Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Summer 1990

There is a red house on the top of the hill residing on the last corner of Quail Avenue. The entire backyard of the house on Quail is shaded by and gargantuan oak tree some estimated 150 years old. Under the shade of the great oak tree play a 8 year old Mexican boy with stoic unfeeling black eyes and a incredibly muscular physique for and 8 year old, and a 6 year old sickly thin half Italian and half Swedish girl, whose eyes often get her called a Jawa by her father and mother, both avid Star Wars fans. The girl and the boy hold hands lying on their backs, staring at the sky through the cracks in the trees. They don't speak to each other; however, they roll over and whisper secrets of unknown origin into each other’s ears. Their secrets are of an invented language that apparently, evokes fits of uncontrollable laughter. "Kenny, don't breathe the air." "Why not." "It's made of lava."

Earlier that day the girl and the boy played Pretty Pretty Princesses (which in hindsight the girl thinks may have something to do with the adult boys affinity for dressing in drag), built the Alamo, flew a plane in their mother's closet, got married (much to the boy's disgust) and attempted to fly by jumping off a very low corner of the roof. The boy scuffed is knee and cried when he landed only to be held and bandaged by the girl who could, at the time, handle her scrapes and bruises like a pro.

"If I can't breathe, what should I do?" "Just hold my hand tighter until it hurts." "Okay"
"Hey Kenny?" "GOD! What? I'm TRYING to hold my breath" "Just don't let go of me."

I wont.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

diaries are meant to be read...

November 7, 2005
Lately I have been a little obsessed with my brother, Shawny. I think I might finally go visit his grave tomorrow, seeing that I get all of my homework done. I have been tracking it down for quite some time, which hasn’t been easy because it is very difficult to talk to my family about it. When I ask I get short answers, which are usually wrong. Its been on my mind for a little over a year now, but I’ve finally found it at Hillside cemetery and I am resolved to see it before it gets to cold to linger there. I plan to go alone, so I don’t feel inhibited. I am quite scared and excited to see what happens to me. This boy has been a part of my life in the most abstract of ways for as long as I can remember. I don’t ever remember a part of my life in which I didn’t know of his previous existence. It’ll be nice to actually make him tangible for the first time.

I have very recently discovered from my sister that he is buried in a plot next to Terry, my mother’s predecessor/sister. It’s funny that for so long I thought that my condition was so very unique, when really my history is so freakishly similar to my mother’s. It is very disquieting to me to know this. I used to have a place in this world and family, as the replacement baby, the miracle child, but now I have this vague feeling that I am neither. I wonder sometimes if my mother has thought this about herself when I was born.

Speaking of other replacement children, it is my brother’s birthday on Wednesday and I need to call him. I haven’t talked to him in months, and I miss him very much. I hope I can get through to him, as his line is often disconnected. I hope he is happy.

I was in a car accident today.

November 8, 2005
I didn’t go to Hillside today. I got caught up in a homework assignment that was a lot more comprehensive than I thought it might be. That is only half true. I guess if I really wanted to go, I could have, considering I was on Myspace for a couple hours today. Hopefully I’ll have the guts to go soon…

I’m developing feelings for Peter again. Last night we stayed up until 1:30 playing phase 10 on my bed. We didn’t even move for like, three hours (except when Peter went and paid for our food). It was beautiful. I kept catching myself staring at him, and then he would catch me and I would try not to look to love-struck. I would jump right back into a relationship with him, but I think it’s for the best right now to build an amazing friendship. It’s funny how just the option of sex changes everything between two people.

There is a storm brewing tonight. It has dropped at least six or so degrees outside and the wind is blowing so fiercely that Katrina’s door keeps rapping across the hall. Delores is just sitting on the windowsill looking out in amazement. I wonder what she thinks is happening. She looks so lovely sitting there with her back arched and her tail moving spastically.

It’s Juan’s birthday tomorrow. I think it’ll always feel weird calling him Juan.

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....

Saturday, December 03, 2005

In case you wanted to know me better...

...but don't 'cause I'm too much of a hermit or I don't like you.

10 likes (in no particular hierarchy)
- when cats look at you while they are half asleep
- the sun in my eyes (especially when it glares off of my eyelashes)
- green colored candy
- baking my own bread (and eating it before it gets cold)
- eating desert with my dad
- any kind of baby (especially fond of cute puppies)
- ridiculously sad movies
- the smell of a pillow after a boy sleeps on it
- kisses on my shoulders
- walking down an alley and smelling a laundry room vent

10 dislikes (in no particular order)
- passing people on foot on the sidewalk (I feel like I am being really aggressive)
- seeing people who are mentally disabled cry (i feel so helpless, then I start crying)
- broccoli (most green vegetables, actually)
- reading a book more than once (except for Lolita, and franny and zooey)
- being interrupted
- when people talk at movies they don't like (just leave, 'cause someone probably likes it and you are ruining it for them)
- walking out on movies before they are finished (I even stayed through Naquoikatsi *sp)
- being asked if I answer the phones at Cinequipt (I have never answered the phones, but I do check the oil on the semis, check in equipment that weighs more than GOD, make deliveries to film sets, host dance party friday in the warehouse, and once I pushed 1 ton of sand bags on a cable cart like 45 feet)
- driving downtown
- getting tickled

10 things I don't really know how I feel about (order shmorder)
- walking on the cracks in the sidewalk
- boys who pluck their eyebrows
- getting lost
- poetry
- stealing
- when you catch someone staring at you and you make eye contact over and over to get them to stop and they just keep staring
- orange candy
- emoticons
- the validity of wikipedia as an accredited resource
- climate

I love my family very much.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

I'm in love with a cliché.

I was rendered breathless again today. I was driving during what was just about the first heavy snowfall. The wind was pretty ferocious, and along with the cars there was a thin drift of snow moving across the ground like there were a million tiny tornados that I couldn't see throwing the drift around like a rag doll. Traffic was slow, my music was loud and it was amazing to watch (and dangerously hypnotizing).

To get to the point I have been thinking about the event of being rendered breathless all night. I write about it a lot, I think about it a lot. Its probably one of the most overused clichés out there, but it never wears out its welcome (nor does that one). I have been attempting to research “gasping” all night to no avail. What I want to know, is breathlessness a culture-bound syndrome, or is it a physically universal human condition. At this point I could be convinced of either. However, (I remind you that I am the fucking QUEEN of internet researching) I couldn’t find any anthropological studies on the topic. Why is there no answer out there for me? Is it possible that there is such a beautiful, reiterated cliché that absolutely no one has bothered to find out the physical truth about? I highly doubt it. I can, off the top of my head, recall just shy of a kigillian literary uses of dramatic gasping, being emotionally winded, breathless, etc...

My absolute, without a doubt, favorite breathless moment, is the cinematic depiction of a car accident. Specifically of women in car accidents. There is something so lovely about a doe-eyed expression and a gasp emmiting from the mouth of a woman who is looking directly at something that will most likely kill her, when it is at the point of beyond control. I also just love everything about the idea of car accidents. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.