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Mar. 8th, 2005
A cold and dreary, damp and miserable day to match my mood. It seems to me that my recovery from this shit will take a long, long time to go away, if it ever does. A thousand psychiatrists writing a thousand prescriptions for a thousand anti-depressants couldn't cure but one tenth of this depression. Or so it seems to me right now, at this moment, and the moments to come. I've been trying hard. I've been trying so fucking hard to beat this. To take it and break it over my knee. Harder than I've ever tried before. So that I won't become like my father, the couch-ridden blemish it what could be a happy world despite one's fucked up neurotransmitters. But it may happen. Because things like that happen, you know.
So now then. Today is Tuesday. Tuesdays are trying days for me. But you already know that. And I'll have to put up with the rain. I'll have to convince Iman, the watermelon girl, that she knows how to read music. For some reason she doesn't want to accept that the musical alphabet is an A to G type deal, that it all comes back. I asked her if she's ever heard of an H note. I forgot her answer. She's a cute little thing and is easy to amuse. Then Maggie. Maggie is a fuck. I plead with her to pick a steady tempo. I want to shove a metronome into her brain via ear. I'd choose another orifice, but that wouldn't be kosher. Maggie is definitely not one to be trifled with when it comes to cracking jokes. She thinks I'm a freak because I had a contest with her over who has better handwriting, a nice little gag I used to pull at Geneseo. I won. And then Emily, a six-year who had never touched a violin nor read sheet music before she started lessons. It's so hard to learn someone the basics. Especially when you're a fraud. But especially when you suck at explaining things. When you don't know where to put things.
I have a lot of love to give. I just don't know where to put it. You fucking assholes.
And today what's due for AVF27 is two ideas for our final project: a three to four minute film. I'm not entirely certain this one has sound. Sound can be added in the editing room, in "post" as they say. We're probably using the Bolex for this one too. That thing is a piece of shit, out-dated bastard of a camera. The TA in that class claims that the least expensive part of the camera is $600, and that it's merely a screw. Screw her. Screw that. I'll conjure up two ideas right here on the spot:
1) A man wakes up. He meanders through clothes on the floor that a murderer would wear. He goes through his daily morning routine. He leaves his house. He's shot in the stomach with a shotgun not two seconds after he closes the front door. The man who shoots, whose face is hidden from the camera him leaves the car across the street, from whence he shot, walks to the dead man, drags him into his own house. He stores the dead man in a walk-in freezer. The murderer then goes into the man's room, strips himself of his murderous clothes, and goes to sleep in the man's bed, whereupon we see his face and he is the man who was just murdered. A man wakes up. He meanders through clothes on the floor that a murderer would wear. Ad infinitum...
2) A young man is confronted by a large fellow have he accidentally drops a gum wrapper on the fellow's shoe. The large man sets a day and time that he will fight the young man. Two-minute montage sequence of the young man training and learning, a la Wet Hot American Summer. The day and time has come. The large fellow destroys the young man with a single punch. But when the large fellow leaves, we see that the young man has stolen his wallet. Score.
I'm going to be late for my Horror films class. We're talking about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931). I'll be sure to make note of the phallic imagery that runs rampant throughout the film. They'll look at me funny, but I'm right. I always have been.
She wanted to leave.
So now then. Today is Tuesday. Tuesdays are trying days for me. But you already know that. And I'll have to put up with the rain. I'll have to convince Iman, the watermelon girl, that she knows how to read music. For some reason she doesn't want to accept that the musical alphabet is an A to G type deal, that it all comes back. I asked her if she's ever heard of an H note. I forgot her answer. She's a cute little thing and is easy to amuse. Then Maggie. Maggie is a fuck. I plead with her to pick a steady tempo. I want to shove a metronome into her brain via ear. I'd choose another orifice, but that wouldn't be kosher. Maggie is definitely not one to be trifled with when it comes to cracking jokes. She thinks I'm a freak because I had a contest with her over who has better handwriting, a nice little gag I used to pull at Geneseo. I won. And then Emily, a six-year who had never touched a violin nor read sheet music before she started lessons. It's so hard to learn someone the basics. Especially when you're a fraud. But especially when you suck at explaining things. When you don't know where to put things.
I have a lot of love to give. I just don't know where to put it. You fucking assholes.
And today what's due for AVF27 is two ideas for our final project: a three to four minute film. I'm not entirely certain this one has sound. Sound can be added in the editing room, in "post" as they say. We're probably using the Bolex for this one too. That thing is a piece of shit, out-dated bastard of a camera. The TA in that class claims that the least expensive part of the camera is $600, and that it's merely a screw. Screw her. Screw that. I'll conjure up two ideas right here on the spot:
1) A man wakes up. He meanders through clothes on the floor that a murderer would wear. He goes through his daily morning routine. He leaves his house. He's shot in the stomach with a shotgun not two seconds after he closes the front door. The man who shoots, whose face is hidden from the camera him leaves the car across the street, from whence he shot, walks to the dead man, drags him into his own house. He stores the dead man in a walk-in freezer. The murderer then goes into the man's room, strips himself of his murderous clothes, and goes to sleep in the man's bed, whereupon we see his face and he is the man who was just murdered. A man wakes up. He meanders through clothes on the floor that a murderer would wear. Ad infinitum...
2) A young man is confronted by a large fellow have he accidentally drops a gum wrapper on the fellow's shoe. The large man sets a day and time that he will fight the young man. Two-minute montage sequence of the young man training and learning, a la Wet Hot American Summer. The day and time has come. The large fellow destroys the young man with a single punch. But when the large fellow leaves, we see that the young man has stolen his wallet. Score.
I'm going to be late for my Horror films class. We're talking about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931). I'll be sure to make note of the phallic imagery that runs rampant throughout the film. They'll look at me funny, but I'm right. I always have been.
She wanted to leave.
Goodbye cruel world. Hello ironic twist!
Mar. 8th, 2005 07:36 pmI got a 67 on my first Biology test. Whoops. I didn't read or nothing, on account of I hate the sciences. Too many numbers and facts, not enough concepts. I can't deal with facts, you know. Facts are simple and facts are straight. Facts are lazy and facts are late. Facts all come with points of view. Facts don't do what I want them to.
There's this movement I read about in National Geographic where they're teaching kids that the Theory of Evolution is tantamount in credibility to the Theory of Creation. I dig that. Cause honestly, you've got to be skeptical of everything, or else you'll follow some sort of fold that can trap you in contradictions and hypocrisy. I bet every person who believes in evolution has said to themselves, "Dear God," or "Oh my God," or "God damn it." These are all direct hypocrisies, not matter how nonchalantly they're proposed. And without a doubt, every creationist has questioned the existence of God. Because after all, there's a war that the leader of the free world declares/blames God for, there's a tsunami that fucked Asia up the ass, there's ugliness everywhere you look.
So where's my stance? I'll tell you. Well, evolution is the lesser of two evils. But if you label your beliefs, then you're bound to fuck up. You fucking asshole.
Science. Yes, sientz. And, of course, religion. Yes, reelidzhon. Two of the stupidest things on the planet.
I'll go to the city tomorrow, bright and early, and pick up the film I dropped off on Monday. It's going to be a good film. I swear it.
There's this movement I read about in National Geographic where they're teaching kids that the Theory of Evolution is tantamount in credibility to the Theory of Creation. I dig that. Cause honestly, you've got to be skeptical of everything, or else you'll follow some sort of fold that can trap you in contradictions and hypocrisy. I bet every person who believes in evolution has said to themselves, "Dear God," or "Oh my God," or "God damn it." These are all direct hypocrisies, not matter how nonchalantly they're proposed. And without a doubt, every creationist has questioned the existence of God. Because after all, there's a war that the leader of the free world declares/blames God for, there's a tsunami that fucked Asia up the ass, there's ugliness everywhere you look.
So where's my stance? I'll tell you. Well, evolution is the lesser of two evils. But if you label your beliefs, then you're bound to fuck up. You fucking asshole.
Science. Yes, sientz. And, of course, religion. Yes, reelidzhon. Two of the stupidest things on the planet.
I'll go to the city tomorrow, bright and early, and pick up the film I dropped off on Monday. It's going to be a good film. I swear it.