after months and months (sometimes years) of placing all of my trust and hope and energy into a relationhip, I find my self puzzled and perplexed as to what that means. And to some extent, why I keep hearing it from different females.
Maybe it’s because I want everything from the one that I’m with. I want more than what would be considered reasonable. And I give more than what would be considered normal. The influx of generosity and complete wide openness doesn’t always work in my favor.
I got lost on a winding road with hens and chickens and all kinds of ducks. It was the back entrance to the trolley museum, and I found myself out there trying to find myself on these dirt roads full of farm animals not too far away from my hometown. Those were decent years.
These were solitary, quiet, peaceful and placative years. It was time spent really beside myself in awe of the beauty of nature – and the solace of solitude. I spent all my afternoons hanging with the ghosts in the house, wondering when my friends would come and visit.
It happened that perhaps all of that time was worth it. But the minute I found someone to potentially share it with, it all was taken away. I guess the message was that it wasn’t mine to share. And I get that, in a way. And it was better that she knew right away that was the case, rather than to mislead her into thinking that I was in any way shape or form responsible for the place – even though I believe my actions had an impact on the outcome of the place.
Years later< I still wonder what it is that I’m looking for. There’s no way to deny it, I most certainly am. I don’t want to be alone, and the world at large seems to have the same attitude: what’s the point. As thoug the idea of finding true love is a meaningless quest or pursuit, and I don’t believe that one bit. I happen to think that we all have a place and a goal and reasons for us to be here. And I was missing that for a while.
Down the path of rail leading us quietly into the maze of repeat patterns that is New York City,at the other end of that tunnel is a little place that I call home. It’s not like anywhere else in the world, and I believe that as time goes on, it will become even more different from the rest of the world, to the point where it will not resemble any other city.
I was always hoping for something like this… I was hoping for a woman to change my perspective. Someon who I could take to this magical place that I called home, to introduce her to all of the people who mattered to me. And it’s unrealistic to believe in this because it’s just fantasy to believe that someone would want to drop everything they were doing just to absorb every aspect of your life, and who would always know exactly what to say. And if I hadn’t experienced this in small dosages, mostly at the beginning of great but doomed to fail attachments to previous former lovers, the same ones who would say to me, “Ian I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”
There were times when I felt that the stories that I found endearing about myself, which were often tales of loss, hopeless optimism and redemption, that the message would become clear: no matter how much crazy stuff would happen to me, and regardless of the madness that I would face, I would always figure out a way to make it all work - and that’s how I became who I am. There needed to be some level of acceptance on that level for anyone who really truly wanted to get to know me, simply because it was such a strong part of what defined me.
There were times in the past when I truly believed that everything would always work out and there were times when I was faced in situations which made me ersiously question that. And throughout many of these steps, money was certainly absent from the picture, both as a plot design and simply as a form of tension. That iw as there only to drive the plot along, at certain points, but never there to buy me a car or take me on a trip when I needed any of that; because, for years, I didn’t need anything extra.
I was happy to go about living the same existence nearly every day. I felt that in some way I would be exempt from aging if everything each day stayed exactly the same. My body wouldn’t notice that time was occurring. Of course we all know that this is not the case, and in the process there’s arguably more work to be done to fix up the place. That still doesn’t’ stop me from saying that I welcome I and would never discourage anyone sitting by him or herself on a Friday night to ditch the same old friends and go on an adventure; or go on a walk to a place you haven’t been, or take a look at something from a perspective that hasn’t been already made into a movie somehow.
I was under the belief I met her in real life, several times over. But it turns out I was only seeing her shine through different sides of people I was meeting. I wasn’t sure if this was good enough in terms of proof, because what I was looking for really amounted to a quest to find god; or some version of the perfect human being who could bring me eternal happiness who was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen in my life.
In that sense, a woman can be like a god to a man. And you really can’t help but thing there’s something of an almost worshipful quality to any truly deep and powerful romantic relationship. What makes us always wonder what the truth is, when the facts are so obvious and in our face? Why should we bring one another through these loud and impersonal arguments about nothing in particular.
To see traffic patterns in cars sand then convert it to video games has been quite a task, but well worth every bit of it. To have a place called home we could both go to, and to find that place in each other’s hearts; these were not things that I found to be impossible, because I could see that it happened fro others with loving partners whom they could trust with their lives and entrust with their secrets in hopes of trading those for happiness – I believed it was possible and not worth giving up on believing.
I could see these specific places, these little moments in time which only lasted an instant. There were nights spent lost in the freezing cold, wondering if I would ever make it home. And other times I found myself not sure where home really was. Told as a story, to most women it seemed dangerous and sketchy to know that I knew what it was like to be homeless. But to her, she’d find it to be a source of strength as it actually is, rather than a sign of my weakness.
Monday, May 29, 2017
The Feeling of Being In Love
I always thought that couples who sat opposite one another at dinner were doing it all wrong. I felt that sitting alongside someone allowed both to have a clear view of what the other was seeing. And then it wouldn’t become this echo chamber where the only ones who exist in the world is each other. There must somehow exist this shared perspective in order for the world to exist.
As time wore me down, I faced the same threats; of emptiness and loneliness. I had almost given up on the idea of companionship. The very thought that I could find someone to coexist with, who would be there to listen to my day and make dinner with me, and that if we did something else it was expected but discussed – not from fear or ownership or possessiveness but purely out of respect. I had been wondering if that were possible.
I fell in love for the first time at the age of 18. I was in college at Suny Purchase, and I was taking the only art class I ever took in my entire life. It was a photography course, and I was learning how to take, print and develop standard 35 mm film. There was a girl in the class, and we got paired up on an assignment and it was then in the darkroom that I ever felt the warm touch of a loving soul. A couple weeks later we were making out on a trampoline I had assembled far into the woods of the college campus, and at that point I felt pretty sure that I was experiencing what I thought or was hoping could be the feeling of being in love.
I’ve heard it more times in my life than having heard anyone tell me “Ian, I’m in love with you.” I’ve never heard anyone say that to me in my entire life. What I have heard, on occasion, is something to the effect of “I love you, but I’m not in love with you,” and every time after months and months (sometimes years) of placing all of my trust and hope and energy into a relationship, I find myself puzzled and perplexed as to what that means. And to some extent, why I keep hearing it from different females.
Maybe it’s because I want everything from the one that I’m with. I want more than what would be considered reasonable. And I give more than what would be considered normal. The influx of generosity and complete wide openness doesn’t always work in my favor.
Time Well Spent
I got lost on a winding road with hens and chickens and all kinds of ducks. It was the back entrance to the trolley museum, and I found myself out there trying to find myself on these dirt roads full of farm animals not too far away from my hometown. Those were decent years.
These were solitary, quiet, peaceful and placative years. It was time spent really beside myself in awe of the beauty of nature – and the solace of solitude. I spent all my afternoons hanging with the ghosts in the house, wondering when my friends would come and visit.
It happened that perhaps all of that time was worth it. But the minute I found someone to potentially share it with, it all was taken away. I guess the message was that it wasn’t mine to share. And I get that, in a way. And it was better that she knew right away that was the case, rather than to mislead her into thinking that I was in any way shape or form responsible for the place – even though I believe my actions had an impact on the outcome of the place.
Years later< I still wonder what it is that I’m looking for. There’s no way to deny it, I most certainly am. I don’t want to be alone, and the world at large seems to have the same attitude: what’s the point. As thoug the idea of finding true love is a meaningless quest or pursuit, and I don’t believe that one bit. I happen to think that we all have a place and a goal and reasons for us to be here. And I was missing that for a while.
Down the path of rail leading us quietly into the maze of repeat patterns that is New York City,at the other end of that tunnel is a little place that I call home. It’s not like anywhere else in the world, and I believe that as time goes on, it will become even more different from the rest of the world, to the point where it will not resemble any other city.
I was always hoping for something like this… I was hoping for a woman to change my perspective. Someon who I could take to this magical place that I called home, to introduce her to all of the people who mattered to me. And it’s unrealistic to believe in this because it’s just fantasy to believe that someone would want to drop everything they were doing just to absorb every aspect of your life, and who would always know exactly what to say. And if I hadn’t experienced this in small dosages, mostly at the beginning of great but doomed to fail attachments to previous former lovers, the same ones who would say to me, “Ian I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”
There were times when I felt that the stories that I found endearing about myself, which were often tales of loss, hopeless optimism and redemption, that the message would become clear: no matter how much crazy stuff would happen to me, and regardless of the madness that I would face, I would always figure out a way to make it all work - and that’s how I became who I am. There needed to be some level of acceptance on that level for anyone who really truly wanted to get to know me, simply because it was such a strong part of what defined me.
There were times in the past when I truly believed that everything would always work out and there were times when I was faced in situations which made me ersiously question that. And throughout many of these steps, money was certainly absent from the picture, both as a plot design and simply as a form of tension. That iw as there only to drive the plot along, at certain points, but never there to buy me a car or take me on a trip when I needed any of that; because, for years, I didn’t need anything extra.
I was happy to go about living the same existence nearly every day. I felt that in some way I would be exempt from aging if everything each day stayed exactly the same. My body wouldn’t notice that time was occurring. Of course we all know that this is not the case, and in the process there’s arguably more work to be done to fix up the place. That still doesn’t’ stop me from saying that I welcome I and would never discourage anyone sitting by him or herself on a Friday night to ditch the same old friends and go on an adventure; or go on a walk to a place you haven’t been, or take a look at something from a perspective that hasn’t been already made into a movie somehow.
I thought I met her in real life, several times over. But it turns out I was only seeing her shine through different sides of people I was meeting. I wasn’t sure if this was good enough in terms of proof, because what I was looking for really amounted to a quest to find god; or some version of the perfect human being who could bring me eternal happiness who was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen in my life.
In that sense, a woman can be like a god to a man. And you really can’t help but thing there’s something of an almost worshipful quality to any truly deep and powerful romantic relationship. What makes us always wonder what the truth is, when the facts are so obvious and in our face? Why should we bring one another through these loud and impersonal arguments about nothing in particular.
To see traffic patterns in cars and then convert it to video games has been quite a task, but well worth every bit of it. To have a place called home we could both go to, and to find that place in each other’s hearts; these were not things that I found to be impossible, because I could see that it happened fro others with loving partners whom they could trust with their lives and entrust with their secrets in hopes of trading those for happiness – I believed it was possible and not worth giving up on believing.
I could see these specific places, these little moments in time which only lasted an instant. There were nights spent lost in the freezing cold, wondering if I would ever make it home. And other times I found myself not sure where home really was. Told as a story, to most women it seemed dangerous and sketchy to know that I knew what it was like to be homeless. But to her, she’d find it to be a source of strength as it actually is, rather than a sign of my weakness.
As time wore me down, I faced the same threats; of emptiness and loneliness. I had almost given up on the idea of companionship. The very thought that I could find someone to coexist with, who would be there to listen to my day and make dinner with me, and that if we did something else it was expected but discussed – not from fear or ownership or possessiveness but purely out of respect. I had been wondering if that were possible.
I fell in love for the first time at the age of 18. I was in college at Suny Purchase, and I was taking the only art class I ever took in my entire life. It was a photography course, and I was learning how to take, print and develop standard 35 mm film. There was a girl in the class, and we got paired up on an assignment and it was then in the darkroom that I ever felt the warm touch of a loving soul. A couple weeks later we were making out on a trampoline I had assembled far into the woods of the college campus, and at that point I felt pretty sure that I was experiencing what I thought or was hoping could be the feeling of being in love.
I’ve heard it more times in my life than having heard anyone tell me “Ian, I’m in love with you.” I’ve never heard anyone say that to me in my entire life. What I have heard, on occasion, is something to the effect of “I love you, but I’m not in love with you,” and every time after months and months (sometimes years) of placing all of my trust and hope and energy into a relationship, I find myself puzzled and perplexed as to what that means. And to some extent, why I keep hearing it from different females.
Maybe it’s because I want everything from the one that I’m with. I want more than what would be considered reasonable. And I give more than what would be considered normal. The influx of generosity and complete wide openness doesn’t always work in my favor.
Time Well Spent
I got lost on a winding road with hens and chickens and all kinds of ducks. It was the back entrance to the trolley museum, and I found myself out there trying to find myself on these dirt roads full of farm animals not too far away from my hometown. Those were decent years.
These were solitary, quiet, peaceful and placative years. It was time spent really beside myself in awe of the beauty of nature – and the solace of solitude. I spent all my afternoons hanging with the ghosts in the house, wondering when my friends would come and visit.
It happened that perhaps all of that time was worth it. But the minute I found someone to potentially share it with, it all was taken away. I guess the message was that it wasn’t mine to share. And I get that, in a way. And it was better that she knew right away that was the case, rather than to mislead her into thinking that I was in any way shape or form responsible for the place – even though I believe my actions had an impact on the outcome of the place.
Years later< I still wonder what it is that I’m looking for. There’s no way to deny it, I most certainly am. I don’t want to be alone, and the world at large seems to have the same attitude: what’s the point. As thoug the idea of finding true love is a meaningless quest or pursuit, and I don’t believe that one bit. I happen to think that we all have a place and a goal and reasons for us to be here. And I was missing that for a while.
Down the path of rail leading us quietly into the maze of repeat patterns that is New York City,at the other end of that tunnel is a little place that I call home. It’s not like anywhere else in the world, and I believe that as time goes on, it will become even more different from the rest of the world, to the point where it will not resemble any other city.
I was always hoping for something like this… I was hoping for a woman to change my perspective. Someon who I could take to this magical place that I called home, to introduce her to all of the people who mattered to me. And it’s unrealistic to believe in this because it’s just fantasy to believe that someone would want to drop everything they were doing just to absorb every aspect of your life, and who would always know exactly what to say. And if I hadn’t experienced this in small dosages, mostly at the beginning of great but doomed to fail attachments to previous former lovers, the same ones who would say to me, “Ian I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”
There were times when I felt that the stories that I found endearing about myself, which were often tales of loss, hopeless optimism and redemption, that the message would become clear: no matter how much crazy stuff would happen to me, and regardless of the madness that I would face, I would always figure out a way to make it all work - and that’s how I became who I am. There needed to be some level of acceptance on that level for anyone who really truly wanted to get to know me, simply because it was such a strong part of what defined me.
There were times in the past when I truly believed that everything would always work out and there were times when I was faced in situations which made me ersiously question that. And throughout many of these steps, money was certainly absent from the picture, both as a plot design and simply as a form of tension. That iw as there only to drive the plot along, at certain points, but never there to buy me a car or take me on a trip when I needed any of that; because, for years, I didn’t need anything extra.
I was happy to go about living the same existence nearly every day. I felt that in some way I would be exempt from aging if everything each day stayed exactly the same. My body wouldn’t notice that time was occurring. Of course we all know that this is not the case, and in the process there’s arguably more work to be done to fix up the place. That still doesn’t’ stop me from saying that I welcome I and would never discourage anyone sitting by him or herself on a Friday night to ditch the same old friends and go on an adventure; or go on a walk to a place you haven’t been, or take a look at something from a perspective that hasn’t been already made into a movie somehow.
I thought I met her in real life, several times over. But it turns out I was only seeing her shine through different sides of people I was meeting. I wasn’t sure if this was good enough in terms of proof, because what I was looking for really amounted to a quest to find god; or some version of the perfect human being who could bring me eternal happiness who was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen in my life.
In that sense, a woman can be like a god to a man. And you really can’t help but thing there’s something of an almost worshipful quality to any truly deep and powerful romantic relationship. What makes us always wonder what the truth is, when the facts are so obvious and in our face? Why should we bring one another through these loud and impersonal arguments about nothing in particular.
To see traffic patterns in cars and then convert it to video games has been quite a task, but well worth every bit of it. To have a place called home we could both go to, and to find that place in each other’s hearts; these were not things that I found to be impossible, because I could see that it happened fro others with loving partners whom they could trust with their lives and entrust with their secrets in hopes of trading those for happiness – I believed it was possible and not worth giving up on believing.
I could see these specific places, these little moments in time which only lasted an instant. There were nights spent lost in the freezing cold, wondering if I would ever make it home. And other times I found myself not sure where home really was. Told as a story, to most women it seemed dangerous and sketchy to know that I knew what it was like to be homeless. But to her, she’d find it to be a source of strength as it actually is, rather than a sign of my weakness.
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
Movie Review: E.T.
Watched E.T. last night. I got to re-experience it and really pay attention to all of the reasons why it was such an important movie. There's a scene where the government agents finally catch up to the family who is hiding the alien. And you think that they're essentially out to get the alien, to perform experiments and autopsies. But the alien is alive, though it's becoming increasingly ill the longer it stays on Earth. And the kid who found him is experiencing the same symptoms, as in complete empathic / telepathic connection. The government agent finally talks to the kid, after days of hiding out in vans outside with surveillance equipment, and says "i've waited for this moment (to meet an alien) all my life. I'm glad you found him first. This is a miracle, do you understand?"
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| Government Agent, Talking To Eliot (towards the end) |
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| The Oct 31 Bike Ride with E.T. |
So that's what made it a good movie. That and for so many other reasons. Like the movie poster, where you see the moon, and there's a kid with what looks like it might be an alien, or could easily be mistaken or substituted for a medium-sized pet, riding in the front basket. That's why I found this movie to be so important. That poster, without the context, is beautiful but it hardly makes any sense. To put it in context, and realize that was in the middle of a trick-or-treat ride, and not from the final chase scene, is the kind of holding back that I want to be able to achieve in filmmaking. The drama is in the details, and the proof are the things our minds connect with in our own lives that are so personal that only these types of allegories can unlock what they mean.
E.T. is probably my favorite single movie of all time; meaning single, no trilogy.
The kid who played Elliot went on later to play Johnny Sirocco in Gangs of New York.