my melancholy monsters

It always comes to me in the early hours of the morning.  I find that it is only when I am at the edge of sobriety and deep in the bitter forest that my words hold best to the page.  It is only by the force of my melancholy monsters that I am able to express.

It was Chris Robinson who said it best when he penned, “There’s a passion in being alone; a grace in a loveless time.”

--

We forge ourselves so that we may forge relationships.  I temper my spirit on the hot coals, reshaping who I am from who I once was.  I started folding my steel in hopes that someone long forgotten would love me more (again?), but what I found was a love for myself.  I love my found passion. 

--

I have spoken the prior words as a new mantra.  I have thrown myself into what I create.  I work ungodly hours for less than holy pay.  I stalk into the worlds I create by the glowing light of my Mac Book Pro.  I dive into projects that drain my energy, my emotions, and my will like a succubic mistress.  I do it under the pretense that I will make a better me, and therefore make better relationships.

In truth, I do it all to keep some of my monsters at bay.  

...of the century

as the storm churns above, emotions from the past float up to the surface for just a brief moment.  they quickly sink back to the bottom to be forgotten; buried in the sea.

---

it's not about these emotions. 
they don't matter.
they don't move the plot.
they just establish the character.

---

the swell isn't quite finished yet.  it rockets other feeling out of the clutches of the sea's dark fingers.  long forgotten, they had been sunk to the deep sometime before modern history.  they see the light of day for the first time in years.

the calm sets in and the crust of barnacles peel themselves from the sides, rejuvenating those long lost treasures.  those ancient relics float on the surface in the sunlight.

---

it's the same sunlight that touches down in a parking lot as two old friends say goodbye.  the two had never touched before, but each had dreamed of at one point in their lives.

it is only then that it is realized that those emotions might be destined to sink again too.  the sailor unfurls his sail down the length of the mast.

the nervous blather

I'm sitting at my computer, fidgeting when I should be sleeping.  My feet are tapping, elbows shaking while they rest on the table.

Why am I so anxious?

There is an excitement for tomorrow.  I will be auditioning (what I hope to be) a score of actors for a play; a play thick with emotion and weighty themes.  This show will not be an easy project.  I might be the only one, but I feel an intense electrical charge with this whole prospect.

***

I think the electricity might just be nervousness.  It is a twisting labyrinth of possibilities.  If this play goes well, it has the potential to help set my career as a producer.  If it crashes, I'm afraid that I will too.  My head fills with doubt every time I close my eyes.  That is the real reason that I find myself typing at this hour.

Did I read the script enough in pre-production?


Should I be concerned that I don't have a clear vision of every scene after all that study?


Is my vision of the play amateurish?


Did I not schedule enough rehearsals with only 5.33 weeks?


Will I get it blocked in time?


Will my actors respect my direction?


Will people even come to my show?


Why did I agree to let cameras film the whole process?!?


What the FUCK am I trying to prove with this DAMN play?!?!?

I haven't produced or directed a play since 2005.  I moved from the house that I shared with my wife during the production of my last show.  The emotional drain that I experienced robbed me of any ambition; stole my hope.  It took me years to recover my strength.

I now feel like a gymnast standing on mended bones and staring down the pummel horse.  One wrong twist, one wrong vault, and I will be shattered again.

With no family around and only a few close friends, this play is starting with an odd sense of loneliness.  I willingly sacrifice my time and love, and I shut people out to focus my energy.  My energy quickly fades though when I turn to find that there is no one to share my creativity with.

***

These doubts that I have, they're nothing more than raw emotion.  Where some would consider that a weakness, I consider it my muscle.  With any art, every emotion is a strength.

A play quickly becomes a family, and I will be able to share soon enough.

someday

i am grounded, oh but i have wings to fly
i don’t use em, i just look up in the sky
i keep them hidden bound up in a coat and tie
‘til the world is ready for a man with wings to fly

and i will fly someday
i’ll break these feet of clay
and i’ll be on my way

i am feeling though i do not shed a tear
my eyes are dusty, though i have faced my fear of fears
i am shaken by the coming on of years
i am a feeling man but i can not shed a tear

but i will cry someday
i’ll break these eyes of clay
and i’ll be on my way

i am loving though i make my bed alone
i’ve had lovers but i have no one of my own
but i could feed her from the garden i have grown
i am a loving man but i make my bed alone

and i will love someday
i will break this heart of clay
and i’ll be on my way

It's Been Awhile

I haven't had time to blog here with school, work, and producing/directing a play.  That's right, I'm producing and directing a play.  You will all need to come and see The Lion In Winter this July!

You can find out all of the production info by following The Zazen Production Log at www.zazenproductions.com.www.zazenproductions.com.

Talk to here soon enough my friends.

dreams that have no meaning/the tale of old greybeard

A few nights ago, I dreamed about my ex-girlfriend.  I don't remember what the dream was about or the context in which she made her walk-on.  I remember that the moment she entered my dream, there was an immediate feeling of loss and desire.  Then, something shifted.  I realized that my dream-brain had gotten her image wrong.  It wasn't her.  My subconscious could only form a representation and not an actual likeness. Of course, I consciously remember her appearance, but my subconscious had no clue as to what she looks like.  I laughed myself awake. 

The moment my eyes opened, I found the beautiful woman next to me pulling me closer into her sleeping arms.  She was in no way awake, but her subconscious was finding comfort in my form.  I knew comfort myself at that exact moment.

I don't know why my sleeping brain had decided to produce those feelings in my dream, but I doubt that I will ever dream of her again.  I have new dreams to look forward to.


--

The longer and bushier my beard gets, the more of a character it becomes on its own.  There are several reasons to no longer keep my face in check.  Least of all, I want to see how long I can go at work before one of my bosses calls me out and tells me to trim it.  Next, I've just never let my beard go rogue before.  I kind of just want to see what it might look like.  Also, the girl I'm currently dating (I haven't officially called her my girlfriend yet) loves the beard.  Why shave it when she nuzzles more and more the longer it gets?  Mostly though, I call it my film school beard.  All of the greats have had one: Jackson, Kubrick, Spielberg.  Will having a beard make me a better filmmaker?  Certainly not, but it makes me look more the part, and what could that hurt?

However, the longer it gets, the more I notice the gray in it.  This is probably the number one reason it is staying and at length.  As a guy that likes to smoke pipe tobacco and drink scotch, I feel like it makes me distinguished.  The corners of my mandible go whiter every day.  I kind of like it.

open borders

There's another toothbrush on my sink ledge.  It's the scout of a new country looking to invade the borders of my life.  I am usually taken over, annexed willingly, in a soft surrender.  Will I put up a good fight this time? For now, I will play the diplomat.

We both have our national secrets, but who doesn't?

-- -- --

You'd think that this would be a distraction, but it is an inspiration.  A photo shoot of those large eyes in wild flowers is in order.

The fortuneteller told her to marry the brown haired man in the movie business.



‎"Truth is, everybody is going to hurt you; you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for."-Bob Marley