Dream I was scuba diving with friends and we had stayed underwater so long that our eyes had adjusted to the dark and our skin had adjusted to the cold, and it took someone from above, who had just come down below, to remind us that somewhere else there were bright warm places and we didn’t have to sit on the sea floor, holding our parties there.
Then of smoking with the same friends on a beach resort at night, and someone offered a drink but I didn’t take it.
And then wanting to leave, being ready to move on, in some ways, but there was a dumpster full of old junk I had forgotten to sort, and visions of my childhood room in Philadelphia, with all my stuff still in it, and more. And everyone was willing to help, but I had all this stuff to go through, old cassettes, VHS tapes, and zillions of scraps of paper with writing on them, that I was going to have to scan and throw away if I would have any chance of moving on, of being able to travel lightly.
“Nothing good comes from such a line of thinking, go back to working on the bliss, and a little drinking is sometimes necessary to find the sweetness. Be happy” (Tuesday)
On Sun, Jul 4, 2010 at 3:12 PM, Matthew Temple wrote:
I’m just coming to understand that I’m flawed, that I’m somewhat under my control and somewhat not. And that it might always be that way. What happens to us, we start out young and then we become these very particular, very precisely-defined people, who aren’t everything they might have been, but exactly what we have become. I think I like reflecting on this topic to your email address, just because we knew each other in earlier times.
There’s that great line in Blade Runner when Deckard and Rachael are talking about getting the shakes and Deckard tells her it’s part of the business, and Rachael—as a replicant—says, “I’m not in the business. I am the business.” I love that line and that scene for many reasons that I am not planning to discuss here.
But, thinking about that line this morning while editing, and while generally thinking about art and artists, a meaning or application of that line, strikes me, that I have never thought about before.
Joe Byron of the LA Film school says that if you watch enough movies you don’t have to go to film school. And I know that to be true, in general. But even as going to film school, watching movies, and working on films all teach you distinct sets of lessons, the more general playground is just your life. And that’s the playground artists really need to be paying attention to. Watching enough movies may be a substitute for having to listen to film school teachers break it down for you, but watching your life is the basic school for all art, all science, all business, all love. Movies made by people who mainly pay attention to other people’s movies—instead of their own life, or even other people’s lives—those movies suck. I always said, at film school, that cinematographers and sound people and production designers, yes, they should go to film school. But directors and writers, when they show up, the school should give them their tuition back and send them on a road trip. People who make the best movies are making them about their lives, or something they know about from life…not things they know from school, or even from other movies. We should, as artists, not be in the business…we should be the business.
Of course, with Deckard as an example, maybe it’s possible to do both.
I wrote this during an English class in eleventh grade. Just going through old CD-Rs tonight and found this and a bunch of old poems, which I’ll post next. The idea with Contract With The Real was that Julian and I were going to perform it. Going through all this old stuff tonight—old writing—I’m seeing from tonight’s chair how early my mind has been active, and how active it has been. And my dreams from then (from high school and my two quarters at OU and the first few years of my working life) are the same as they have been since: writing and programming, and tangentially making movies. Notes from that period have shreds of what has become Camp Lake…that’s a story I’ve been trying to write for a long time.
I guess this is part of growing older: it’s odd…to think of myself, then and now, as in many ways a coherent piece…the feeling that I have about what I want to do…I think some parts of that feeling are consistent between then and now. Of course my knowledge of the world has changed—increased. And that colors my dreams, so that my dreams, now, while they’re still the same intention as I could manage earlier in my life…those dreams are more realistic, framed more by the parameters of reality as I have learned them. I want to maintain touch with my increasing awareness of what the world is…but I want also to maintain touch with the pure feeling of dream…that part of me that I read so much more clearly in my writing from high school, that me who thought that whatever I wanted to do, I could do, that part of me who, when deciding what to create, didn’t temper that to fit the world.
We dream big. Then we talk to other people. And their dimness rubs off on us.
I think it’s appropriate for each of us to actively fight against this.
Stay in touch with :: the pure feeling of dream. =)
More old stuff I posted tonight:
I have this recurring dream
The Myth of Real News
I hate literary critics
There is no God.
It’s not that I don’t like thinking,
Lightness was walking up the street with that look on her face again.
eyes of April
when i came upon the valley
Indelible Dick Tracy
Had a dream that you were driving, and the road didn’t go where we thought but it took us instead to a beautiful tundra landscape, with amazing little rocks and lichen and brown grass. And built into the landscape, well-camouflaged and honoring the nature there, was an airport…
I need to make this happen now. I’ve been flirting with it for years, but I need to become someone who isn’t moved by what’s going on outside. My periods of sanity in this way have been longer and more complete as of the last year, certainly, but there are still days, 1 or 2 days per 1-2 months, where I am moved in ways I don’t want to be. Text is the trigger for me. Text I think is ludicrous. Maybe it’s because I spend much of my time, and that my work is, making the text on my screen correct, proper, that when improper text invades my screen (due to absolutely ridiculous, incomplete logic by the person writing it), it sets me off. And it can take me an hour, or a day, or a couple days, to recover. I don’t want to spend even 1 day per 2 months in such a state.
I know how to fix this, I just have to do it. I simply have to allow myself to not interact with people, which people I don’t want to interact with. I deserve to do that. I don’t owe it to anyone that I communicate with them. If for whatever reason I don’t want to listen, I don’t have to listen. I know that intellectually. I need to get it from the mind to the fingers. Give myself the space to have exactly who I want…in my life. And then, I won’t have to react against people who wear me out, because I won’t be listening to them—and so they won’t be taking from me. I’m trying to affirm within myself that this is okay. Not listening to people, not having people in my life, isn’t hateful. It’s a reasonable thing to do, to protect my state. I don’t owe anyone anything. It’s okay to not include everyone.
I’m going to take these people’s challenge and write a middle grade book in a week? !@#$% (Can you say that in middle-grade?)