Drastic Life Changes Cannot Be Made--

Until the debts are paid-- the (2) loans, the credit card,
Ithaca College & @##**!! Best Buy.
Until Ad's video is done & done well.
Until "AERO" debuts in a worthy festival.
Until the website is updated & Cast/Crew receive DVD's.
Until I pay back K.
Until $16tho is raised & staked.

Only then.

Lethargy

There it is again
The wood-dust sucky sounds...
The rasp at 3:30AM.
In the same room
The ridiculously dated tropes & paperback models.
My counterweight is lightweight.
Drool curdling on the pillow,
the posters flagging.
Dried childhood snot on the walls.
Grandpa's photograph.
Torn sports headlines.
I am forever here...this is it.
I shave & cut my face,
blood leaks beside unkept moustache.
The extra 25 lbs. exposed on the scale,
every morning.
Every Monday.

No enjoyment. Just the wait 'til this time,
everyday the same drudgery.
A stickpan in a rag,
Electro-shocked jello.
Baby's first orgasm.
I am listless under the cobalt sky.
A million things to do,
a million ways to spend the weekend.
But none get me past this point.
Caffeine & muffins.
Carbs & processed foods.
A cat for a friend.
The bills going nowhere.
I jury-rig a routine,
reacting to nothing...
Just letting it all slide.

The work van empty behind me.
All dead space.

Ways To Fill The Time

Horrible atrocious virulent dream
Not sure if it happens before or after 4AM thunderclap.
This gigantic bite out of the sky
that seems summoned from my worst subconscious.
In the dream, I am armed & killing those around me,
pointing 9mm (somehow, the specific caliber is confirmed)
at backs of heads.
And firing point-blank at brains & necks.
The bedroom window is open &
the bleak pre-dawn storm is sidled up beside me.
No insulation or drawn screens.
The monster is in the room with me.
I'm sharply awakened & actually sobbing,
then flitting in & out of it.
I know I want to get up & let Kitty in,
I'm sure the poor thing's drenched under some bush
or floppy leaf.
But I can't get up 'til later.

Around 6AM the weather's cleared & there's sunshine.
I get up & open back kitchen door
& Kitty skitters across lawn.
I swear that cat must have an invisible line
drawn 'tween its paw & that door.
There is rarely an interval
'tween the opening/shutting & Kitty's appearance.
I feed Kitty,
shuffle off back to bed.
The cat, of course, follows & lays at bed's end...
expanding like a microbe on a glass plate.
Soon the cat has half the bed.

When I wake up next it's mid-morning.
The dream from hours before seems like a figment
of my hyper-creation.
I have my two bowls of Raisin Bran,
my left over cranberry-orange bagel from Bagel Time
& my glasses of OJ.
I read 1980's Detective Comics,
some of the 68pp $1.00 ones w/ the entire Bat Family.
I am conforting myself w/ this routine,
this throwback in my childhood room
w/ Robin, Batgirl, The Demon, Elongated Man
all along as camp counselors.
The stories are simplistic & exciting.
I like how even Batgirl gets upset when she wrecks
her Batcycle in one particular investigation.
"That'll take me weeks to repair," she bemoans.
See...even a superhero gets grounded now & then.

Dad leaves for 11:30AM mass.
I head out on the road...
although I had a record-breaking day Friday of (62) billboards
it wasn't enough.
I still have so much ground to cover--
Brockton, Easton, Millis, Holliston.
June's rain has crippled me in the dayjob...
all the billboard postings I was supposed to photograph...
well, I'm so very behind.
And it's getting too late
as July's copy goes up.
I lose photo opportunities every day,
and none of the A.E.'s particulary care...
they just want to bill their client
& make their money.
I'm only holding that up.

I mid-stream my afternoon in Foxborough
@ Patriot Place.
Sarah & Matt are playing a free outdoor show @ 2PM,
followed by another WBCN Rumbler-- The Motion Sick.
Sarah & Matt play a few new songs.
There are maybe 30 people in attendance.
It's a weird venue for many reasons--
1) it's in South Shore, MA & not at club
2) it's outdoor & upstaged by shopping mall
(& further, the open plaza space is off-side
to main thorough-fare...I even had trouble
finding it).
3) it's mid-day & their fanbase is not exactly Cambridgesque
I photograph the set, videotape their closer-- "Riots..."
There is awkward interaction as I say hello after the set,
I might as well be creepy stalker guy.
I need to remember these folk are clients, not friends.
Never friends. OK to be friendly...but don't presume too much.
That anyone would be happy to see you.

I also photograph The Motion Sick,
they're pretty durn good.
Lead singer has a crazy moustache.
Like Groucho Marx in a tight-fitting shirt.
Their drummer is a fighter & a flailer--
it must be 80 degrees out & he's incindiary,
never letting up.

I return to work van,
removing my contacts & sunglasses...
I drive for as long as I have gas.
But I don't get the boards in Marlborough,
I don't make it to Route 9.
See? Never enough time or daylight or gasoline.
I may even have to put in a few bucks tomorrow AM,
just to make it into work.
I do find a great little used bookstore off Rte 126?
& pick-up a couple horror anthologies
(one has Beaumont & H.R. Wakefield).
I could live in that store.
I'm at peace in the far corner of that store,
alone except for the proprietor.

Now it's after 7PM & I am back home.
What money I had left I spent for supper--
0.88 pasta
1.00 canned sauce
0.75 French style stringbeans
I spent more on the books!
Ah well.
And that was how I filled the gaps.

I Am Eating My Hand And It Tastes Like Wet Paint

Reading Harlan Ellison's book of collaborations.
In the forward to one of the shorts,
he remarked upon his youthful affinity & exuberance
to demonstrate a character's extreme state of mind
(car crash)
(loss of loved one)
(alien invasion)
by having them insert their fist into their mouth.
To stiffle the screams?
To inflict self-abuse?
To inject an uneasy bit of physical business?
He was chagrined by the melodramatic ploy,
which he em-"ployed" over & over again.

I feel the same way at times with this blog--
What am I demonstrating here?
Who reads this stuff anyway?
I can't exactly call it behind-the-scenes DVD commentary,
an "AERODYNAMICS" how to.
And it's not exactly a story idea-a-day.
And, oh yes, there's certainly a lot of whining
& why me?
And it's not like I'm going public w/ this...
Oh the stray distant relative & blast from the past
have infiltrated the cyber-anonymity
but I'm mostly venting in the corner.
Flexing a muscle for 20 mins. or so.
So why?

Do I have delusions of grandeur that this will all be
my posterity some day?
Yes.
Do I need to do this?
No. But I have no one to talk to so this feels like the
healthy outlet.
Do I revel in this?
No. Most of the time it feels like a chore. Two weeks in
again & I want to cease & desist.
But I'll aim for the token month.
Maybe I'll get scriptwriting software then.
Maybe I'll have the discipline for something more.
Do I fancy that all the world's crushes will read this...
& be emo-impressed?
Yes. But it won't happen. No one attractive & female &
smitten by me exists.

So I eat knuckle-flesh,
I drool on my sleeve.
I grind jaw & indent incisor & mash cartiledge.
I yell affixed.
There is nothing here anymore,
it is self-inflicting typeface
& creative remorse.
I will exit this coffeeshop in a couple hours time
& it will be the loneliest feeling in the world.
I'll suffer depth perception & autism,
& the summer sun in the royal blue sky,
will seem like a great weight.
I'll walk in circles & wilt in routine,
I'll disappoint myself...
all the while gnawing & cursing,
down to the bony canvas.

Cheers!

I Sequester In Framingham At The End Of A Long Day

Live travelogue
up to the half hour accuracy!
Check this out
if the title hasn't revealed all...
I'm literally down the street
from where we shot "AERO" principal photo.
Heck, I'm even wearing my official McAuliffe Center hat.
Last night of shooting there back in early early early
Sep '05,
Ray Griffin, the then Center Director,
the man I really owe everything to
& super gratious/super patient
(who else would've put up w/ cast & crew 4+ hrs over?)
escorts us out as we wrap cable, stuff van.
We are shuffling, stumbling pieces of clay & stupor.
Ray is suddenly a parade gypsy,
but instead of confetti & tickertape...
he hands us hats & T-shirts & buttons.
He's raided the Center Promo Dept. it seems.
We are recipricants of aero-space merch.
I feel like the scenario is topsy-turvy,
we should be providing him the booty--
Gold bullion or popsicles or newly minted fifty dollar bills.
But no.

To think, all it could've taken was that one "no".
The Center was a long-shot some PA half-heartedly mentioned,
as we trashed the original Lowell set.
A mumbled anecdote in the right ear,
that got to my ear,
that got to my flagging hope.
I was frightful to approach Ray,
but he immediately put me at ease.
For some reason he reminded me of The Peanuts creator,
Charles Schultz.
Not exactly a look-alike, just something shared in good nature.
And although that first meeting lead to many more,
over a three year period,
and although there was some Nervous Nelly's on the tech end of things
and although there was a proper amount of paperwork & expense,
I lucked out.
It could've been "no".
It could've been less than cost-effective.
But it wasn't.
And when I look back at it all now,
I marvel.
Wow. That happened. We shot there.

So I'm in Framingham, on Route 9...
& the coffee folk working this fine establishment want to leave,
because it's Friday night & summer final happened.
& I am tired.
But as I sit here,
w/ my hat...
& I watch the full-length "AERO" trailer Colby just forwarded
(VERY close to lock)
I am pleased.
I don't know where all this is leading,
but I did it.

No one can take that from me.
Years passed like car horns,
& I stuck my finger in a bubble...
but damn it.
Something from nothing.
Thanks, McAuliffe Center!

Some Form Of Discipline

I suppose
Here it is 7:37PM
Munching on lettuce & olives & blue cheese dressing
Typing out the ingrediants to my
oh so fascinating
enthralling
rich
diverse
spellbinding
sexy
nutritious
death-defying
notorious
life.

Art Dept meeting last night for "WINTERTHRU"
discussing props & set dressing & budget.
Need to pin down if late Aug is happening.
Hopefully location scout @ Deb's will help decide
if we shoot single day pre-projection footage
or if we go for it.
I'd still love to pay off a loan or credit card 1st,
but there's this little itch called momentum
that whispers "now now now"
"while the frying pan's hot"
& "the grease is in the griddle"
& numerous other cooking analogies.
Again, if this was a FT gig,
I'd have that singular focus
& less?
more?
distractions.
But here I am,
post-work
post-commute
waiting for dinner to cook
(veggie chicken patties & steak fries,
how much of an oxymoron is that?)
& I'm just going through the motions here.
But a blog a day
keeps my crazy at bay.
So tip tip tap, ya'll.
Here's my daily output.

Trickle Theory

So today was supposed to be deadline for website revamp--
that didn't happen.
Still need to meet w/ Steve again to edit "WINTERTHRU" &
"AERO" end credits.
Haven't really forwarded Chris one thing...
all that time in the coffeeshop on Saturday,
and it's still outline.
No specifics.

It's the worst feeling...
just the more I plan & jot ideas,
the less formed it gets.
Ready to go KABLOOIE at any moment.
Feel that way continuously about the next music video too.
Got a meeting w/ Juliet for Art Dept tonight
& I've already met w/ Deb re. set design.
But locations are still TBD
I don't even have my female lead,
despite multi E-M's & inquiries
(I even tracked down model from Johnny Cupcakes billboard,
but she was going to be out-of-state in grad school during
proposed shoot dates).
Nothing feels like it's getting done...
not the website or music video prep.
And barely made a dent in credit card payments,
let along Best Buys or loans.

I do wonder if I was doing this FT
if I'd be more up on my game
or would I degenerate to sloth?
Do I need some structure
for me to craft virility out of miasma?
Schedule this that & something else,
but where does it all lead?
I don't feel any closer to a career now,
than 6 years ago.
Although I have the tangibles,
where are they really getting me?
500+ hits on YouTube?
Yet look at Leah Meyerhoff
the same short & 2 music videos
in every freakin' film fest
every day
for years now
She's working it CONSTANTLY.

I'm lucky I made the Hawaii Int'l deadline.
If I wanted to submit something tomorrow...
I couldn't because--
A) "AERO" needs to be cut down to at least 25 mins.
B) I need to follow-up on my fest research for music videos
C) I've already allotted today's paycheck to bills & editing
D) website isn't up to date

So every weekday morning I get up super-early
just so I can come into the office
& trickle trickle trickle.
Another reason why I've been squeamish about blogging daily,
time doing this is time away
(from Facebook? from Twitter? from myspace?
from today's action-packed buffoonery of "Dick Tracy"?)
from "the work".
I feel like refried crap in a can
my diet's poor
& I can't shed 20 lbs.
I am constantly depressed & de-sensitized,
but I have to finish.
At least give "AERO" a fighting shot
& Ad's music video has to be the bee's knees.
I promised.

So send out some E-M's
re-label some photos
go through my notes
research the one short film distributor who's gotten in touch
& prep.
Always prep.

The Iron Spine

Never let down your guard
Wash the dishes IMMEDIATELY after eating
Put your laundry away
Cover the hood when it rains
Break down the cereal boxes in the recycle bin
Never roll up the dishcloth,
lay it aside the sink
Put a cover on the pasta sauce in the microwave,
don't use bundled paper towel
And really--Mix the sauce, don't pour it
Have replacement toilet paper on stand-by at all times
Use a wooden spoon to stir
Make your bed every morning
Shunt the side window in summer
Go for a bike ride already
the chain's rusting for Pete's sake!
(so oil that too)
Don't watch your programs in the living room
Don't take up chair-space
Answer every question
even if they're from down-the-hall
and the music is playing
or there's a DVD on
or you're checking your bank balance on the phone
Make certain the work van's pulled over far enough
in the drive
Don't have too much milk
Don't touch the coffee or cornflakes
Don't organize the refrigerator shelves TOO much
Avoid the basement
and the phone's not for you
Never ever ever ever complain about work,
about not making enough money
Don't borrow or ask favors
You need to vacuum the room soon
Stay on top of your bills
they are the most important things in life
centerpiece accordingly
There should NEVER be collection calls going to the house
Attend mass
at least on the holidays
Don't dare be sick
& lie around in bed all day
And forget personal days & holidays,
you should always be up & about w/ busywork...
no downtime
Don't bring the pan down to the room
Put everything on a tray
Don't eat there
or here
or really anywhere
Pay the rent PROMPTLY
no more excuses...
otherwise, questions as to where the money's gone?
No one over
(fat chance of that)
Always say where you're going
as you head out the door
Talk less
it's all about being an audience, seriously
Brush your teeth & shave every morning,
don't grow your hair too long
Dress accordingly
Throw out those favorite old sneakers
Be afar on weekends
That's it for now

Hawaii International Film Festival Postmark Deadline

That would be today.
And both "SACRILEGE" & "AUTUMN SPILLS" need to be in fest office by Friday.
Let's see how much that's going to cost.
More tomorrow when I'm not so pressed for time.

The Lovely Sunday Following The Lovely Sunday...

Days getting mired & extrapolated
Too much work left to do.
When did I edit-- Friday night?
Cutting into Steve's family time & holiday weekend,
but tomorrow's postmark deadline looms.
Hard to keep track of it, though.
This now vivid stretch of weather
& ennui...
Finished Director's Cut of "AUTUMN SPILLS",
burned another DVD copy of "SACRILEGE".
Submitted both on-line to Hawaii International.
Now just need to print out the confirms,
amass the press/photos.
Stamps for the SASE's.
Also have media files for those + old Annette vid
to hand-off to Chris for web update.
But didn't get close to "WINTERTHRU" teaser,
just top picks taking 9+ hrs to render...
ugg.
And didn't get to take whack @ "AERO" end credits.
Or 25 min tweak.
Always so much still to do in this swirl,
this long summer.
Next time. Next payment.

The White Medical Man On The 4th Of July

The White Medical Man is immaculate
as he waits on the curbstone before your house.
He is adorned in form-fitting T
& spotless shorts.
His Sketchers match the enamel white socks,
drawn up along toned calf.
He is ripped chest & abs,
his nipples poke soft cloth.
And let there be no mistake,
he is crew cut & buzz cut & high 'n tight.
He is waxed & shaved by a sextet of
coordinated stainless steel.
He is basking in the sun,
his odor the musk of car commercials
and Maxim cologne samples
and the handsome golf caddy
who winks at your oh-so-hot cousin, Sheilah.
And for this record, bucko--
He eats his eggs RAW!
With gobs of chicklet DNA,
swirling in his dish like
bloody melted ice cream

This man
This giant of gents
holds a perfect clipboard,
a metal shiny rectangle...
no doubt lightweight
no doubt as fresh as a mirror.
He has his records
and he checks your address,
cracking the lovely tinfoil perfect binder
unblemished by mosquito viscera
or snot
or even fingerprints.
He scrutinizes your mailbox
and condones the housepaint
in his stern, silent way.

Now he's striding down your driveway,
round back to the pool.
Deftly navigating the parked Hummy's & jeeps.
Not swatted by car antenna
or beseiged by radio wave.
He moves deftly, with purpose & pinpoint accuracy.

Don't let him find you,
you in your pool with your Heineken beer bottle,
your flabby shoulders & back already burnt...
Your loud friends yelping & crashing around you,
distending the waters
splashing like musket balls into sloppy clear tar.
Your wife somewhere inside,
up in her room confering w/ dear lovely Sheilah.
Dishing the dirt, as it were.
How you didn't do this.
How you let the bicycle chain rust.
Or didn't get the Taurus inspected in time.
Or were conveniantly absent
during the night before the Fourth parade...
while she had to whip up the potato salad
(awful by the way, the mayonaise spoiled).
Oh dear wifey will put on quite the show,
drunk on her apple martini & attention.

But focus focus focus
wipe the weed from your teeth
blink the black-out back.
Because there he is...
the man who could eat brick
& spit mortar.
The doctorate of your soul,
the appraiser of your sloth & easy carefree ways.
Can you hide from him,
duck underwater
or slip beneath the innertube?
Alas-- no.
He has his sights on you
as he passes the kiddie slide
and the puddle of summer afternoon vomit,
and your fun frantic friends.
Somewhere the neighbor's dog yodels
and the town siren cries.
There is a distant thunder & warning of hail,
as the man squats down beside poolside.
He re-opens his binder
and looks you in the drunken smile.

There will be hell to pay for all this.
The mortgage shot.
The kids all sick.
The demotion at work on Monday.
The increased chasm 'tween you & your wife,
your eventual infidelity w/ a certain relative.
Your hair loss (well, the rest of it anyway).
The gut.
The late night sleepbaking.
The ant problem.
Good God...
why did it have to start today?

But The White Medical Man is all business,
he reads your diagnosis in a voice
like a volunteer softball coach.
He doesn't pull punches,
yet he doesn't exactly rally either.
Only you can hear,
no one else cares.
Is it Stan who actually slaps him on the back
en route to the rotisserie?
Ha Ha Aww Shucks.
But you are now ice cold,
the sweaty taste of last night's meatloaf
in your throat.
Do you plead? Do you connive?
I'm too young. I still have my promise.
I stick to the track.
I adhere to the longview.
I'm doing my best.

Not enough, he says.
You are not me.
You never will be.

And is that a stethoscope that hangs
'round his throat & chiseled Adam's apple?
Is that a prescription he signs in Roman numerals
& sanskript?
Does he take your pulse?
Have you cough?
And when debacherous, raving drunk Stan returns
from his hot dogs & babyback ribs...
is that blood he pees into the pool?

FanboyGeekTransmentalPayDirt

In the presence of The Church
at Foxborough's Showplace Live.
Weird to see this show flashed
as an in-house ad before the movies last week
(gee, what tie-in cinemaplex would that be?).
A bit of cultish, bubbling cauldron
in stripmall suburbia.
Much like this show.
The venue's exquisite.
I'm in the world's nattiest home-entertainment center.
They let us out of work early,
and even though I putter 'round there for an hour,
internetting...
and get stalled in the pre-holiday snarl of SE-XWay...
I walk in the venue door just after 6PM.
This is my night out,
my Christmas in July.
I go immediately to the merch table & buy $40 worth
of audio karma.
Oh Painkiller. I have you!
Is there a better opening track than "Outbound", I ask you?
Well, besides "Block"...

I sit at the well-lit bar & look properly wordly & chic...
I order a salad & Coors Light.
See?
How smooth is that?
Does anyone do Caesar Wedge as debonair as me?

The show is part of the summer's 80's-themed "Left Over Lunch"
a certain Lynn-based radio station is sponsoring.
Now don't get me wrong,
I love all things "Heyday" & "Starfish"...
but what the band's done since "Holgram of Baal"...
they are off the map.
Consistent caramel & dark chocolate
& purple liquors
& burnt brick textures.
Sudden thunder on the heat-stricken beach.
They are far from ra-ra synth & nostalgia.
But has this radio station played anything current?
"Ripple" was the last single I remember bearing W-F-N-X.
Our pre-show host is a soccer mom now,
aged & formless in an untucked shirt.
She & the street crew seem to have a friendly repertoire
with the audience.
Handing out beer glasses & trivia questions.
Even free tickets to a tattoo convention.
The night's audience is slowly but surely
making their way in.
Finding their seats & dinners (it is dinner theatre).
And who are these Aussie prog fans?
For the most part they look like me.
White & balding & nebbish.
Although I have the tummy,
I am puny compared to see of these IT monstrosities,
big-bellied nincompoops.
Flabby from their 20's & marriage & unfulfilled expectations.
But I'm sure they get paid quite well.
$200 spent tonight on food & booze
is just another night out.
No rationing the wallet for merch.
And no hotties either.
The first couple I wandered in behind was it,
the girl fiery red hair & inked arms.
The gentlemen well-bred & full head.
Any other women I see...
are unexceptional inkblots without interpretation.
Swaying Plain Janes away from the kids.

Adam Franklin opens.
I'm riveted by the drummer,
not quite sure if it is male...
or homely, bulgy female
(later on as band smokes by greenroom exit door
I get bead on the sex).
They are really good.
I particularly like the last languid song,
a summer afternoon watching teenagers play basketball,
holding hands with the girlfriend.
Slightly buzzed or drunk or congested, not sure which.

I see two old acquaintances of mine enter club,
say hello.
One of whom is ex-singer of another band I almost
shot a music video for.
Both her & her husband are now Boston music scene retired.
I later sit with them at their booth,
waiting 'til they've finished their dinner & opening salvo
martini's.
It's good to see them,
hadn't realized how lonely I was...how friendless.
And although my roots w/ singer go back to UMass Amherst
(some other distant story)
& although I hadn't see 'em for nearly two years,
it's pleasant just sitting there & shooting the breeze.
Nothing too intensive,
just talk & company.

The Church take the stage & I manage to stay put for
all of two songs.
I have to get up, I have to lip sync & show-off.
I can't merely sit & sway.
I make my apologizes & find a spot by the camera guy.
I'm sure he's thrilled that some dum-dum
is right there rocking out.
So much for the Steadi-Cam, eh?
The show takes off big-time w/ the most extended of instrumental bridges
somewhere around the 7 minute mark of "You Took..."
Good God, how good it is.
SO GOOD!
Endless passageways & labryniths swirl on the rear projection behind band.
How does Peter stay so grounded & mild,
generating that sound?
Marty of course is another story,
he now looks like a Grizzly Adams wildman
or fickle pirate with metal teeth.
The things he does with that guitar
and that guitar
and that one over there...
holy mackeral.
Tim pounding away
& Steve the cad. The wry showman. The primer paint,
holding all those colors together.
I am at ease for the first time in years,
I am transported back to Manray in my 20's,
lost in the music.
I am in a retal van in the Brooklyn Navy Yard,
keeping my focus w/ just the talisman
of my rickety CD Walkman.
Music.
Always music.
If I ever have therapy...music will be intregal.

Ah, but what is there to say after that?
They play for over an hour and a half,
and although I yell out "Achorage" for both encores,
it ain't happening.
And although I meet Steve afterwards @ merch table,
& he signs a couple of my new purchases,
he very succinctly replies the band is done w/ music videos.
So much for one little boy's wish fulfillment, huh?
So much for that.

It is a misty foggy sauna world outside,
I am transitioning back to daily life.
I am tired & I sleep most of this morning,
after confirming via E-M that editing is slated tonight.
The sun is out as I write this from the coffeeshop.
I wish I could continue last night
& roadtrip to Londonderry gig.
But nope. What makes the special,
is the infrequency of it.
The far and few in between's I know so well.

And that is my report, dear sirs & madams.

Editing Bay

So Steve is reputedly clear for tomorrow--
July 4th eve.
We've been ping-ponging dates all month
but he's been on feature.
And I've been stewing...
Website is getting updated (FINALLY) &
I really really really need footage.

Colby's handling the official "AERO" trailer,
long overdue w/ some of my notes going
back a year or more.
I also need Director's Cut of "AUTUMN SPILLS"
music video, mostly color correction
& that's where Steve comes in.
Not to mention the teaser trailer for Ad's vid.
AND various RT versions "AERO" for Cast/Crew
as well as future fests.
Lot of little nips & tucks.
So very close but in stasis.
I figure maybe a couple (4)-(6) hour edit sessions
should do the trick.
The "AERO" 10 and/or 25 min version, however...
well, that's going to take some doing.

Missed UK's Brief Encounters deadline this week,
but for fest clearly denoting "Brief" in its title,
I cannot submit the current cut w/ (3) mins. of
end credits.
The sure sign of a novice.
(5)-(30) secs max.
The full video credits will go up on website.
And on those Cast/Crew DVD burns.
A fest audience doesn't need to know 2002.
I sometimes wish I didn't know 2002.
Or 2003.
Heck, let's just lump my entire 30's in there.
But to be fair,
without suck...there would not be catalogue.
And if I count the productions,
the true productions...not "On The Lot" Filmmaker Intro
or Improv Boston bachelor/bachelorette vids,
and fingers crossed,
taking into account Ad's forthcoming "WINTERTHRU",
I'll have averaged a "film" a year since 2003.
Not too shabby for a guy living back @ home.
And each flick has gotten progressively better.

Still, wish I had a Mac & Final Cut Pro.
Steve even suggested it last time.
Too dependent on others' timetables for post.
And let's face it-- editing is damn expensive.
It's also a trade skill.
I should be adept.
I should not shun the technical.
How many indie filmmaker panels have I heard the following--
"I'd wake up & edit."
I wake up, send an E-M, wait a week for a response,
make a follow-up phone call,
wait for a paycheck,
sit in for a couple hours of bought/paid time
& repeat process over the course of months.
If I had that computer
& the external drive
@ the end of the bed...ready to go w/ the flick of a switch
& KNOWLEDGE
I'd be empowered.

Well, something to put on the TO DO LIST.
Right after I pay off my Best Buy credit card
for my laptop PC.
The one I bought over (5) years ago...
the card I've paid 3x over now...
but consistently max.
The $1grand of debut accrued now,
is wholly late fees
overdue fees
overlimit fees
we hate you fees
we're making money off you ha ha fees.
Well, one thing at a time.
Today
Tomorrow
and the days hereafter.

Nightriding 2

Perfect fugue of van engine &
Bat for Lashes on NPR "World Cafe".
I'm in the middle of nowhere,
also known as Rte 133 in Essex or Ipswich
or Somewhere-Else-Ville.
Back x back nightrides,
this night in the most remote of places.
Driving through the fields & bogs of mist,
moist grasses & treacle airs.
Fish restaraunts & a half-remembered bookstore,
a night of fancy & murder.
Bat for Lashes play three "lo-fi" numbers
but that includes a drum machine & marxaphone?
Ghostly female vocals & my groggy head.
I could be in purgatory.
I could be driving off the edge of sanity.
I am a somnambulant with a steering wheel,
total recall in the morning...
but what did I do?
How did I get from Point A to Salisbury?
To Rye, New Hampshire?

I have so much trouble just losing myself in the moment,
but this is one of those.
Always music as the conduit,
the liquid relaxant poured through the ears.
Aural yoga.
A soft pie piece served with cream.
A lap dance in New Orleans.
A cushion for the cat.
A brazier of wafting anesthesia.
Midnight moves.
A creamsicle & sit before the fan.
Endearments in a trunkfull of love letters.
The last day of August.
The final underwater tympani.
The sleep of the utterly exhausted.