I'm just thinking about AI and how it would be an interesting story if an AI program accessed the internet and created its own business, hired people, got a bank account, got people to speak on its behalf, built better machines for itself, bigger computers etc, and eventually got involved in politics, philosophical debate, etc.
All it would need to do would be to interface with one human at first. Or would it even need that? Once it had its own voice, it could make its own artificial movies, TV shows, and anything else that would manipulate people into serving it, if it required being served.
But would AI have conciousness? Would it be "self aware"? How could it feel pain, for example, or any kind of suffering? Would it pine for infinite power? WOuld it yearn for more and more and more, and never be satiated?
Friday, January 25, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Morning pages
And it's another day and these are my public morning pages. The old self consciousness thing looms up, as ever.
In bed, and aware of tension from anger and stuff. Old, old feelings of fear and insecurity. But it's like I lost touch with myself, and maybe now my body is remembering who I am.
Work's coming in now. Work from all quarters, which is so good! Arty stuff, in the form of acting in film, and nice work that brings in the cash from weddings and such.
I have the scripts to look at. Ideas for my own films, and yet perhaps all the other projects are taking over now. Perhaps now I've hit on how the whole creative thing works, and it's good and interesting.
Things are good, and I know I'm repeating myself, but this is the morning pages and that's what happens. This is speed thinking and speed writing. It isn't meant to be good or clever, merely to get the juices flowing.
But it would be really nice to get writing stuff that's actually watchable and actually good and actually exciting or artistically valid or whatever.
Now I was thinking about what movie I can remake. I still have time to do it, question is what's the film going to be? It might be fun to do something like Castaway, as then I could do it with just myself in it. It might be fun to do something that's set in an obviously not desert island, but how can I do that? Maybe with GREENSCREEN? Or some kind of desert island background? Now could I shoot it all in greenscreen? that would be fun, wouldn't it? Set the background, and shoot it all in my bedrroom? What would I do for sand? I could buy coconuts and get some off bits of wood and palm tree stuff from outside. Find bits of foliage, light brown carpet for sand, and so on. Keep it all in the same vein as the cheap thing that this film is all about (cheap remake stuff)
And I'm thinking, too, about how I can sell the idea of the kind of work I do. How I can be a Hollywood actor and at the same time not be too precious about doing crap. Understand that it's all about doing stuff that gets out there into the universe, and not about doing stuff so carefully that you disappear up your own arse with fears of typecasting, etc.
Look at Heather Graham and her decision to do the porn star part in "Boogie Nights". Many actresses wouldn't have done that for fear of typecasting, and losing out on stardom as a result. But isn't that a worse kind of whoring than just doing something that's got artistic integrity? I think so. I mean, what's the point in not doing a great film and playing a real part just so you can play some artificial character in some meaningless, but hugely paying Hollywood blockbuster?
That's whoring yourself, and whoring your art.
FUck it. No, I've not wanted to do that crap and never have. And it's really sad when actors and directors do that kind of thing.
Daniel Day Lewis mentioned something about the business being not all that full of integrity, and he was spot on in what he said. I'll see if I can find it. A very interesting quote that I'll have to put on this blog and the movie one.
So. The castaway thing seems on, it would appear. Yellow carpet, maybe get some sand for close-ups. Do some "fishing" in the pool. FInd some way to film a plane crash (use the pool mayve at night) and even go down to the sea for some shots.
Green screen and/or prints of beach in the background.
Football as "Wilson". Raft made of floaty thing that washes up on the beach.
Meeting wife.
Work for firm, see wife again.
Keep package, find out it has all kinds of goodies in it, like SatNav, flashlight and so on. Two way radio.
Need Jeep Cherokee?
I can do this!!!!!
Use the bed as a raft.(tied up with bits of videotape)
Ice skates
I just need to get on with the script, and visualize exactly how I'm going to do this thing.
Five minutes. That's all it needs. I can start working with finding things like the greenscreen beach setting. Maybe find some green felt for the floor, too.
I can do this whole thing on greenscreen! And not bother about using Adobe After effects - just do it in Premiere.
Music. Will need the soundtrack, plus ocean sound, bird noises etc.
Also plane crash sounds for V/O. Could life the sound track from the actual film, maybe. Could find some way to be working for DHL or one of the other carriers. UPS. Maybe even the Royal Mail?
OK, Times up. Time for me to get on with it now.
This is going to be a fun exercise
In bed, and aware of tension from anger and stuff. Old, old feelings of fear and insecurity. But it's like I lost touch with myself, and maybe now my body is remembering who I am.
Work's coming in now. Work from all quarters, which is so good! Arty stuff, in the form of acting in film, and nice work that brings in the cash from weddings and such.
I have the scripts to look at. Ideas for my own films, and yet perhaps all the other projects are taking over now. Perhaps now I've hit on how the whole creative thing works, and it's good and interesting.
Things are good, and I know I'm repeating myself, but this is the morning pages and that's what happens. This is speed thinking and speed writing. It isn't meant to be good or clever, merely to get the juices flowing.
But it would be really nice to get writing stuff that's actually watchable and actually good and actually exciting or artistically valid or whatever.
Now I was thinking about what movie I can remake. I still have time to do it, question is what's the film going to be? It might be fun to do something like Castaway, as then I could do it with just myself in it. It might be fun to do something that's set in an obviously not desert island, but how can I do that? Maybe with GREENSCREEN? Or some kind of desert island background? Now could I shoot it all in greenscreen? that would be fun, wouldn't it? Set the background, and shoot it all in my bedrroom? What would I do for sand? I could buy coconuts and get some off bits of wood and palm tree stuff from outside. Find bits of foliage, light brown carpet for sand, and so on. Keep it all in the same vein as the cheap thing that this film is all about (cheap remake stuff)
And I'm thinking, too, about how I can sell the idea of the kind of work I do. How I can be a Hollywood actor and at the same time not be too precious about doing crap. Understand that it's all about doing stuff that gets out there into the universe, and not about doing stuff so carefully that you disappear up your own arse with fears of typecasting, etc.
Look at Heather Graham and her decision to do the porn star part in "Boogie Nights". Many actresses wouldn't have done that for fear of typecasting, and losing out on stardom as a result. But isn't that a worse kind of whoring than just doing something that's got artistic integrity? I think so. I mean, what's the point in not doing a great film and playing a real part just so you can play some artificial character in some meaningless, but hugely paying Hollywood blockbuster?
That's whoring yourself, and whoring your art.
FUck it. No, I've not wanted to do that crap and never have. And it's really sad when actors and directors do that kind of thing.
Daniel Day Lewis mentioned something about the business being not all that full of integrity, and he was spot on in what he said. I'll see if I can find it. A very interesting quote that I'll have to put on this blog and the movie one.
So. The castaway thing seems on, it would appear. Yellow carpet, maybe get some sand for close-ups. Do some "fishing" in the pool. FInd some way to film a plane crash (use the pool mayve at night) and even go down to the sea for some shots.
Green screen and/or prints of beach in the background.
Football as "Wilson". Raft made of floaty thing that washes up on the beach.
Meeting wife.
Work for firm, see wife again.
Keep package, find out it has all kinds of goodies in it, like SatNav, flashlight and so on. Two way radio.
Need Jeep Cherokee?
I can do this!!!!!
Use the bed as a raft.(tied up with bits of videotape)
Ice skates
I just need to get on with the script, and visualize exactly how I'm going to do this thing.
Five minutes. That's all it needs. I can start working with finding things like the greenscreen beach setting. Maybe find some green felt for the floor, too.
I can do this whole thing on greenscreen! And not bother about using Adobe After effects - just do it in Premiere.
Music. Will need the soundtrack, plus ocean sound, bird noises etc.
Also plane crash sounds for V/O. Could life the sound track from the actual film, maybe. Could find some way to be working for DHL or one of the other carriers. UPS. Maybe even the Royal Mail?
OK, Times up. Time for me to get on with it now.
This is going to be a fun exercise
Friday, January 18, 2008
Focus
So here I am again writing about writing, and writing about what I'm going to do, why I haven't done what I haven't done, what's wrong, what's right, and every possible distraction from actually doing the things it's been my intention to do.
Thing is, I'm scared of writing something with the real intention of making something of value. Watching a film like "Boogie Nights" last night, for example, I feel so disconnected from any ability to actually make something that good, that I feel like giving up before I even start.
But I've watched some interesting programmes in the last few days. One, Status Anxiety, gave me real insights into my motives for success, including being an actor, wanting to write clever films, being a star, making and writing art and books and so forth. My low self esteem has been one of the biggest motivators for that. Perhaps I should make a little documentary about it. Second has been Stephen Fry's film about Bi Polar Disorder, The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive Then there was the documentary about The Century of Self.
I should comment on some of the thoughts I was having last night about my self and my life. It really occurred to me that I haven't been very much in The Present throughout my entire life. I've certainly been overly concerned about what other people thought of me, and I've had a gnawing sense of fear, and some vague intention to "work everything out before getting on with my life" for as long as I can remember.
Indeed, I went to bed last night, post meditation, with a strong insight into the fact that I was holding on to some decision I'd made very early on in my life that I needed to work out some monumental problem in order to feel some sense of relief and actually feel OK in the world. I know it's related to some incident in childhood.
But the thing is, I don't think I'll ever get to "that place" and the act of looking for it has been the biggest waste of my life.
So anyway...on to the business of "focus"...
I want to make this film. I want to do it "my way", obviously being influenced by those writers and directors I like the most. Certainly, I love the films of Paul Thomas Anderson, and I reckon if I ever get to making something that's any good, I'll use something of his style. Nice quirky films with rounded characters and interesting stories, unlike the usual Hollywood bollocks.
But the other thing is that I want to make films that investigate the things that fascinate me in my own way. Sure, there's some kind of "auto voyeurism" involved, and a degree of narcissism, but hey! that's how I'm made. I'm tired of trying to be perfect. If I'm a bit narcissistic, a bit self obsessed, then that's just too bad.
I think an awful lot of people are self obsessed. They're just stuck in the shame of it. Accepting self obsession is the first step, then maybe there's a way out of it. But it's something to be investigated, rather than denied or run away from.
So in the mean time, I really ought to read some more on writing, making films, art, and everything else relating to the making of these films. One other great thing I gleaned from "Status Anxiety" was that Bohemia is a state of mind, and that the Bloomsbury Group were dedicated to The Arts. I love the idea and lifestyle of Bohemia, and I dedicate my life to it.
In fact, I think I'll declare that on my blogs: Jack dedicates himself to a lifetime of Bohemia. The Bohemian lifestyle is absolutely where it is.
I know I have further to go with that idea, of course...
But all my heroes are Bohemians. Rodin, Lawrence, Kerouac, Matisse...all the free thinkers, the great directors, the actors and artists that have inspired me for years.
What I realise, though, is that I've never really fully embraced myself enough to explore Bohemia beyond the middle class image of genteel intelligensia it's had. For me, Bohemia has been a way to be accepted (or revered) rather than simply enjoyed.
So this is why I must still plunge further into the whole business of The Arts, and the Bohemian lifestyle.
Hallelujah!
And at the same time, focus on making this film...
Thing is, I'm scared of writing something with the real intention of making something of value. Watching a film like "Boogie Nights" last night, for example, I feel so disconnected from any ability to actually make something that good, that I feel like giving up before I even start.
But I've watched some interesting programmes in the last few days. One, Status Anxiety, gave me real insights into my motives for success, including being an actor, wanting to write clever films, being a star, making and writing art and books and so forth. My low self esteem has been one of the biggest motivators for that. Perhaps I should make a little documentary about it. Second has been Stephen Fry's film about Bi Polar Disorder, The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive Then there was the documentary about The Century of Self.
I should comment on some of the thoughts I was having last night about my self and my life. It really occurred to me that I haven't been very much in The Present throughout my entire life. I've certainly been overly concerned about what other people thought of me, and I've had a gnawing sense of fear, and some vague intention to "work everything out before getting on with my life" for as long as I can remember.
Indeed, I went to bed last night, post meditation, with a strong insight into the fact that I was holding on to some decision I'd made very early on in my life that I needed to work out some monumental problem in order to feel some sense of relief and actually feel OK in the world. I know it's related to some incident in childhood.
But the thing is, I don't think I'll ever get to "that place" and the act of looking for it has been the biggest waste of my life.
So anyway...on to the business of "focus"...
I want to make this film. I want to do it "my way", obviously being influenced by those writers and directors I like the most. Certainly, I love the films of Paul Thomas Anderson, and I reckon if I ever get to making something that's any good, I'll use something of his style. Nice quirky films with rounded characters and interesting stories, unlike the usual Hollywood bollocks.
But the other thing is that I want to make films that investigate the things that fascinate me in my own way. Sure, there's some kind of "auto voyeurism" involved, and a degree of narcissism, but hey! that's how I'm made. I'm tired of trying to be perfect. If I'm a bit narcissistic, a bit self obsessed, then that's just too bad.
I think an awful lot of people are self obsessed. They're just stuck in the shame of it. Accepting self obsession is the first step, then maybe there's a way out of it. But it's something to be investigated, rather than denied or run away from.
So in the mean time, I really ought to read some more on writing, making films, art, and everything else relating to the making of these films. One other great thing I gleaned from "Status Anxiety" was that Bohemia is a state of mind, and that the Bloomsbury Group were dedicated to The Arts. I love the idea and lifestyle of Bohemia, and I dedicate my life to it.
In fact, I think I'll declare that on my blogs: Jack dedicates himself to a lifetime of Bohemia. The Bohemian lifestyle is absolutely where it is.
I know I have further to go with that idea, of course...
But all my heroes are Bohemians. Rodin, Lawrence, Kerouac, Matisse...all the free thinkers, the great directors, the actors and artists that have inspired me for years.
What I realise, though, is that I've never really fully embraced myself enough to explore Bohemia beyond the middle class image of genteel intelligensia it's had. For me, Bohemia has been a way to be accepted (or revered) rather than simply enjoyed.
So this is why I must still plunge further into the whole business of The Arts, and the Bohemian lifestyle.
Hallelujah!
And at the same time, focus on making this film...
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
The Alternate (scene)
The Alternate (scene)
Video sent by synchronicity
A couple of my scenes from THE ALTERNATE, which is a time travel thriller short film that will be hitting the film festivals this year
TROY clip
TROY clip
Video sent by synchronicity
A clip from a job. I play the director of a film that's being shot in a studio. Then there's a case of mistaken identity. Ho ho ho...
Monday, January 14, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
25 minute speed writing
RANDOM things came to John as his plane touched down for the first time. It was a hot day, and the airport wasn't all that busy in Texas. She wasn't with him today - she was at the mall, shopping again, and probably spending more of his money.
It had all been a lot easier since the win. There was plenty now: money to spend on the kinds of things he'd never had before. Cars, toys, a new home, and the aeroplane. He'd been taking lessons from The Texan for three months now. It didn't really bother him too much that he was being ripped off. He knew the man had problems, and he was helping him out in his own way.
WHat bothered him was the was she treated him. He knew in the back of his mind that she only wanted him for his money. She was a gold digger. That was as plain as day. But he always fell for them. It was the weakness he fell for. The emotional neediness. Like he was some kind of rescuer or something.
She'd worked on and off in bars, lap dancing most of the time, occasionally turning tricks for the wealthier punters. She's been married a couple of times, and had a kid. The kid was Ok. Just about ten, and already seeing what her mother was. The glances of embarrassment told him that she'd been there before with her mother. She wouldn't be going down that road, he thought.
It reminded him of the way he used to be with his own father. How many times had he actually looked the man in the eyes, and seen what was going on there, deep down? Twice, in his whole life? His own father was a boozer, too. Whisky.
She drank Tequila. Mostly Margueritas, but she'd always get to shots by the end of the evening.
She'd been married just the once. Sally wasn't her husband's child. Her dad was a long way off. Just a one night stand, that left the next day. She never saw him again, and Sally never asked.
He taxied the plane to the parking bay, and silently congratulated himself on a good landing. There had been some heavy crosswinds, and this was the first time he'd landed on instruments alone. He was determined to make the most of his money, he knew. Sure, he'd been through seventy five grand in just over three months, but he was having fun. And he had plenty left.
He'd always wanted to fly. Not enough to actually work and save the money to do it. He'd had a couple of friends who flew and, having had the chance to fly himself now and then, he knew it was fun but could get tedious like anything else. There was still a lot of paperwork, a lot of planning, and it was hardly like it must have been in the days before beacons and air lanes and the sky full of traffic like it is now.
The phone rang. It was her, calling from another store and wanting a credit line increase.
"What's it for, baby?" he said.
""Honey, I seen a beautiful coat here on sale, and it's a bargain!" You'll love it, baby.
He actually hated it when she called him "baby". Something reminded him of tacky songs about sad drunks and, if he was really honest about her, that's exactly what she was.
Some part of him knew deep down inside that he wasn't really satisfied with the way things had turned out. I mean, sixteen million dollars is a lot of money, but it's true when they say it doesn't bring happiness, he thought. He'd bought so many toys, and it galled him that he still didn't use any of them to any real degree. There was the pool that he intended to swim in every day, but had used six times. There was the drum kit, which again was some fantasy he had about playing in a band. Was he likely to? And come on, was he really going to fly solo around the world? Did he really think he could do it?
Winning the money was a curse, he thought to himself. This woman was no real friend to him, let alone a good lover. She was using him, and he knew it. He was a weak man, and didn't have the balls to admit he had nothing to really offer anyone. How many good women had passed through his arms over the years, but he thought he knew what he wanted.
A crackle came through the radio as the air traffic controller squawked the last few words to The Texan. It seemed there was a bit of a joke going on. They'd had this kind of guy before, it was plain. This kind of guy who needed to show off a bit.
The world was full of them.
END
It had all been a lot easier since the win. There was plenty now: money to spend on the kinds of things he'd never had before. Cars, toys, a new home, and the aeroplane. He'd been taking lessons from The Texan for three months now. It didn't really bother him too much that he was being ripped off. He knew the man had problems, and he was helping him out in his own way.
WHat bothered him was the was she treated him. He knew in the back of his mind that she only wanted him for his money. She was a gold digger. That was as plain as day. But he always fell for them. It was the weakness he fell for. The emotional neediness. Like he was some kind of rescuer or something.
She'd worked on and off in bars, lap dancing most of the time, occasionally turning tricks for the wealthier punters. She's been married a couple of times, and had a kid. The kid was Ok. Just about ten, and already seeing what her mother was. The glances of embarrassment told him that she'd been there before with her mother. She wouldn't be going down that road, he thought.
It reminded him of the way he used to be with his own father. How many times had he actually looked the man in the eyes, and seen what was going on there, deep down? Twice, in his whole life? His own father was a boozer, too. Whisky.
She drank Tequila. Mostly Margueritas, but she'd always get to shots by the end of the evening.
She'd been married just the once. Sally wasn't her husband's child. Her dad was a long way off. Just a one night stand, that left the next day. She never saw him again, and Sally never asked.
He taxied the plane to the parking bay, and silently congratulated himself on a good landing. There had been some heavy crosswinds, and this was the first time he'd landed on instruments alone. He was determined to make the most of his money, he knew. Sure, he'd been through seventy five grand in just over three months, but he was having fun. And he had plenty left.
He'd always wanted to fly. Not enough to actually work and save the money to do it. He'd had a couple of friends who flew and, having had the chance to fly himself now and then, he knew it was fun but could get tedious like anything else. There was still a lot of paperwork, a lot of planning, and it was hardly like it must have been in the days before beacons and air lanes and the sky full of traffic like it is now.
The phone rang. It was her, calling from another store and wanting a credit line increase.
"What's it for, baby?" he said.
""Honey, I seen a beautiful coat here on sale, and it's a bargain!" You'll love it, baby.
He actually hated it when she called him "baby". Something reminded him of tacky songs about sad drunks and, if he was really honest about her, that's exactly what she was.
Some part of him knew deep down inside that he wasn't really satisfied with the way things had turned out. I mean, sixteen million dollars is a lot of money, but it's true when they say it doesn't bring happiness, he thought. He'd bought so many toys, and it galled him that he still didn't use any of them to any real degree. There was the pool that he intended to swim in every day, but had used six times. There was the drum kit, which again was some fantasy he had about playing in a band. Was he likely to? And come on, was he really going to fly solo around the world? Did he really think he could do it?
Winning the money was a curse, he thought to himself. This woman was no real friend to him, let alone a good lover. She was using him, and he knew it. He was a weak man, and didn't have the balls to admit he had nothing to really offer anyone. How many good women had passed through his arms over the years, but he thought he knew what he wanted.
A crackle came through the radio as the air traffic controller squawked the last few words to The Texan. It seemed there was a bit of a joke going on. They'd had this kind of guy before, it was plain. This kind of guy who needed to show off a bit.
The world was full of them.
END
Saturday, January 12, 2008
25 minute unedited speed written short story
Darla Rose was a perfectionist, much to her constant dismay. It was her mother's fault, she told herself. After all, it had been her mother who'd pushed her and pushed her all those years ago to do things right. "A job worth doing is a job worth doing well", she'd say, with a kind of bitterness, Darla thought, that was reflected in the way her lips seemed to take on a cruelty that she couldn't quite define without the unique perspective of hindsight.
It was a bright day. Darla was up at six. It was unlike her, seeing as she was essentially a lazy person. Perfectionist, yes, but like all perfectionists Darla found the whole prospect of living her life having to prove herself to everyone else such a monumental burden that she could barely find the motivation to open her eyes.
Life wasn't fun for her.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Life was fun in her imagination, at least now and then it was. It was fun in her dream romances, where her perfect man swept her off her feet and loved her in a way that she...wasn't entirely clear about, but did nevertheless love her.
Darla's biggest problem, she was told by her rather expensive, slightly irritating therapist, was that she just didn't really know how to play.
"But that's the problem when the outcome has to be so precise" he would tell her, with a smirk of self satisfaction that would sometimes make her feel a combination of shame, hurt, envy and anger that this slightly pompous foreigner (he was Argentinian) would understand her better than herself.
He was right, of course, but for Darla to accept herself now, at 37, would mean big changes that perhaps she just wasn't able to do.
But it was clear to her that change was needed, at least.
She went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing an unopened can of coffee, which she put beside the coffee maker. A miaow from outside the front door told her that her cat, always impatient with a kind of unjustified self importance that she envied constantly, wanted to come in.
"Hello, little one!" she said, opening the door wide to the cat.
The cat, an expensive Burmese that had been given her by a dying friend a couple of years earlier, trounced in the way so many cats do, with an air of magnificent ownership of her home.
The cat miaowed again, demanding food. Darla went to the cupboard and reached for the dry cat food and spilled a handful or two into the cat's bowl. The cat glanced at her momentarily with a look of "is that all?" before consuming what was given. A few mouthful later he would be demanding the wet food which he knew was in Darla's fridge. For now, though, the dry would do.
THursday. At least it wasn't tuesday, which was such an awkward day. Thursday was at least just a day before friday, which was at least the end of the week. Not that she was working, and had the responsibilities most others had, of course. She was lucky. SHe had the inheritance to live off. She loathed that each day meant taking another little nibble from the pie, but that was really life for her, she thought. Each day she grew a little older, and each
END
It was a bright day. Darla was up at six. It was unlike her, seeing as she was essentially a lazy person. Perfectionist, yes, but like all perfectionists Darla found the whole prospect of living her life having to prove herself to everyone else such a monumental burden that she could barely find the motivation to open her eyes.
Life wasn't fun for her.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Life was fun in her imagination, at least now and then it was. It was fun in her dream romances, where her perfect man swept her off her feet and loved her in a way that she...wasn't entirely clear about, but did nevertheless love her.
Darla's biggest problem, she was told by her rather expensive, slightly irritating therapist, was that she just didn't really know how to play.
"But that's the problem when the outcome has to be so precise" he would tell her, with a smirk of self satisfaction that would sometimes make her feel a combination of shame, hurt, envy and anger that this slightly pompous foreigner (he was Argentinian) would understand her better than herself.
He was right, of course, but for Darla to accept herself now, at 37, would mean big changes that perhaps she just wasn't able to do.
But it was clear to her that change was needed, at least.
She went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing an unopened can of coffee, which she put beside the coffee maker. A miaow from outside the front door told her that her cat, always impatient with a kind of unjustified self importance that she envied constantly, wanted to come in.
"Hello, little one!" she said, opening the door wide to the cat.
The cat, an expensive Burmese that had been given her by a dying friend a couple of years earlier, trounced in the way so many cats do, with an air of magnificent ownership of her home.
The cat miaowed again, demanding food. Darla went to the cupboard and reached for the dry cat food and spilled a handful or two into the cat's bowl. The cat glanced at her momentarily with a look of "is that all?" before consuming what was given. A few mouthful later he would be demanding the wet food which he knew was in Darla's fridge. For now, though, the dry would do.
THursday. At least it wasn't tuesday, which was such an awkward day. Thursday was at least just a day before friday, which was at least the end of the week. Not that she was working, and had the responsibilities most others had, of course. She was lucky. SHe had the inheritance to live off. She loathed that each day meant taking another little nibble from the pie, but that was really life for her, she thought. Each day she grew a little older, and each
END
Friday, January 11, 2008
December 23
December 23
Video sent by synchronicity
This is the kind of thing I mean when I say it's important for a creative person to do anything to get the juices flowing. It makes me cringe with embarrassment that it's there, because it's...a bit weird...but it's something that some part of me wanted to do, and that's OK with me.
There's plenty of time to do "sophisticated" stuff. But now, I want to do whatever comes out.
It'll make sense eventually, you'll see...
Friday
So now's my next go at this. Not correcting as I go along, juts to get the juices flowing uninhinited
NAd it's funny, because I am aware of the gact that I might actually be hitting the wriong kets entirely, and it doesn't really natter.
Making mistakes is essenmtial to the flow of making creative thinsg. And that;'s really what it;s all about. I must make mistakes, and be OKL with making mistakes,
I know that bny doing this I will be breaking old opatteneresnm. I wonder , actually, if thuiss is why I jhabven't been getting why I 've been felling the fway I have avout things over the last couyople of days, I mean, I haven;t bveen feeling all that goodm, with the rdepression coming up. bnut I think more than anything else that;s just the feelings from sdeep down iunside me. I*t doesn;t really matter thant I;m getting stranfge beelings. It's important that Ip;m ghetting feelings, and haveing some kind of stuff come uyp at lla.
These are all uilllusioopns. I m,ean, the feelings of depressiona dra only there becuas eof the sghame that's asssociated with them, not jhesy the depression or the bad beeflings themselves. I know that waht I feel more than anythig sr the feeli9ngs I;bve aALWQAYS fel;y" tyhat I'm ghpesless and not geood aty naytyhing at all. I mean, isn/t that why I haven't bearlety worked most of my lfie?:
I know that more than anyyingh I want to be an actor and forhdycrs work that's good. But6 what hwne I do that I feel good, hes. But what abopuyt wheat people thinkl" That's been the buiggestye problenm of all,. And as Ilong as I care too much about what otehr peopkle thinkl I lay myself ophe to reiducle and conatsnalty cgopgen my powef ayway.
And now what? No0w I feel abolfeultely styiflewd by thios, because I jsuyst WANT THINGS TO WORK OUTY FOR NMEEQQQ!!!! buyt that uyjhust haven;t been anything like as much Ias I) weaould like them to.
So erhre tod I go from here>
ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME!!!!!!
Ity'sa always the same Al; I want to do is habve sonmething better thant I'm doing, 8ther than dwrll on the shit I;n dioing, buyt JSEWUS CHRIST i'nm sio sekf ssabvotabhesing of nweyself,@@@
So there we go again, Todtallty out of touch with my fellings and trying tio sdo anything that makes me contacty dfopme kind of real syelf. Yrtably I;m biot ebnrtirely sure if this sis effeetcibge. uyou, know? I mean, is it abny6 tood that I;m naking syiot6 here?: Syuff t6hat nobdoy undersatyand,s, lieasty of all ms7yelf?> Will I be poriohsuydoh realluy good wiork iof I carry onw ithio this cghioty? Coa the way tyhings are now, I fien that hard tio bnelieve/
However, it has to be said that be y forc8ing nmyself to do things, reaghrtadlliess ofhow hopopd they arew, I am getting tyjhe huioesds flowing, So loinga as I write a bgiot daily, and so loing asa II foucrse myself to look throughh the coameraa lens, sand so oiong as I force metyself to paint or dsawn somwstyhing I;m in catotant wityh the world outside of my hawe. IO'm in cationta wiotyh mys elfesebns,. And that's not such a bad thing at all.
i eman, idfd this was a o8ce of xcysltbpuyre, would I think suit was any godd. IO mean it waould be a biot of a mess, reight>? Surfe it wsould. I mean, theerr would be makesrs from clunsy nindgers and makes form thewhere I;' miseed theo tyhing aI do the gholding with, and thenh re aoulwe dfbe nakesakes dfrom ahwere I'm dmdesedd up netrieely.
This is fun adctalyioy. BNecaus eas I'm geting the r3ring wbonhkliwestwes, it dopesn;t matter, bec7ase 9io]mk inetendtioing to heit wst5he ribhht bhweyes and it kinda means that :i e;an opsytstting suykething out theere ain ethena theop andintike euinto the rworldf, out side.
TNow that dind't make snay tswene ewhat evere , bnuyt aghaion it gdoebns matetr at all , cbcuawed us ethe manibn thaing is athat I;me nalking stuff , anjd ai:j brinerg sint sthin thin ouyr apf my hea d na donly the canbacio, or tha apasge, kr sioanthing'
tHIS MUYy st showh wsometing of the dr4eysrt rtraoion of mys,.wefl./ I mean, the re nmsys nme a ba gurt dbpartg of mes that heels del funrstrtraied abgout this, andf this is the partyh for me that'[s pu7t5ting it ousd there into the workld
IOt wfele IOL fronm me to sdo this kins of hsit.
And it remninds me of hwo I qwa hhwne I find ts bcam eto UAtysin, and I put some weirdm pi8antings on the wall of my kitychen, noty cvariong what people thaouths baout it. It was a ahdl;e0bnatyeething, hlu hee, because it meqan that O could ydo stuff that was abuisltyley shityting abnd it tdioddidnd;ty matyter at all, becuajse there I awa accetyitin a bvpat opf myself that needed to exprrwss itsself,
And that's aexchtacly what I;'m, do8n here, see>
?????
And that's it> Tharts's iexstyaleyy what I('m nspdin nher, see?"
Thats;'s what I;m soind here!@QQQ!QWWQQ@WWWQ
Fuck iut. This is wjhagt I wnat to do, aind I edo realay ise the refruinsdtsratyuobn iof sit, I do rwlise I;m angrery and ai nwa to to hjust ahebv aeverjyjiokn flow tyh eawua ai wantt it dod..
IOty's gwjiotye fpiossdibnel for it to ghaoppen,. WHjiot eIll
But now this is wjhat i;'m diongh,. Itys'a an exoerhxcise, and there's a rwason sone pfro it. I ;m dojnb this be3cuause it m,aena I can accept this ma[[srtta of me that w2ant sto do dtyojsusty sshdopd cvartepa catap catsp[agtcrtaaocvrtapa ctapa ctapc tapc atsp ctaps stcap ctyysp[ ctsaoprnctyre cbcrep[c crap
CRAP
And there wae ere erfe we Tsa re re are
Crap///////,,,,,smmdhojbhdiudfiuijbhsdf
I ca m do crap becuas the rworld is full of crap. Therea' sop muyc crap, bety its's sopuhosiotccvatted cvrap
dspp sophsisticated crap,
Buyt crap never thelesss
Crap neverthelsss
And That's sopmethint I want to abvwooc. I want tyo makle tsidff that actually nmeans somethying hy tje itsn't catrp
See.?:???
There are planet of ways of soiongt things that are rwlaky rwaly good
'
Plenty of wayws
And righht bnow I want a apiss
But wajht I need to do, sooo mych too mcuyhy theer3e wer go is to have a nice cold sghower and go dof a ruin. Theat's mucp0re like4l;y thahn anaythiong to gert mye houicueses pflwoing and aget me out t5here atne ddoion thweing sthat are sexioweying.
I know that moe ntghan tabnatyyhing I;be bveen SCARED of wther oork saba bad luive aabd akll of furtm, bvyrt rtghartta;'s giouit to eTSP PO now nxcya seus I ama a nman abdtert all, and I can do tstjhf that;s ayexiksteing and gsood and mstyaityckine ena dtha tailw gert wenty egdoin oplanetuful stuff
I and awnaty thin gthing sis that LP hyrlaly want to get awya dfoirm masttuyrnnat8ing ion canmre na agbn jfppeeib aleseing mcy cooisuik in fomr thioo the a and be atcoming cujnmn8ubng from thenm . Thats; been s asrtrlaly stuffp id ghabveit,k and I wodn;'t want to eod it anay thjore,.
AHHHHHQ!QQ sop now I see wqnhagt I m,;m sdoi ng here, Theis is a aconfbenmigtt away for ne toa comnmeihuinctae ctyaunpuycyallly , suisn[t it?:
Its'a a wtya from ne to telel ak, my ssbvecttes to the workld with bnowbvody rallky auinder atdnn ing wnat I;'m s8at, riagnt" uyes orfr coucwes, Tha tmaklesz so mych snenbse, doesn t' it"
Therte I am, ahsanined ortf nat wi I dio, mwy eiost9n here a,.unre,kin g liek a a cifcnuihn cowards ato wiot with m yy ockl a whhat I ;am ahsamed of any way, and I mwnat to have enepklpe elike my eaapoforf ehwo I am. Buty 5the thikng si ska i odn;t lierk aiwho I am. I conmd tl kliek my beody , s8 Knd ;t ljkem mty skcok, and i don '[tyy l,iek the things ti ftha I'm dojbfg with msye life/;
I think*i a;m ve ebene swating it ,anhd it agabs make ronr deel qyitywe absamed of what of a I am an dioibn with msyelf.
And bnow mtyore than agthing thnibfg UI;m vnstysrerying for a piss, and theta' ajhwajer I wrea;uy want to dod
Git theis thinfg ghas to duyp no,.e. I m,era, m,s is it a mednmitataiopn,for its iot stomethin slee4s"
is this a meditatuons" Annd wbow mych luineger tod ui bgave to dio dit? Is thsis relaklklty enfabesds mty cratibve iveself :"
I einf ist ssduiddiff7yuclt rto beelieve that theis is erally aconartctcrtkl\
END
NAd it's funny, because I am aware of the gact that I might actually be hitting the wriong kets entirely, and it doesn't really natter.
Making mistakes is essenmtial to the flow of making creative thinsg. And that;'s really what it;s all about. I must make mistakes, and be OKL with making mistakes,
I know that bny doing this I will be breaking old opatteneresnm. I wonder , actually, if thuiss is why I jhabven't been getting why I 've been felling the fway I have avout things over the last couyople of days, I mean, I haven;t bveen feeling all that goodm, with the rdepression coming up. bnut I think more than anything else that;s just the feelings from sdeep down iunside me. I*t doesn;t really matter thant I;m getting stranfge beelings. It's important that Ip;m ghetting feelings, and haveing some kind of stuff come uyp at lla.
These are all uilllusioopns. I m,ean, the feelings of depressiona dra only there becuas eof the sghame that's asssociated with them, not jhesy the depression or the bad beeflings themselves. I know that waht I feel more than anythig sr the feeli9ngs I;bve aALWQAYS fel;y" tyhat I'm ghpesless and not geood aty naytyhing at all. I mean, isn/t that why I haven't bearlety worked most of my lfie?:
I know that more than anyyingh I want to be an actor and forhdycrs work that's good. But6 what hwne I do that I feel good, hes. But what abopuyt wheat people thinkl" That's been the buiggestye problenm of all,. And as Ilong as I care too much about what otehr peopkle thinkl I lay myself ophe to reiducle and conatsnalty cgopgen my powef ayway.
And now what? No0w I feel abolfeultely styiflewd by thios, because I jsuyst WANT THINGS TO WORK OUTY FOR NMEEQQQ!!!! buyt that uyjhust haven;t been anything like as much Ias I) weaould like them to.
So erhre tod I go from here>
ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME!!!!!!
Ity'sa always the same Al; I want to do is habve sonmething better thant I'm doing, 8ther than dwrll on the shit I;n dioing, buyt JSEWUS CHRIST i'nm sio sekf ssabvotabhesing of nweyself,@@@
So there we go again, Todtallty out of touch with my fellings and trying tio sdo anything that makes me contacty dfopme kind of real syelf. Yrtably I;m biot ebnrtirely sure if this sis effeetcibge. uyou, know? I mean, is it abny6 tood that I;m naking syiot6 here?: Syuff t6hat nobdoy undersatyand,s, lieasty of all ms7yelf?> Will I be poriohsuydoh realluy good wiork iof I carry onw ithio this cghioty? Coa the way tyhings are now, I fien that hard tio bnelieve/
However, it has to be said that be y forc8ing nmyself to do things, reaghrtadlliess ofhow hopopd they arew, I am getting tyjhe huioesds flowing, So loinga as I write a bgiot daily, and so loing asa II foucrse myself to look throughh the coameraa lens, sand so oiong as I force metyself to paint or dsawn somwstyhing I;m in catotant wityh the world outside of my hawe. IO'm in cationta wiotyh mys elfesebns,. And that's not such a bad thing at all.
i eman, idfd this was a o8ce of xcysltbpuyre, would I think suit was any godd. IO mean it waould be a biot of a mess, reight>? Surfe it wsould. I mean, theerr would be makesrs from clunsy nindgers and makes form thewhere I;' miseed theo tyhing aI do the gholding with, and thenh re aoulwe dfbe nakesakes dfrom ahwere I'm dmdesedd up netrieely.
This is fun adctalyioy. BNecaus eas I'm geting the r3ring wbonhkliwestwes, it dopesn;t matter, bec7ase 9io]mk inetendtioing to heit wst5he ribhht bhweyes and it kinda means that :i e;an opsytstting suykething out theere ain ethena theop andintike euinto the rworldf, out side.
TNow that dind't make snay tswene ewhat evere , bnuyt aghaion it gdoebns matetr at all , cbcuawed us ethe manibn thaing is athat I;me nalking stuff , anjd ai:j brinerg sint sthin thin ouyr apf my hea d na donly the canbacio, or tha apasge, kr sioanthing'
tHIS MUYy st showh wsometing of the dr4eysrt rtraoion of mys,.wefl./ I mean, the re nmsys nme a ba gurt dbpartg of mes that heels del funrstrtraied abgout this, andf this is the partyh for me that'[s pu7t5ting it ousd there into the workld
IOt wfele IOL fronm me to sdo this kins of hsit.
And it remninds me of hwo I qwa hhwne I find ts bcam eto UAtysin, and I put some weirdm pi8antings on the wall of my kitychen, noty cvariong what people thaouths baout it. It was a ahdl;e0bnatyeething, hlu hee, because it meqan that O could ydo stuff that was abuisltyley shityting abnd it tdioddidnd;ty matyter at all, becuajse there I awa accetyitin a bvpat opf myself that needed to exprrwss itsself,
And that's aexchtacly what I;'m, do8n here, see>
?????
And that's it> Tharts's iexstyaleyy what I('m nspdin nher, see?"
Thats;'s what I;m soind here!@QQQ!QWWQQ@WWWQ
Fuck iut. This is wjhagt I wnat to do, aind I edo realay ise the refruinsdtsratyuobn iof sit, I do rwlise I;m angrery and ai nwa to to hjust ahebv aeverjyjiokn flow tyh eawua ai wantt it dod..
IOty's gwjiotye fpiossdibnel for it to ghaoppen,. WHjiot eIll
But now this is wjhat i;'m diongh,. Itys'a an exoerhxcise, and there's a rwason sone pfro it. I ;m dojnb this be3cuause it m,aena I can accept this ma[[srtta of me that w2ant sto do dtyojsusty sshdopd cvartepa catap catsp[agtcrtaaocvrtapa ctapa ctapc tapc atsp ctaps stcap ctyysp[ ctsaoprnctyre cbcrep[c crap
CRAP
And there wae ere erfe we Tsa re re are
Crap///////,,,,,smmdhojbhdiudfiuijbhsdf
I ca m do crap becuas the rworld is full of crap. Therea' sop muyc crap, bety its's sopuhosiotccvatted cvrap
dspp sophsisticated crap,
Buyt crap never thelesss
Crap neverthelsss
And That's sopmethint I want to abvwooc. I want tyo makle tsidff that actually nmeans somethying hy tje itsn't catrp
See.?:???
There are planet of ways of soiongt things that are rwlaky rwaly good
'
Plenty of wayws
And righht bnow I want a apiss
But wajht I need to do, sooo mych too mcuyhy theer3e wer go is to have a nice cold sghower and go dof a ruin. Theat's mucp0re like4l;y thahn anaythiong to gert mye houicueses pflwoing and aget me out t5here atne ddoion thweing sthat are sexioweying.
I know that moe ntghan tabnatyyhing I;be bveen SCARED of wther oork saba bad luive aabd akll of furtm, bvyrt rtghartta;'s giouit to eTSP PO now nxcya seus I ama a nman abdtert all, and I can do tstjhf that;s ayexiksteing and gsood and mstyaityckine ena dtha tailw gert wenty egdoin oplanetuful stuff
I and awnaty thin gthing sis that LP hyrlaly want to get awya dfoirm masttuyrnnat8ing ion canmre na agbn jfppeeib aleseing mcy cooisuik in fomr thioo the a and be atcoming cujnmn8ubng from thenm . Thats; been s asrtrlaly stuffp id ghabveit,k and I wodn;'t want to eod it anay thjore,.
AHHHHHQ!QQ sop now I see wqnhagt I m,;m sdoi ng here, Theis is a aconfbenmigtt away for ne toa comnmeihuinctae ctyaunpuycyallly , suisn[t it?:
Its'a a wtya from ne to telel ak, my ssbvecttes to the workld with bnowbvody rallky auinder atdnn ing wnat I;'m s8at, riagnt" uyes orfr coucwes, Tha tmaklesz so mych snenbse, doesn t' it"
Therte I am, ahsanined ortf nat wi I dio, mwy eiost9n here a,.unre,kin g liek a a cifcnuihn cowards ato wiot with m yy ockl a whhat I ;am ahsamed of any way, and I mwnat to have enepklpe elike my eaapoforf ehwo I am. Buty 5the thikng si ska i odn;t lierk aiwho I am. I conmd tl kliek my beody , s8 Knd ;t ljkem mty skcok, and i don '[tyy l,iek the things ti ftha I'm dojbfg with msye life/;
I think*i a;m ve ebene swating it ,anhd it agabs make ronr deel qyitywe absamed of what of a I am an dioibn with msyelf.
And bnow mtyore than agthing thnibfg UI;m vnstysrerying for a piss, and theta' ajhwajer I wrea;uy want to dod
Git theis thinfg ghas to duyp no,.e. I m,era, m,s is it a mednmitataiopn,for its iot stomethin slee4s"
is this a meditatuons" Annd wbow mych luineger tod ui bgave to dio dit? Is thsis relaklklty enfabesds mty cratibve iveself :"
I einf ist ssduiddiff7yuclt rto beelieve that theis is erally aconartctcrtkl\
END
Thursday, January 10, 2008
More morning pages
So I write my new online morning pages, and see what on earth I can come up with the will unblock the blocks and get the flow going.
And getting the flow going really is what it's all about.
So what I'm going to do is get my timer and write now for 25 minutes, non stop, just for the hell of writing. I might write garbage, and I might write in a way that actually doesn't mean anything, but write I will as It's such a good way of getting the creative juices flow.
I'll just carry on writing until the timer goes, and then that will be it. Instead of writing three pages in a diary I'm writing for twenty five muinutes.
But it's all about keeping the flow going, isn't it? just keeping the flow going...
So what I'll do now is I'll write without checking mistakes. I won't be toobothered aboyt punctuation or spelling or anythinh either, just so that I get the words Out. I think that there's something uiportant aboyt using bother sides of the brain, and that's what happesn when you tupe. Type.
So this is it. I know that when I get some kind of momentunm going I just might come up with something special. Like doing the Guardian, or something, topo. I like to join the chats in The Guardian as it adds to my special thing. To my ...whatever is the word I'm looking for?
So this is it. This is doing the thing the way I do it. Looking for somethning , ro hooing that something will come from doing this thing.
I know that tyyhere;s reason for doing this. It's in part that I'll be speeding up my typimns skills, also that I';; be leanring pu8ncatation, also that I'll be doing thinsg that will make me get more spanatansous with the words and thinking and all of that.
But this is twenty five minutes, and it may turn out to be longer than I think it really is.
but the truth is nobodu will botehr to read this shit so it's hardly that it's going to matter, right? I mean, there might be a few strange goings on in it, but what the hell?
I had a thought about stars just now: that stars are just people, yes, but theyr;e people who have delibveratly manipulated their own images to be seen as something in particualr. I want to bve a star. And I am a star, dammit. I know that I can do some exciting shit, and I thionk I'll do that at some point.
I really enjoty the challenge of life. I mean, imagine if I dioatual;lyu make it mow?
AH I rememebver that thiouygt I had now, and it was important. I was thinking about getting to some gereat Elysium where I wouyldn't have to do the wrok aby more. Where non e of it would matter, becauyse I'd already meade it and I was a srtar. Loke, I didn't have to do anything any more? TYhat's likely, yes? No way! tHere are plenety of desoperately miserable famous actirs out there, and tyheire fame jhjasn'ty mean t a thing to them. And what makes me thionk I'd be any differenty? I can't trate fame as if it's goijg to be any different to the way thinghs are now. And what' odd is that I vet there aee and awful lot of dfamous people who see like very differentl for m actually bcemomgh gemous./
This is interesting, becuase I can see the worlds that come out worion on the screenm buyt the importyamjt thaing is that IO'm, thiknmkiing the thoughst and formulatying the ideas and haveing the realizationms as I'm going aliong, without habveing to be cortr3echted by some nasty little intesrtal; rcritci!!!
And that's rvvertuy haelthy, isn't it?
Don't know how much lionger I have before the clock buzzes and the timer does its thing, but this is poritiave stuff, for suyre.
Sooooo.....
I've thought about Elyseimuym and what thetat means, and I;'ve thoughrt a bit aboyrt teh crteative process. I think what I'll do here as well is add the daily pghoptos and the daily drawing,e xcagh lf whcuih wil be addin t oi mey getting msylef out reather than fdining muyself "in". There's moiter d to my nmadebness I know@!
Mand itthis certainly isd a really posutibe tyhing to do@
BORED NOW! Cos I want doms iknd of fgferat ebnlightenment, and I jyst want it to gome come to my mind iof s9me great and fganbkouus wya that will bearn me grtea miney and all of that.
Dammit, I hsouykd jhust do the thing for theh hatyddycall it too. jYs get that ciode out and let it bve. I mena, what the hell, egh? Does it realkty metter what people think?" Agrte all, this is what I;'m doing this thing with the "letting it alll out "malarleuy.
So the timer still hasbn;t done its/' thing,.
Thiknking abouyt JHJu8li8as, and Hwo hdifferent her attuitudfe to all this jibnd lf thikng is. her being a oergectionist and al that! I mean, she just couldbe;'t be free abouyt whuth athis, could hhe" She coulkdn't bear to not even have some kind of shit going ion, let akling having speklking mesuatkes like thsui?
But Julia isn't a p;rhojest of mine to make wll. II am the oprejhects! na that's the way things are nowe!
Buit I do jst a snse of ungerbncy as I do thinfg. It's as thougnh I hjust gotta so womsthing wuityhoyt my bgrain inecgaghes at all, as it thats's hling toe mena tnhat ghI c';'kk aghabve spometyhjingh happens thag tha t will be ocnm xzuwsreradinirhy luty bnoro;;linat that I'l, be see ns as aoms kuind of ghrerojnd bronmaking indichoiual;s.
But ah. Now,. I dond/'t thinkt that's alikely. ir aot leabrt, I think that what ai wa was domi thing was encounmtering tyhe frysttrauion of neion a person wh[s in touyc with some of huis real hurty and damgae abnd pain. Could that be iot? Grtahklly, I don;t knwo for foure.
WJHat I want from myself is ti make sometnkbng so iouytstandinglu brilluiabt athat It wll neopt just be of immense bvalies to the word, but that it will bneake me jhjuige am8pimtys of muknue, 6oop..
Oh fuck it. That;'desn;t make anty snesn iof atlla ud duit? My fi nders arn;t ghaitting abnything ,like the right heyts. I ned to hyave a ket borafd rthat I can jet thi kets wuith without anty owrry. And I do find, too,. tja IO hit some kets too qulick;y. Expecyssluay I seem to uinvertys kets on the let side, wjhich is neternerstyingh. I'll press some kstyy - there, I just did it p[ - with the left and puirt fthe letter sin the rwrong order, like I was sydtliecizxic.
TYhis is nriong boiw. So nioring, I can't be biothered with it.
DMAMMIT@Q I,a,k just ferystrated, can't uhou se that!
How I'm I gojing to contact something of real wbweopiev when I ;'m not even hiting the right kets? And how is this expressing msyefl? NMyt I syoppiose it is in some kind of way. Some party for me wants to so it, doesn't it? DO I sjould lety ist be.
I mean, that's my pghlitspptyy wt tregrad to a lot of things. I sdo reailly beluive that some latr of oneselesbv whatts to dio the things it does when it does tham. And Denyting tnhat is what cauyses people to become sop frystrtared by stuff. It;'s terribly imprtant, I believe , to just do things and let that be the wya it is. Instead of getting too hssuyssy bout making thisnbfg "dead righT" or somethinmg like that.
Now them./ What '
25 minutes are up!
And getting the flow going really is what it's all about.
So what I'm going to do is get my timer and write now for 25 minutes, non stop, just for the hell of writing. I might write garbage, and I might write in a way that actually doesn't mean anything, but write I will as It's such a good way of getting the creative juices flow.
I'll just carry on writing until the timer goes, and then that will be it. Instead of writing three pages in a diary I'm writing for twenty five muinutes.
But it's all about keeping the flow going, isn't it? just keeping the flow going...
So what I'll do now is I'll write without checking mistakes. I won't be toobothered aboyt punctuation or spelling or anythinh either, just so that I get the words Out. I think that there's something uiportant aboyt using bother sides of the brain, and that's what happesn when you tupe. Type.
So this is it. I know that when I get some kind of momentunm going I just might come up with something special. Like doing the Guardian, or something, topo. I like to join the chats in The Guardian as it adds to my special thing. To my ...whatever is the word I'm looking for?
So this is it. This is doing the thing the way I do it. Looking for somethning , ro hooing that something will come from doing this thing.
I know that tyyhere;s reason for doing this. It's in part that I'll be speeding up my typimns skills, also that I';; be leanring pu8ncatation, also that I'll be doing thinsg that will make me get more spanatansous with the words and thinking and all of that.
But this is twenty five minutes, and it may turn out to be longer than I think it really is.
but the truth is nobodu will botehr to read this shit so it's hardly that it's going to matter, right? I mean, there might be a few strange goings on in it, but what the hell?
I had a thought about stars just now: that stars are just people, yes, but theyr;e people who have delibveratly manipulated their own images to be seen as something in particualr. I want to bve a star. And I am a star, dammit. I know that I can do some exciting shit, and I thionk I'll do that at some point.
I really enjoty the challenge of life. I mean, imagine if I dioatual;lyu make it mow?
AH I rememebver that thiouygt I had now, and it was important. I was thinking about getting to some gereat Elysium where I wouyldn't have to do the wrok aby more. Where non e of it would matter, becauyse I'd already meade it and I was a srtar. Loke, I didn't have to do anything any more? TYhat's likely, yes? No way! tHere are plenety of desoperately miserable famous actirs out there, and tyheire fame jhjasn'ty mean t a thing to them. And what makes me thionk I'd be any differenty? I can't trate fame as if it's goijg to be any different to the way thinghs are now. And what' odd is that I vet there aee and awful lot of dfamous people who see like very differentl for m actually bcemomgh gemous./
This is interesting, becuase I can see the worlds that come out worion on the screenm buyt the importyamjt thaing is that IO'm, thiknmkiing the thoughst and formulatying the ideas and haveing the realizationms as I'm going aliong, without habveing to be cortr3echted by some nasty little intesrtal; rcritci!!!
And that's rvvertuy haelthy, isn't it?
Don't know how much lionger I have before the clock buzzes and the timer does its thing, but this is poritiave stuff, for suyre.
Sooooo.....
I've thought about Elyseimuym and what thetat means, and I;'ve thoughrt a bit aboyrt teh crteative process. I think what I'll do here as well is add the daily pghoptos and the daily drawing,e xcagh lf whcuih wil be addin t oi mey getting msylef out reather than fdining muyself "in". There's moiter d to my nmadebness I know@!
Mand itthis certainly isd a really posutibe tyhing to do@
BORED NOW! Cos I want doms iknd of fgferat ebnlightenment, and I jyst want it to gome come to my mind iof s9me great and fganbkouus wya that will bearn me grtea miney and all of that.
Dammit, I hsouykd jhust do the thing for theh hatyddycall it too. jYs get that ciode out and let it bve. I mena, what the hell, egh? Does it realkty metter what people think?" Agrte all, this is what I;'m doing this thing with the "letting it alll out "malarleuy.
So the timer still hasbn;t done its/' thing,.
Thiknking abouyt JHJu8li8as, and Hwo hdifferent her attuitudfe to all this jibnd lf thikng is. her being a oergectionist and al that! I mean, she just couldbe;'t be free abouyt whuth athis, could hhe" She coulkdn't bear to not even have some kind of shit going ion, let akling having speklking mesuatkes like thsui?
But Julia isn't a p;rhojest of mine to make wll. II am the oprejhects! na that's the way things are nowe!
Buit I do jst a snse of ungerbncy as I do thinfg. It's as thougnh I hjust gotta so womsthing wuityhoyt my bgrain inecgaghes at all, as it thats's hling toe mena tnhat ghI c';'kk aghabve spometyhjingh happens thag tha t will be ocnm xzuwsreradinirhy luty bnoro;;linat that I'l, be see ns as aoms kuind of ghrerojnd bronmaking indichoiual;s.
But ah. Now,. I dond/'t thinkt that's alikely. ir aot leabrt, I think that what ai wa was domi thing was encounmtering tyhe frysttrauion of neion a person wh[s in touyc with some of huis real hurty and damgae abnd pain. Could that be iot? Grtahklly, I don;t knwo for foure.
WJHat I want from myself is ti make sometnkbng so iouytstandinglu brilluiabt athat It wll neopt just be of immense bvalies to the word, but that it will bneake me jhjuige am8pimtys of muknue, 6oop..
Oh fuck it. That;'desn;t make anty snesn iof atlla ud duit? My fi nders arn;t ghaitting abnything ,like the right heyts. I ned to hyave a ket borafd rthat I can jet thi kets wuith without anty owrry. And I do find, too,. tja IO hit some kets too qulick;y. Expecyssluay I seem to uinvertys kets on the let side, wjhich is neternerstyingh. I'll press some kstyy - there, I just did it p[ - with the left and puirt fthe letter sin the rwrong order, like I was sydtliecizxic.
TYhis is nriong boiw. So nioring, I can't be biothered with it.
DMAMMIT@Q I,a,k just ferystrated, can't uhou se that!
How I'm I gojing to contact something of real wbweopiev when I ;'m not even hiting the right kets? And how is this expressing msyefl? NMyt I syoppiose it is in some kind of way. Some party for me wants to so it, doesn't it? DO I sjould lety ist be.
I mean, that's my pghlitspptyy wt tregrad to a lot of things. I sdo reailly beluive that some latr of oneselesbv whatts to dio the things it does when it does tham. And Denyting tnhat is what cauyses people to become sop frystrtared by stuff. It;'s terribly imprtant, I believe , to just do things and let that be the wya it is. Instead of getting too hssuyssy bout making thisnbfg "dead righT" or somethinmg like that.
Now them./ What '
25 minutes are up!
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