Today is about this
I'll be watching Faubourg 36:
I was number 700 million on the library's waiting list, but my number finally came up last night! It only took about 3 months to get to the top of the list. Next on my library waiting list are these:
Pollack
Topsy-Turvy
Walk the Line
I'm Not There
Knowing the library, all of these DVDS will be ready for me to pick up on the very same day. And actually, even though the film is supposed to hugely suck, I am very interested in seeing Little Ashes when it gets released on DVD in January. What an awesome concept for a story, right? 1920s Madrid, the art school days of Luis Buñuel, Federico García Lorca, and Salvador Dalí, with some homo-eroticism thrown in to the mix! Come on, how bad can it be? Well, allegedly, really really bad. But I kinda want to see for myself.
Does anyone remember Total Eclipse from 1995? I so fucking loved that movie. David Thewliss as the poet Paul Verlaine and Leonardo DiCaprio as Jean-Aurthur Rimbaud, a sort of "Absinthe Chronicles". David Thewliss is just so amazing in everything he does. (Remember Naked, from 1994? Was that an unbelievable movie or what?) David Thewliss is one of those people who probably wakes up every morning really tightly focused. Just intensely focused the minute his eyes open, right? With me, my eyes open and my first thought of the morning is, "Try not to let this day so totally suck." Followed closely by "Don't blow absolutely everything today. Don't kill yourself today. Try to still be alive before night falls." (Ah! Before Night Falls -- that was incredible, too, wasn't it? The book was so intensely erotic. I read it in English translation, of course, but still. The language was so breathtaking and poignant. And just so keenly erotic -- in the very best sense of that word. It is an inspiration to me, for sure.)
Then as soon as my sweetie arrives here from Denver for good -- (Did you see The Last Time I Committed Suicide? I thought Keanu was really good in this film. I am a huge Keanu fan, as well, but mostly b/c I find him so incredibly beautiful to look at. He could just stand there and I'd be totally okay with it -- even pay money for the privilege, etc. Then once in a while, he actually does a decent acting job and I'm like, "Whoa, that was a nice surprise!" The film is primarily about Beat writer Neal Cassady's early days in Denver.) Anyway, okay. My sweetie arrives for good from Denver next weekend, and immediately on the list of movies to go out and see are: Precious, An Education, The Last Station, Broken Embraces. Probably a few more. But before that can happen, I have to spend an enormous amount of time packing up a bunch of books, records, papers, and hauling them down to storage in the basement so that we can move a bunch of furniture around and fit all his stuff in here. And somehow while I'm doing all that, I have to fit in my minimum of 10 pages of revisions a day. Yesterday I managed to do 22 pages, so that was nice. Only about 380 more to go... aaaarrrrgh. (And maybe even a little sigh thrown in, to boot. It never ends. I never "arrive.")
I wake up in the morning and I get depressed and I wonder, "Why is everything still exactly the same? This looks just like yesterday looked." This is a good sign of mental illness, gang. I came downstairs at dawn and saw all the papers piled on the dining room table -- notes for the marketing plans for my next novel, the revisions for Freak Parade, the enormous basket of chocolate that came from Godiva, the reservation info from l'Hotel in Paris. Then in the kitchen, the Xmas fudge I made yesterday, the Xmas cake, the several dozens of Xmas cookies... And a man who is so fucking incredible on every single level imaginable is giving up everything in his world to come to some strange town in Ohio to live with me. And for some reason my brain interprets all of this as "today still being the same as yesterday; nothing ever changes." I can see with my own eyes that it doesn't make sense, that it's not true, but I can't feel it inside. I do a short list of very specific things every single morning in order to remind myself to feel happy -- even if it means I have to trick myself into feeling happy. But I don't suppose it matters how I get to the end result, just getting there is key.
And the good thing is that I do remember to do those things on the short list. I do them every single day and I mark the days off with a pencil on a huge piece of paper taped on the bedroom wall: I remembered to do those things today to either remind myself or to trick myself into feeling happy. And so I'm still alive; I'm still here. And throughout most of the days, I'm still expecting miracles so I consider myself blessed. I really do. Surviving myself everyday is the greatest miracle of all. And on that happy note, gang, have an amazing Friday wherever you are. And for godssakes, stay vigilant! See ya!
I was number 700 million on the library's waiting list, but my number finally came up last night! It only took about 3 months to get to the top of the list. Next on my library waiting list are these:
Pollack
Topsy-Turvy
Walk the Line
I'm Not There
Knowing the library, all of these DVDS will be ready for me to pick up on the very same day. And actually, even though the film is supposed to hugely suck, I am very interested in seeing Little Ashes when it gets released on DVD in January. What an awesome concept for a story, right? 1920s Madrid, the art school days of Luis Buñuel, Federico García Lorca, and Salvador Dalí, with some homo-eroticism thrown in to the mix! Come on, how bad can it be? Well, allegedly, really really bad. But I kinda want to see for myself.
Does anyone remember Total Eclipse from 1995? I so fucking loved that movie. David Thewliss as the poet Paul Verlaine and Leonardo DiCaprio as Jean-Aurthur Rimbaud, a sort of "Absinthe Chronicles". David Thewliss is just so amazing in everything he does. (Remember Naked, from 1994? Was that an unbelievable movie or what?) David Thewliss is one of those people who probably wakes up every morning really tightly focused. Just intensely focused the minute his eyes open, right? With me, my eyes open and my first thought of the morning is, "Try not to let this day so totally suck." Followed closely by "Don't blow absolutely everything today. Don't kill yourself today. Try to still be alive before night falls." (Ah! Before Night Falls -- that was incredible, too, wasn't it? The book was so intensely erotic. I read it in English translation, of course, but still. The language was so breathtaking and poignant. And just so keenly erotic -- in the very best sense of that word. It is an inspiration to me, for sure.)
Then as soon as my sweetie arrives here from Denver for good -- (Did you see The Last Time I Committed Suicide? I thought Keanu was really good in this film. I am a huge Keanu fan, as well, but mostly b/c I find him so incredibly beautiful to look at. He could just stand there and I'd be totally okay with it -- even pay money for the privilege, etc. Then once in a while, he actually does a decent acting job and I'm like, "Whoa, that was a nice surprise!" The film is primarily about Beat writer Neal Cassady's early days in Denver.) Anyway, okay. My sweetie arrives for good from Denver next weekend, and immediately on the list of movies to go out and see are: Precious, An Education, The Last Station, Broken Embraces. Probably a few more. But before that can happen, I have to spend an enormous amount of time packing up a bunch of books, records, papers, and hauling them down to storage in the basement so that we can move a bunch of furniture around and fit all his stuff in here. And somehow while I'm doing all that, I have to fit in my minimum of 10 pages of revisions a day. Yesterday I managed to do 22 pages, so that was nice. Only about 380 more to go... aaaarrrrgh. (And maybe even a little sigh thrown in, to boot. It never ends. I never "arrive.")
I wake up in the morning and I get depressed and I wonder, "Why is everything still exactly the same? This looks just like yesterday looked." This is a good sign of mental illness, gang. I came downstairs at dawn and saw all the papers piled on the dining room table -- notes for the marketing plans for my next novel, the revisions for Freak Parade, the enormous basket of chocolate that came from Godiva, the reservation info from l'Hotel in Paris. Then in the kitchen, the Xmas fudge I made yesterday, the Xmas cake, the several dozens of Xmas cookies... And a man who is so fucking incredible on every single level imaginable is giving up everything in his world to come to some strange town in Ohio to live with me. And for some reason my brain interprets all of this as "today still being the same as yesterday; nothing ever changes." I can see with my own eyes that it doesn't make sense, that it's not true, but I can't feel it inside. I do a short list of very specific things every single morning in order to remind myself to feel happy -- even if it means I have to trick myself into feeling happy. But I don't suppose it matters how I get to the end result, just getting there is key.
And the good thing is that I do remember to do those things on the short list. I do them every single day and I mark the days off with a pencil on a huge piece of paper taped on the bedroom wall: I remembered to do those things today to either remind myself or to trick myself into feeling happy. And so I'm still alive; I'm still here. And throughout most of the days, I'm still expecting miracles so I consider myself blessed. I really do. Surviving myself everyday is the greatest miracle of all. And on that happy note, gang, have an amazing Friday wherever you are. And for godssakes, stay vigilant! See ya!
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