Sunday, December 11, 2005

Confessions of a chronic pathological liar.

Finals week. Kill me kill me kill me. Fuck I have a lot to do. It's a little disturbing; I really don't feel as productive this semester as I have in the past. I keep waking up at night in cold sweats due to dreams that I've grown old without changing anything. This always happens when I'm not actively working on a film. The steam has been short coming this year. Maybe its just because I've had a lot to bounce back from since last year. I don't even think it comes down to "wanting" to make films anymore, its more along the lines that I don't feel at home with myself if I am not making a movie. Neurotically attached to films. Storytelling. I'm not at peace unless I'm filling the world with my stories. Sometimes I like to lie flippantly to strangers in coffee houses, but that has gotten me into some trouble in the past, so I don't do that anymore. Now I have to find a new interim outlet for telling stories between making films. Sure I can write, I do it constantly, but not many people read my stories and I feel a compulsion to affect people immediately with the things that I spin. I want the world to listen, I want the world to cry, fuck fuck fuck. I want to give some affect that has nothing to do with myself in a personal manner. SO SELFISH. If I don't find something soon to calm my reality-detached soul, it is going to push me off a bridge. My life is a play and the world is my actor. God save me please....

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