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There is a lot of hot and crazy things going on in the world
I am standing on the brink
7:10 AM 3/4/2009
Do somthing.
Going to think organized. Yesterday, before thinking, before talking, before responding, I thought of the word organize, and the swirl in my brain was silence.
It was like changing a channel.
This morning writing is like self hypnosis, I can believe anything if i write it early enough.
These sessions have been very good for me doctor. They've taken my mind out of the box.
A wet, bone bowl with serrated cap.
I am going to be a self sustaining filmmaker one day. On my terms, producing my own stuff, and paying my bills and saving some away from the films I make. I won't have to have a day job. I will be able to live comfortably, not lavishly, but money will not be a constant stress or concern.
The films I produce will be from ideas I write, or from others that I can see giving myself over to fully. Things I don't mind living inside for prolongued periods of time.
All that I do now is a step to get me closer to that goal.
THe path I am on is my own and will not resemble the path others have taken. A well worn path is not yours.
At 7am, I believe it.
The goal is to believe it all day long.
I'm drinking coffee brewed yesterday, poured over ice, in my rediculously enourmous mug. I would murder someone for a descent doubleshot of espresso.
WATCHMEN is incredible thus far. My favorite character is Dr. Manhattan. Indifferent and cold. Hanging out on Mars. Makes more sense then Clark "up with people" Kent. Everyone rips off Mario Bava, and everyone rips off Watchmen.
Incredibles, Dark Knight, Mystery Men - just off the top of my head. Alan Moore is a hell of a writer. And the art is nice 80's style, non-photoshoped and perfect. Now comic art can veer toward the overproduced and confussing. Technically sophisticated and tricked out, but incapable of telling a story. Nice alone, ugly taken in all together. Not the old stuff.
Once at Dragon Con I talked to an old man who was at the artist table who had drawn comics back in the 50's for smaller companies, and this was his view. His stuff was primative, and you couldn't get a job these days with his style, but it looked like a comic book, it flowed, and it wasn't like every illustration was a poster design for the side of someones van. It's called difussion. You put one million ideas on a page, it becomes an impressive mush. A glorious shit.
I have this problem myself, know when to edit. Tide comes in, tide comes out.
Today I have class, and photoshop is a cult that consumes you. I worked about 90 minutes last night on tweaking my head removal, and yes, you still have to get up in the morning and go to work, no matter how many limbs you remove. But I have 2 chapters to read this weekend and a project, should be fun, I want to stay up and get a chunk done tonight after class.
NOT going to think about all there is to do. ORGANIZE!!!
(poof)
Ahh, that's better.
Of coarse I can only speak of this as an expert opinion of someone who has never done it.
spaztek
there is this guy who walks with a woody allen lope who ran manipulate reality by breaking pieces off him self and leaving them like a bomb, these chunks of self grow in to people that give the situation exactly what it needs, no matter what it is. Man granades. These are completely self sustaining parts, and after they are done doing what needs to be done they go out to a field and shoot themselves in the head.
this is a new technology.
this guy thinks he has life figured out and can use his buds to get out of any situation.
that is who he is.
what happens is that one of his buds springs another bud and he is told that it is now his turn to take the bullet. He was a bud himself once upon a time, and now it is time to let the manifestation take over.
Life becomes nessesary to produce more and more buds until he is obsolete.
in the end he has to stop specializing and become an antique, give the world over to his buds, sidelined.
he stops being a player and becomes a shadow.
when he tries to stop the buds, they overwhelm him like a hydra.
WE COME FROM DUST
The buds turn on him and he doesn't have the equipment to fight
he no longer can make them strong enough, his buds are slaughtered by the new gen buds
he is eventually forced into submission
he wont eat the bullet
Sees the next wave of buds being mistreated.
Smiles and laughs