You Blow My Mind...

It's been a long time.

I decided to blog in here instead of myspace.

Though I don't really know what to say.

Went to the city today. Saw Iron Man for the second time, this time with Chris, my sister, and her fiance. It was a fun time. I'm glad my sister is living in Chicago again. I don't need to wait a whole damn year to see her. And she also has a lot of kick ass movies and books that I get to borrow WOO!!!

Here's my summer reading list (to be revised as I finish things):

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño
Blindness by Jose Saramago
Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie
The David Sedaris book that is coming out in June
Big Fish by Daniel Wallace
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Oil! by Upton Sinclair
The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace
The Grass Harp by Truman Capote
John Adams by David McCullough

Once I get through most of those, I plan to move on to:

Titus Andronicus by Shakespeare
Night Watch by Sergei Lukyanenko
Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace


I don't expect to finish all of these. But if I do, it will have been an amazing summer. My goal is to go into Columbia (assuming I get accepted) being as well-read as possible. Wish me luck.

The semester is almost over and I only have two more assignments left to finish. I am working ever so hard on my currently untitled story about Daniela, the girl who gets trapped in her own mind. Additionally, I have my final paper for New Testament. AND THAT'S IT!!! I have finished my concept/treatment/script for MPTV. Chances are, it's not going to get made. I'm alright with that. It isn't my best work. We start doing an assload of production shit this week which will be fun. Hopefully, he'll decide to use the commercial script that I wrote. I need to build up a portfolio.

Yeah. One day, I'm gonna be famous...

I step out the door and feel the wind blow through my hair,
I remember days like these.
To the east,
The sun poking through tiny holes in the dark grey clouds.
To the west,
The sky reflecting the deep blue ocean.
I am given the choice:
Clear skies that might one day be cloudy,
Or cloudy skies that might one day be clear.

I turn hopefully to the west,
I remember views like these.
On the table,
Lilies in a vase.
On my mind,
Her eyes' glow in the mid-May sun.
The pain of loss reveals
Clear skies too often turn cloudy,
Leaving us lost and alone in a storm.

I turn determinedly to the east,
I remember feelings like these.
In my heart,
The need to love and to be loved.
In her eyes,
The fire of desire and the fear of loss.
Both inflamed, tortured by lust,
We were so quickly consumed.

The battle rages on,
I am swept back and forth from east to west;
To love and to lose her,
To lust and to lose my soul,
Always returning to the comforts of the neutral ground between.

My friend is out of her damn mind
She thinks love is an easy thing to find
Maybe it's just pessimism, but I'm not so sure
If there's much of anything out there for her

Sometimes I think I'm out of my damn mind
Thinking love is way too hard to find
Maybe I need more optimism, but it seems to me
It's pointless to wish for things that may never be

Life is moving along at a normal pace. I can sense good things in my future. Hopefully it involves hugs. At the very least, I have three days off this week. Possibly more if I don't get scheduled on saturday or sunday. There's a Chunnel of Love show on Friday night at the Living Christ Church in Hanover Park. It should be awesome. We're playing with Contents Under Pressure whom we haven't played with since NOVEMBER OF 2004 at our first REAL show!!! Hooray! And I'm strongly considering having Chunnel of Love thongs made. That would be funny.

I purchased The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath today. She is an amazing writer. So very human and unpretentious. Unlike so many writers who are afraid to actually put their soul into their writing, Sylvia Plath let every part of herself flow out onto the page. She did not write merely because she wanted to. She wrote because she HAD to. To explore the depths of her heart and figure out she was. I am led to wonder if she ever found herself. Perhaps she did and was disgusted by what she found and that's why she killed herself? Anyway, here is the poem that I randomly turned to that made me want to buy the book.

I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.


She's obviously talking about being fat or growing in some way. But whether it's about her body or something else, I can't tell. Each line is nine syllables which I found to be clever. It's an interesting idea to confine descriptions of yourself to a certain number of syllables. I don't know. I just like it.

I was with Kate at "her apartment" (i say that because it was an imagining of an apartment completely unlike hers and much more like Michelle's dorm room). There was another guy there (presumably her ex-boyfriend) and she was flirting with him. I was very unhappy about that. She then started smoking so I yelled at her and told her to stop. Then we got into an argument.

I thought about it and that's probably exactly what would have happened in real life. I would have been pissed about one thing, but drawn the attention to another to make it seem like I wasn't being jealous and insecure (though if a girl allows her ex-boyfriend to grab her ass in front of you, I think a little 'insecurity' is warranted). Some people dream about who they wish they could be. I dream about who I am.

I never expected this;
That I'd dream every night
Of being attached at the hip
Or at the fingertips
Or the lips...





She asked me today "How exactly would you define 'us' right now?" to which I responded "That's a good question. Unfortunately, I don't have a good answer." Neither did she. But we both agreed that we like each other a lot and a future commitment is certainly a possibility if not a probability. That makes me happy. And so does eating at Arby's so that's what I'mma do.

I just asked my English teacher to read part 1 of "Idioms We Learn Too Late." He did and then said, "You have a great handle on narrative writing. It reminds me a lot of Kurt Vonnegut" One of the greatest American writers... wow. That just floored me. There was little I could say to that. Sounds like I'll be getting an A on at least one more writing assignment this semester.

A famous writer once wrote, “In times of desperation, a man measures his fortitude by his ability to drink large quantities of alcohol without dying.” It only seems fitting that I would begin this story with the opening lines of my own father’s first, and only, published novel. Though, it has always seemed strange that those words were written by a man who hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol until his darkest hours of desperation had long since passed.
My father was a journalist for the majority of his post-college life. He met my mother, Elizabeth, a receptionist at the Chicago Tribune, when he was fresh out of Columbia University. They fell in love, married a year later and I, Philip, burst forth from the womb just under nine months after that. Had I been born on time, things might have turned out differently. The day I was born, a political scandal was breaking and my father received the call to write the story. Unfortunately, he was rushing my mother to the hospital so the story went to the next man, a man who subsequently won the Pulitzer Prize. How my parents managed to love me after that is beyond comprehension so I try not to think about it too much.
My childhood was as eventful as any other. I had my share of cuts, scrapes, crushes, and heartbreaks. I smoked for about a week before my dad caught me and hit me hard enough to make me realize smoking was good neither for my health nor for my face. I had a few steady girlfriends, but never made it past first base. I was a good student and I did well enough to make it into a good college where I continued to be a good student. All the while, my parents watched from the sidelines cheering me on, never pushing me harder than necessary. I graduated from college with an English degree, but no intention to use it. I had a decent job stuffing envelopes at a decent accounting firm in Chicago. I made enough to get by and my parents never pushed me any harder than necessary.
Three months after graduation, my mother had a heart attack and died. My father, so terribly heartbroken, couldn’t bring himself to attend the funeral that he had so carefully planned. I spoke at the funeral and almost made it through without crying, but I cracked near the end. I walked away from the podium and went outside to cry: once for me, once for my mother, and twice for my father. I went to my parents’ home that night and found dad sleeping on the couch, a brand new notebook lying open on the coffee table. I tried to read what my father had written on the first page, but his handwriting was terrible and teardrops had smudged some of the ink. The only word on the page I could decipher was “Elizabeth.” I went to my old room and cried myself to sleep.
My grandfather, James Senior, passed away when my father, James Junior, was only 10 years old. Had he lived longer, the elder James may have bestowed upon my father the great axiom “Don’t assume; it makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me,’” in which case, my father never would have become famous and I would not be telling this story. The smudged and illegible scribbles within my father’s soon-to-be ratty notebook would become one of the most important pieces of contemporary American literature. James Lansing’s Drowning, a book about love, loss, and self-loathing leading to a fatal alcohol binge, was released two years to the day after my mother died. Critics and readers of all ages loved the story of Frank, the literary manifestation of my father’s imagination of what would happen if he started drinking to heal his wounds. Somehow, my father managed to accurately portray what it’s like to be an alcoholic while maintaining a puritanical relationship with alcohol and never meeting an actual alcoholic. I was a skeptic until I read the book for myself and realized, at the very least, my father understood both love and loss more thoroughly than I ever imagined. Writing the book was very therapeutic for him. And for a time, the rigorous lecture tours made him happy. But a few years passed and there was something different about him. There was something missing from his life. That’s when he started pushing me far harder than necessary.
“Phil, you are 27 years old. Don’t you feel like you’re wasting your life sitting behind a desk, typing numbers into electronic spreadsheets?” he asked for only the 700th time that week.
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever,” I replied while typing numbers into an electronic spreadsheet, “Didn’t we have this talk yesterday? And the day before that?Honestly, dad, I am 27 years old. Have I really made that many poor decisions that you have to get on my case?”
“Well, you probably shouldn’t have broken up with Claudia!”
“Okay, that may have been a mistake. But then again, I’m still pretty happy with my life at the moment without Claudia. And I’d be much happier if you just let me make my own decisions like you have done for the past 27 years!”
“You couldn’t possibly be happy living alone like you do.”
“What? Do you want me to move in with you, pop?” I asked jokingly.
“No! I want you to marry a nice girl and get a job that you love as opposed to a job you merely tolerate!”
“Thank you. I appreciate your concern. But this job is great. It pays well, I get great benefits, and it keeps me busy. As for marriage, I’m in no hurry.”
“You should be! Love is a beautiful thing and you should be rushing out to find it!”
“Just because you got lucky and found a great woman right out of college, you think it’s just so damn easy to find love! I love you, dad, but right now, you’re driving me up the fucking wall!”
“You don’t need to curse at me, boy! But you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Alright. Good bye.” I hung up the phone and sat motionless for a moment. He conceded the point so easily. I quickly realized the impact of making reference to my mother. I immediately felt guilty and hoped I hadn’t opened an old wound. I decided to visit him that night.
I pulled into the driveway of the home I knew so well as a child. The beat-up basketball hoop on the garage alone could tell enough stories to give an accurate portrait of my adolescence. Every visit to that house becomes a stroll down memory lane. This visit was no exception.
I knocked before opening the front door. I heard my father’s muffled call from the kitchen. I walked in to find photo albums scattered over the kitchen table and I froze.
“Dad,” I started the sentence, but was interrupted.
“I just found this,” he said, setting a photo on the table, “This was taken on our first date.” I sat down and looked at the picture; it was my parents, so young and, even then, completely enamored with each other. It was the kind of photograph that screams, “Love is real and I have proof!”
“This is beautiful. Where’d you find it?”
“Oh, in an old shoe box in the attic. When you mentioned your mother earlier today,“
“About that,” I interrupted, “I am really sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. I know you just want me to be happy. I was just irritated and in the middle of a project.”
“Don’t think anything of it,” he replied, “You were right.” He sat and stared at the picture for a moment, a reminiscent smile on his face. “Your mother was the most wonderful woman I ever met. When we met, I was so wrapped up in the glamour of what my career as a journalist had in store for me. Then we fell in love and I didn’t care about fame and fortune and hobnobbing with celebrities. And then you were born and I cared even less. I could have quit right then and there.”
I just sat quietly, listening intently. What could I possibly say that would be more meaningful than someone saying, “You are the icing on the cake of my life”?
“When Elizabeth died, I filled my time with writing again. I figured if I just poured my pain out onto paper, then it would all just go away. But that kind of pain never goes away,” tears welled up in his eyes. Choking back sobs, he asked, “How does one keep going when their best friend is gone?” With that, he broke down. I put my hand on his shoulder, he looked at me, tears streaming down his face. And then we locked each other in an embrace known only by those who have loved and lost.
Several minutes later, when tears had been wiped away, I said, “We’re going out. Right now.”
“What? Why?”
“We’re going to dinner. And I think it’s about time you had your first drink.” I expected some resistance, but it never came.

Spring break was not much fun. I guess getting to sleep was cool... but I didn't do anything. I worked too much. I wrote A LOT. Kate is in Florida so I didn't get to see her at all. I didn't finish any of my homework. It was pretty much the worst spring break ever. Though I got a couple kick ass books.

Writing ANOTHER new story titled "Idioms We Learn Too Late." I'll finish one of these damn stories, I FUCKING PROMISE.

Chunnel of Love show on Wednesday at the Oasis Cafe. Hopefully practice tonight and wednesday. Kate comes back Wednesday morning. She says she's gonna come to the show. I hope she does.

Time for math ::gags::

I just got my second English paper back. It was a summary of a crappy editorial from the New York Times. I didn't like the article so I really half-assed this one. And I was kind of smug in some of my comments about the piece and he noticed. But I still got a 97%. Next assignment is a movie review. It will be on 300 if I see it this weekend. Otherwise, it will be on Babel.

Well, my fear that Kate didn't like me anymore was put to rest today (at least for the time being). Earlier, she randomly texted me saying "Let's go to Rhode Island!" and I responded "What's in Rhode Island?" She said "Hopefully you and me soon!" So at this point we've arrived back at "Friendly." Then she was talking about how she's going to Florida next week with her ex-boyfriend because they bought tickets four months ago and don't want the money to go to waste. She then said "Why couldn't we have started talking four months ago?" at which point we had arrived back at "More than friendly." Then, she mentioned my myspace blog where i talk about going to Columbia and she asked about that. After I said "I'm thinking about it because it's the only school in the area with a screenwriting degree." She thought I meant Columbia UNIVERSITY in New York, which is why she brought it up. She was apparently worried that I would be moving to New York. And I smiled. I said "There are a lot of film schools in NY and LA, but I don't really want to leave the Chicago area. But I also don't want to cut out my options" to which she said, "Well, I'm coming with you." And I smiled again. What a sweetheart! I really...really really...really... kinda like her a lot.

This is fucking depressing. Do nice guys really finish last or do we just quit?

poetry:

I don't want to listen
But the voices are screaming
"End it now"
"Burn it to the ground"

Oh God! I'm dying inside!
Oh God! I'm trying to hide!
Oh God! Give me a reason to be alive!

I don't want to wake up
But I hear You screaming
"Get on your way!"
"Today is the day!"

Oh God! I'm so tired!
Oh God! I'm a liar!
Oh God! Take my sins and set them on fire


"A Message" by Park

Wake up blondie
This is your message
You struck deep what most find hard to reach
Well goddammit you warned me
Pleaded, "don't get so involved"
I'll do what's best and slowly dissolve

I'd hold the sun up just to wake beside you
Imagine what you could see, if you just let yourself like me
Forget the incidents, thoughtless and abusing
Imagine what you could see, if you just let yourself like me

Don't be sorry
You're less enticing
You've just lost what most find hard to keep
I'll take two of the white ones
Forget what I said last month
I'll spare myself, the embarrassment

I'd hold the sun up just to wake beside you
Imagine what you could see, if you just let yourself like me
Forget the incidents, thoughtless and abusing
Imagine what you could see, if you just let yourself like me

Cause I do
I was foolish to have thought I could catch you
Stupid to have ever liked you
And your sly little smile
Curved the comforts I used to find
Drag me inside
I'm yours to use tonight (I'm yours to use tonight)
I'm yours to use tonight

This is the first song I've finished in a really long time. And it has three verses which is one more than I can usually think up.

Verse 1:
This has kept me up all night
There are a hundred ways to make this right
I searched for words, but words never came
But the look in your eyes just begged me to walk away

Open up if you want to
Or close your eyes and fall asleep
I'll be waiting here for you
If you think you'll be coming back for me

Verse 2:
I finally slept through the night
Dreaming of you and I just might
Wake up to find you here with me
Your light breathing lulling me back to sleep

I've learned my lesson
I'm not the man I wish to be
I am learning my lesson
You are far too good for me

Chorus:
Your eyes, like pictures, speak thousands of words
My eyes are open or haven't you heard?
(Can you see me listening?)
You make my heart cry out
(Can you hear it screaming?)
"This was meant to be"

Verse 3:
I saw you on your porch last night
Wrapped in a blanket, concealed from sight
I searched for words, but words never came
Though I'm sure you could hear my heart break

This embrace can't heal
And speaking will make this worse
I just want to feel
Like I am more than a curse

Bridge:
You make me feel
You make me feel something
You make me feel
You make me feel something good

Verse 1:
I hate the way your voice sounds on the phone
It means that I'm too farr away from home
In my dreams I find your hand in mine
But when I wake I'm all alone

I hate the way it feels when we're apart
Like 30 nails driven through my heart
But if the sun will rise then so will I
To make my way to you

Chorus:
I've had a million dreams
And all of them came true
The day the lights came on
And my eyes focused on you
I've found a million ways
To tell you how I feel
But when the lights come on
None of this seems real

I decided not to drop my MPTV class. That I was even thinking about it is probably a surprise to you. But I really am not good with cameras and I was getting pissed. I didn't finish or turn in my composition project. I'm not going to drop it because I want a chance to do a little writing and editing and because I'll have to take it again if I go to film school so I might as well go through the entire course. I'm in slightly better headspace now. Yay.

I've got to get this down somewhere before I delete my cell phone's text outbox. My words to Katie:

"If all you can focus on is the bad in the world, how can you expect anyone to focus on the good in you? What do you think I see when I look at you? Do you think I'm smiling at my own reflection in your eyes? I can find a mirror anywhere. I look at you and I see everything good about life. I see someone who could do amazing things if she could just believe amazing things actually happen. If you don't see that in yourself, you're not going to find it anywhere else. You told me that I make you feel good about yourself. The only way that's possible is if you believe that what I say is true. Otherwise, you'd just call me a liar and continue on your way. There is hope and love and beauty in the world and I see all of that in you. You're going to be miserable until you see that for yourself. We're not here to sit around feeling sorry for ourselves. Nothing good comes of that. This is a time of mourning. I know that. I'm not telling you to forget about it and move on and just cuddle with me and everything will be fine. I'm saying you've got to see beyond this and learn something about yourself BECAUSE OF the situation, not IN SPITE OF it. I'm not here to tell you everything is wonderful. The ugliness in the world is hard to ignore. But something good can come of every shitty situation if you look hard enough. I'm going to be super cliche and ask you something. What do you think she would have you learn from her life? What did she make you feel and how can you feel that in her absence? I care so much for you and I wish I could take your pain away. The only thing I can do is give you my honest opinion and hopefully inspire you the way you inspire me."

God, I hope this helps.

to deal with drama.

People die every day, but we choose to ignore that fact. Mortality makes us uncomfortable. The death of a loved one makes this feeling even more palpable. How are we supposed to deal with that, our fear of being alone mixed with our fear of death? I believe we are called to learn something from death. The problem lies in figuring out what that "something" is. It is so cliche to say we need to learn to not take our friends and family for granted and to cherish each moment, but I think that is one very important thing to learn. We need to learn to form strong, lasting relationships with our friends and really KNOW who they are. And we need to allow ourselves to be known. We need to grab life by balls and not be held down by our self-doubt or society's perceptions of the "perfect life." Life doesn't have to be a certain way and that's what makes it so beautiful. Don't waste another second of your life fearing death. Live and love to the best of your ability; make sure everyone you love knows it.

I need to write. I need to finish a screenplay, sell it, and move to Hollywood. I need to take a picture of something beautiful. I need to see a good movie. I need to drink a little bit and spill my heart to someone. I need to ask questions and get answers. I need to fall in love. I need to fall off a tall building. I need to experience pain. I need a hug and a kiss. I need to see some fine art. I need to see everything beautiful in life, but sometimes I can't get past all the darkness. Shine some light on it for me.

I called in a "family emergency" at work today so I could spend the afternoon with Kate while she searched for pictures and bought flowers for her friend's parents. This is one of the most horrible things I've ever had to deal with and it's so depressing. She wasn't crying and I managed to make her laugh and smile which is all I can really do at this point.

We've agreed we need to take this slow. So I don't know when or if we'll be officially "official." But she said she likes me a whole lot and I said I like her a whole lot. So we'll see how this goes.