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<livejournal>
<entry>
<itemid>129853</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-02-04 14:46:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-02-04 19:46:48</logtime>
<subject>Film Query</subject>
<event>
I am approaching this project from the Wesley style of film making. This can be summed up in this quote: "Westley: I mean, if we only had a wheelbarrow, that would be something. Inigo Montoya: Where we did we put that wheelbarrow the albino had? Fezzik: Over the albino, I think. Westley: Well, why didn't you list that among our assets in the first place?" I have a small group that is interested already, but before I wrote the script at even the base level I wanted to see if others might be interested. The kick off for this will be in Decatur at 7:30pm EST 2/22. I am determining what props, people, places and talents might be available to help me make it work and we'll also be brainstorming the basic plot. I have specific ideas in mind in case we don't get one from brainstorming, but I like to be open. This is a bit of an experiment in the creative and collaborative process. If you are interest, please email me. Thanks -Tom R.
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<entry>
<itemid>130254</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-02-11 23:06:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-02-12 04:06:45</logtime>
<subject>Swan song of perfection</subject>
<event>
By emmit tursor tonight I saw perfection in the dagger of the dance mirrors within mirrors that give no second chance the madness in the shadows in the art around the eyes show through the doppleganger the disguise of spin and lies wrap your web little spider you are only spinning thread your corpse will be your needle your venom make you dead art is life and life is suffering the plays the thing they say but in the end a writer makes their own art as their way and actor is a shapeshifter a name I have been called paralax or paralay now the metric is installed all the world a theater with an audience of one the lake of fire and brimstone has shown us how it's done a vapid mirror only vapors a happenstance mirage don't chase all the rainbows or you end up in the garage they say the first is the best and in this they do not lie so buck up lads and heave to sail tis mid morning to belie tie a knot spin the thread and weave a cloak of shadows can't make an omlet with some eggs and a bakers dozen windows.
</event>
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<entry>
<itemid>130509</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-02-12 19:19:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-02-13 00:19:27</logtime>
<subject>The spirit of the thing</subject>
<event>
Two bearded men sat down by a fire flickering softly in the darkness. The younger said to the elder who sat poking the embers with a stick that would give the illusion of life without giving life since both were too bored to get up from their logs to feed the flames he said,"I have heard the women in taverns in this time of year are lustful in hearts and passionate" the elder turned to look at him frequently stoking the embers with stick because he could " you speak to hear yourself speak that the wind may hear but not understand as is often your lot for you cannot teach the wood or would you suddenly give it ears to hear and what then for wood has no hands to do anything about it and we cannot go burning people can we?" the flame crackled and the old man poked it with a longer stick. "so then it is not true" said the younger "no more than tales of women in every foreign country as told and imagined by every sailor that ever was.". Said the elder "and the truth then?" "they sit around wondering where the men are to take advantage of their sullied repution." the elder and the younger sat for a time and the elder eventaully grew bored even with the stick and then they slept and the wind said goodbye to the last bit of flame as it was snuffed out until it visited the sky the next morning and the two men were nowhere to be found.
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<entry>
<itemid>130639</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-02-14 19:36:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-02-15 00:36:39</logtime>
<subject>Valentine's Day</subject>
<event>
Since today there is nowhere that I belong I went where I least belong my moribund little ritual at the place where we first met where I asked you to marry me well part of the ritual I am after all as poet obligate to ritual and as shapeshifter to hold those only I care about or understand. A black velvet sits on the table opposite the guiness that no one is going to drink from a person who may have never really existed at all death would be easier but what is is what is and While I have accept it i still feel someone should remember that fantastic never was like so many other memories I carry that no one else cares to know it is a glory but also a burden that often keeps my lips sealed when courage is required in the moment of reigniting the fires of courtship. What is is what is I will finish my drink but I won't drink for two that way lies madness. Or at least more madness. Words as written are mind to command words as spoken are thus far too much demand. What is is what must be so says hazel ra and who am I to argue with a rabbit god there will be no bargain miracle or accord.
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<entry>
<itemid>130925</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-02-15 22:44:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-02-16 03:44:14</logtime>
<subject>Paper thin</subject>
<event>
By emmit other so thin they are the paper chain of lies that let us get up in the morning and keep getting up in the morning to feet the dog walk the cat spin backwards through a mirror into worlds of the mindscape collecting stories in the belief that someone somewhere will want to read them paper cuts despite how thin it is but it burns particully easily. It was never meant to carve out a suspension bridge over the valley of the shadow despite it being a component of duct tape by itself it is an excetionally poor construction material words may have power but in the sunlit world they are more towards hamlet's decree than Aristotle's.
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