these fuckers… one does a venn diagram with his hands the other an upside down illuminati symbol…
i love this man!
journey without a goal.
i love movies. there’s no doubt that what i am meant to do in life is make and watch movies - stories really. and tv thats at the level of great films or far beyond it, to me it is simply amazing. because you get to experience it more often and that makes me very happy. there is much great work now- so much great work! but i think with a lot of it - even though it is exceptional, even though i’m always upset when that year’s episodes are over… i feel okay that they make me wait for the next season/series. BUT their are those shows that i feel should be own EVERY NIGHT. or at least once a week for more then 12-24 weeks a year. yet those are the once that just give us 10 episode, or fucking 3.
my birthday cake! my sister made it, my fav: piggies and chocolate!
pressing against the human condition this year: with geniuses, mad men, deadly love stories, dangerous survival pushed against the bar of perfecting. save these dates for these. totally worth the buck. here’s +
writing does this weird thing to you… i guess all forms of making in a creative way do. so i’ll restate - writing as an artist does a weird thing to you, it frees you from the burden of ‘success’. see being a good writer is different than being an artist that writes well. at least to me. the difference is the writer can take one idea - his one or anothers - and make a novel from it. and continue this pattern. more ideas, more novels, factory like. but an artist waits around for inspiration and sure when the bug bites they can from one idea spill out many words… into shorts, to novels and so one. i dont have the talent. i cant just write. i have to wait. most of all i wait and never get, writing happens. as painting, as a drawing, as a poem. it comes and almost while you’re in a comatose state; suddenly you are thinking in images, in a movement, in perfectly flowing words. its what happens when you make anything as an artist. quickly you learn you can’t truly ‘make’ the work happen… you simply have to stay in practice, trust the process and you’ll get moments to discover. the intention is to find… if you find or not there’s still a lot of ‘success’ because this weird thing happens to you: where you change. and surprise yourself. odd because its a much controlled process but with beautiful surprises. acting is similar, you prepare, overly prepare really so that you have control; over your emotions, expressions, the text, the context, your characters history, you rehearse it, you plan it a bit. and then the moment comes when its time to perform and you throw it all away. for the hope that you’ll have a moment when the process leads you to some beautiful surprises. to truth and honesty instead of artifice.
most times i’m writing simply what i’m questioning and some of those times i get lucky and answer myself. but i’m no writer. i am a humble artist that simply likes to take notes.
"One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”
you are so brave and quiet i forget you are suffering.
my granpa is dying. i mean we’re all dying but he’s sick so his time its coming faster. he’s 98 and people hear that and say ‘hey well his lived this long’ and yes thats a valid point but its also bullshit. because he also really wants to live out his years - to the 100. he deserves to slip into the night, but not to suffer. not more than he already has. god knows i keep on telling my mother just that ‘hey well his lived this long’ and she looks at me - she calls; bullshit. she knows i know she knows this, but she also wants him longer. so do i. we all do. why wouldn’t we? he is truly an amazing soul. when i think of him i think of fathers. that idea of a man making and taking care of his family. my mother is a daddy’s girl herself, she loves him to death and pampers him more than she can. much like he did with his children who would ALL no doubt confirm that he is an incredible father. wise, loving, understanding, so forgiving and sweet. so very sweet. he never met his father, abandoned by him and his mother died very young. last time we spoke we said to me that my grandma wasn’t just his wife, she was his sister, his mother, his best friend… twin flames. truly. my best example. its easy to be cynical about marriage these days, about family and the happiness and the importance of it. easy to dismiss because we’re all so fucking independent and strong and feminist. but when i think of this man, thats a soul that just loved. he dismissed conventions, anthropological theories of life… he opened his heart. that simple. he lived a life he could be proud of. that his soulmates could be proud of: and we are. in a farm, on the edge of an island in the caribbean, he made magic. my sister lost her father when she was 18, cancer again. he was also a beautiful soul, like my mother she was lucky. i never had mine, my mom and sis are my father - and have made an exceptional one, i am lucky. but realizing that my sweet grandpa wont live forever reminds me of those naive dreams i’ve had… when i dare to dream of the things i believe we should never imagine - things that are so uncertain and in the future that they only bring suffering when envisioned - you know; life, love, family. i often see him there. i always wanted that so much, that my granpa would meet who ever i was/am meant to love. that he would evaluate this person for me… he’d laugh and tell stories of his life and play with the kids. silly really because it is so uncertain that i’ll ever marry, or raise children, most of all silly because it seems now that the last time i saw him will become just that, the last time.
i dont think the way to deal with ‘loss’ is to let go, as is often advised. rather i think we should look at it for what it is. we will stop seeing this amazing person, their body will disappear. but their soul with forever be connected to us, forever be near, and how magical it was and how lucky were we: meeting him and loving him and being loved by him. he will be always part of our happy. because of him my life has been blessed with the three most important people in my life and truly my life lines. from father to mother to sister to nephew.
follow you down to the red oak tree
as the air moves thick through the hollow reeds
will you wait for me there until someone comes
to carry me, carry me down.
so the hobbit the desolation of smaug was on hbo last night and i’ve been dying for my sister and nephew to see smaug… but luis (15) found the first hobbit movie boring in comparison to lord of the rings - so he refused. and my sister has a hard time paying attention to that kind of fantasy movie: with a big makeup department and british accents… honestly i also wanted to fast forward through many bits. so i gave her a very fast recap of the hobbit. then a quick recap of the premise in the hobbit the desolation of smaug - acting it our of course. and then i decided to ditch the movie and go on hbo go, fast forward to when bildo goes off to steal the arkenstone - about an hour before the end of the film and show her what i consider one of the best scene ever made in cinema. it was then 12:45am and we’re in the bedroom- playing the film at very high volume. luis decided to come to the bedroom, probably to ask for food. while outside the door he hears: "well, thief… i smell you, i hear your breath, i feel your air. where are you? where are you?" he comes in quickly and say “that sounds like the devil is in your room! rewind it!” after a good laugh we watch till the end, and of course the film ends with the best cliff hanger “I AM DEATH”. they both look at me and say, that dragon was actually scary, specially that crazy voice. the incredible part i tell them, is that a real man walks around with those vocals. and i hate him he’s so fucking talented. love it.