The abstract fabric of dreamstuff
I get reminders all the time, and they tell me to write in
my diary, read my diary, work on my diary, and I've been
ignoring them. It's not because there's been nothing to
tell, more that I haven't cared enough. We do the things we
do because we are compelled, and this morning I woke with a
nagging, irrational thought: "Jesus, it's been a queens age
since I last wrote in my online diary."
What's new? Lots. Tons. Loads. A plethora of new stuff
just begging to be detailed out in twelve point courier
type. I have my movie project rolling. I'm working on a
script I love. I have a job that doesn't make me question
the validity of pacifism. I've got money, I'm saving more,
and I'm planning on moving out.
If I wasn't victim to occasional headaches and angst, my
life would be bliss. On Monday I shall have 2500 dollars in
one account. This money will be used to lay down the
production groundwork for the first feature film ever to be
shot in Essex Junction, the place in which I live.
I just saw Pi: Faith in Chaos, a cheap, cheap movie which
played really well. The director, Darren Aronofsky, is
tremendously good. I think I can match him.
The Thin Red Line last week; Frequency and Bird last night,
and Das Boot in two hours. It is well that I'm such a
cheerful guy, or else my constant influx of popular culture
might warp and depress me.
That was a joke. And it wasn't.