• Words

cozy day

This is me, writing:

Sprawled on the floor, blue pen, thick notebook. I write about how I’m unable to write. KUSC 91.5 plays and I wonder, does life have four movements like a symphony, three movements like a concerto or multiple, phasing movements like a John Digweed set? I begin a list of partial ideas. I worry on paper about all my smoking friends, for I feel there will come a day when I have buried them all. Is there a story in that?

I hear Elgar’s Enigma Variations, each of them purportedly written for a different friend, the enigma being that the theme of the variations is never actually played within the piece. I wonder, is there an idea in that? To my list I add, “idea about a killer who encases his victims within a teeny-tiny space inside a large block of concrete.” I’m not sure how I get from Elgar to Claustrophobia but I don’t question it.

Then after some daydreaming I write, “What if a Private Investigator is visited by a man who suspects his wife of cheating and then learns that he’s right, and that the other man is, in fact the P.I.?” It’s not a whole script, it’s just an idea for an opening scene. But I’m picturing the film to follow. It’s a nuanced, grown-up film–Chinatown meets The Big Chill. But since I’m in Hollywood, I add, “…and one of them is a ghost,” though I’m not certain which one.

I read a Mutts cartoon in which a cat is selected by a little girl in an animal shelter. Overjoyed, the cat exclaims, “I’m a keeper! Finally, after all this time! I’m a keeper.” Tugs at the heart a little. I wonder if there’s an story in that?

I read a list of Bad Names For Professional Wrestlers dreamed up by Jeff Johnson. These include, The Tadpole, The Cuddler, The Marionette, The Wooden Marmoset and The Peppermint Rube. And again, I wonder if there’s a story in that.

I drift, I lose concentration, I write more lines about ideas, themes and notions. I stop. Three hours have passed. It’s time to play Hamsterball.

P.S. A few undone screws, a little look-see with a flashlight, a bit of poking about at a fuse and I got my monitor back.

One Comment

  1. Posted June 14, 2007 at 2:26 am | [link]

    This one makes sence “One’s first step in wisdom is to kuesstion everything – and one’s last is to come to terms with everything.”

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