Writing makes me hate myself

I sit here on a Saturday night at 7:30pm with no plans to go out. I have a date with my screenplay. I think I mentioned before that I am working on a feature about my most prevalent and puzzling question. What the f*** is love? I'm pretty sure we all wonder about that one... And I'm also fairly sure that no one REALLY has an answer. There are various theories and postulations... But, it seems to be one of the unanswerable ones.

My hope is that by recounting and digging through my own experiences with 'love' at least something new will reveal itself and bring me some kind of peace of mind or momentary catharsis.

Have I lost you yet? Maybe some of you are rolling your eyes at this point because maybe some of you know something or many things, for that matter, that I don't. But, I can tell you one thing that I do know for sure, and that is this: writing makes me hate myself.

It's true. As soon as I put the words down on paper that have waltzed out my mouth at one point or another, I feel this intense desire to want to throw up, close my eyes really tight, shake my head and plead to the heavens for time travel so that I can go back into the past and change what transpired. If only I had said this. If only I had done that. Oh lord have mercy!

Of course, I am being slightly over dramatic... I try to live without regret and in doing so, stand strong in the choices I have made. But, it is true that often times when I put an experience on paper as truthfully as possible, the places that I am lying to myself become obvious, and sometimes I feel ashamed. Ashamed that I am human, and that I make the same mistakes for which I criticize others.

I consider myself someone who always has good intentions and tries to do the right thing, but I realize when I write, that being a 'good' person is no saving grace. We all find ourselves caught in situations where temptation and truth are in a constant battle. We all want to walk away feeling like we did our best and the rest lies in the hands of the divine.

But, trust me, go back and examine your last romantic encounter with a fine toothed comb and see what you come up with... Tell me, was it squeaky clean? Do you have any lurking questions? Did your past rear it's ugly head? If you answer no to all these questions, you're probably lying. And, if you're not lying, well then, good for you. But if you do happen to share the same sentiments that I do, then don't worry, you're not alone.

A poem.

I have writers block today. This is a poem I wrote a while back. It's always interesting looking at morsels of the past with new eyes.

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Sitting here.

Not entirely sure what the trigger was.

Imagining what it would be like if I were standing.

Elbows on my knees. Feet wide. Nose full. Tears infinitely staining- never transcending enough.

Within each droplet, a particle of pain released for the universe to absorb.

When will these tears manifest more than a momentary existence?

I can do that. I thought that. I almost said that. I felt that. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Tonight. Next week.

Dead.

Yet to be awakened.

Ahora mismo. This very moment. All I have. To lose.

It loses it's purity once I let it out. It's mine. Don't hurt it. Don't tell me I'm wrong.

It's all I have.

Where will I be if you take me away?

My universe encapsulates and imprisons me.

But, it's so comfortable. I want out so bad.

It's not locked. The door's open. Take a step.

I'm so much better at dreaming.

I'm so talented.

Dream. Dream. Dream.

No one knows what goes on up here.

LEAP!

Shut up! Stop yelling at me!

Let me rest. Let me be.

But I haven't done anything.

Exactly.

I'm tired.

Arrogant, scared, entitled.

Am I really those things?

Am I really about truth?

Are you?

What is real? Please can someone tell me!?

Am I willing to sacrifice everything to be true?

Do I have a choice?

There I go again. Unanswerable questions.

Back to the circularity of distraction.

Philosophical orgasm.

I'm almost there.

Isn't that the best part anyway?

I want to walk away. Afraid I lost my line. My spark.

I'll walk away first. You're probably not even listening.

You think I'm crazy.

'REALIZE YOUR POWER'- a voice says way back there.

But I'm still walking.

'STOP! MAKE A CHANGE!'

I look down at the treadmill.

I prefer it.

It tells me how far I've gone.

There aren't any mile markers on the real road.

So by now I understand it a little more.

One road block of many.

But, the proof is in the pudding.

Isn't it always?

I'm still pretending.

Waiting for tomorrow.

And that hard rain.

With droplets that birth gold and never die.

-Someday.

Infinity and Beyond

Meet Lilly, Sean and Swag: The three characters of He Loves me Not.

*Lilly~ an insecure, naive and self righteous girl looking for love as her escape.

*Sean~ an over privileged and developmentally delayed trust fund baby, who happens to be easy on the eyes.

*Swag~ the stoner roommate who ironically embodies truth.

Yesterday, Patrick, Chip (the two other actors) and I got together to do a photo shoot for the press kit that I mentioned in the last post. My sister, who is a photographer, was kind enough to take the photos for us in her studio. It was a dreamlike experience having three people that I love and respect so much come together for a creative purpose without charging or asking anything of me. The joy that existed for me in the moment yesterday reminded me why life really is so great.

Much of the time I find myself 10 steps ahead of wherever I am, or 10 steps behind. I am either thinking about everything I have to get done or recounting the events that I have experienced, trying to figure out how and why it all transpired. But, yesterday was a different story.

The creative process is magical. It really is like giving birth to something that takes on a life of it's own. I found myself dumbfounded yesterday that the three of us were having a photo shoot as our characters, when 4 months ago those people were merely a figment of my imagination. I couldn't help but wonder where Lilly, Sean and Swag's characters would go next in the story.

Over the past few months I have been working on a new screenplay involving Lilly's character. But, after yesterday, I just don't know how I can give up Sean and Swag. There is just too much life left in them. So... here's to creativity and infinite possibility. Sean and Swag live on! Maybe. ;)

Who Am I???

Today I spent the day doing research to start a press kit so that we can submit our film to festivals. In a press kit, it is essential to include bios about all of the people involved in the film. I started trying to write my own and I realized, I hate singing my own praises. Why is it so easy for some people and so hard for others?It's strange how certain things come up in life and present themselves in more than one venue.

Right now, defining myself is a very prevalent theme in my life. I am looking for a new job. I am suffering from 'struggling artist syndrome' (I made that up) and have to find a better way to support myself than the system I currently have in action.

I'm trying to decide, do I give up my dream and get a 9 to 5? Do I get a job at a better restaurant where my spirits are higher and the money is better? Although I have decided upon the latter, to continue forth with my dream and find a different restaurant, I am still confronted with the dilemma of defining myself.

Whether it be in an independent film bio, a job interview, an agent's office or in front of a casting director who wants to know to whom I normally get compared, I feel like I am always trying to fit my square body into a circle spot. Why can't I just be me? Can't you just tell all that you need to know by talking to me? Why must we go into the past and recite all that we have done? I know that's the whole point of developing a resume and a body of work, but just as Bob Dylan says, 'Everything passes, everything changes, just do what you think you should do.'

Can't we all just be in the moment for once!? That's what I want to tell everyone I meet. Do you like me or not? What's your first impression? Don't make me explain myself. Don't make me make excuses. Just judge me and and take me or let me go. Oh Lordy! If only life were that easy...

It seems that the resolve is this, at a certain point we are all products. Selling ourselves to something or other so that we can make a living. Whether we are doctors gathering patients for our practice, lawyers convincing clients we can defend them, wedding planners picking out the prettiest dresses or artists explaining our films, we all have something to sell. And nobody wants to buy a product they don't understand or doesn't bring them some sort of hope.

But isn't it more truthful to just be who we are, do the best that we can and offer no guarantees?