opps, I forgot

fingers on the keys, and...
write something.... Funny how time flies when your having fun, getting mad, deciding to move, AGAIN, and figuring out how to earn enough money to survive and still write and make art and do the laundry.... Ok, it's a bit dramatic to include the laundry, but there is that dramatic license, and I'm claiming said license for myself...At least for today.... Anyone remember Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard?..... That was was some kind of drama when she told the camera she was ready for her close up.

I've been so preoccupied with the almighty pieces of paper with dead guys on them that I feel no creative urge with words.. The only words I feel really work for me right now are shit, fuck, and piss..... three I string together on a daily basis as I try to sell myself to what might be the lowest bidder offering less than a living wage for long hours of hard work... there was something to be said for being my own boss, but then there was the seven day work week and NO time or energy for anything more than food, farts, showers and off again to the salt mine....

I've never been one to just look at the bad, but lately I am consumed by this feeling that my bling and cha ching got delivered to the wrong address. Someplace on the upper west side of NYC... Park Avenue not Killingsworth Street in Portland, Oregon. I keep squeezing a quarter trying to turn it into a hundred dollar bill. So far, my attempt at alchemy has failed miserably. Guess I should stick to something not involving chemistry of the magical kind. Sciences never are my strong suit...

I keep thinking of relocating, to a bigger metropolis, maybe to Metropolis... wonder if Superman needs a personal assistant? Opps, there goes that dream sequence.... me running after the man in the cape reminding him, as he flys off to save the world, that he has a dentist appointment on Tuesday.

Back to bigger city equals bigger chance of scoring a job where the money is enough and the hours are very few.... because I want to write for the screen, I keep thinking of Hollywierd.... it's not like I've never been there.... it's the place where I was born, ok not actually in Hollywood, and the place where I graduated from high school, again, not actually in Hollywood. But, when you live in the LA basin you kind of claim it all as your own. I read this blog by a kid who made the mistake of getting involved in reality TV, why, I'm still not sure. I'd hate to have to sell my soul to be able to write and study at UCLA Film School (not him in film school, it me in my other favorite dream sequence). Seems he's decided to sell himself to a slave driver of an agent....who expects him to be at her beck and call. He gets to read scripts, that can't be all bad.... but there is that beck and call thing....

Not sure where the winding path of my current existance leads, but at least I wrote something.....