it's the dance...of death...
The script is done. or the first draft is, rather. I'm not happy about the removal of some really crispy scenes that have no logic plotwise for some dry dull-writ melodrama that conveys plot. Emotion over logic, that's what it's all about.
(ha! ha!)
premother's day lunch the parents came up. Lunched. Brought them to annie's exhibition.
ah diddums.
some plans didn't go through for my post scriptwriting celebration. Po-tee-tweet.
i went to pavel's. brought him a sandwich with a side of bacon. the whole journey was marked with terror of being accused of sneaking meat, of course i would deny it they'd say. 'they' being the imagined antagonists.
Drank with sam and pauline. Overcame the shame of having a bombwrecked room. videotaped them reading some excerpts.
then we went to Urban Cowboy. There's something somewhat shameful about bringing a french student to a stereotypical spectacle of american stupidity. Country music, pulled pork, a mechanical bull, drunken students straddling the headless machine.
I tried not to think about it. Thank god for the drink.
(there is nothing that washes the hands like alcohol. or destroys the mechanism of self-reflection)
found annie. we chatted and played with her speak n spell. she understood whenever pauline and sam conspired in french. we went to the Whites And Lights party.
The dance of death. I lapsed between the grind and ggroove of the gyrating animalism permeating the party. but. at the same time, the sides of my head throbbed knowing the pleasure derived from music and dance and alcohol were as titillating as watching a rabid dog twist and foam at the mouth. We were all in the downward spiral. Building nothing, destroying everything. (conversely, one could argue that it was a celebration of life, of the senses and the pleasures of such)
A girl in neon body paint humped a chair. Another girl rode her from behind. Everyone circled them, cheering.
I remembered how i felt watching the vet put Zip to sleep. The vet shaved off some fur from zip's front paw, swabbed, and stuck a needle. It was a heavy opiate. Zip's eyes unfocused. Staring at me but not seeing. Then the vet injected the drug that would killer her. Zip stopped living. Po-tee-tweet?
(ha! ha!)
premother's day lunch the parents came up. Lunched. Brought them to annie's exhibition.
ah diddums.
some plans didn't go through for my post scriptwriting celebration. Po-tee-tweet.
i went to pavel's. brought him a sandwich with a side of bacon. the whole journey was marked with terror of being accused of sneaking meat, of course i would deny it they'd say. 'they' being the imagined antagonists.
Drank with sam and pauline. Overcame the shame of having a bombwrecked room. videotaped them reading some excerpts.
then we went to Urban Cowboy. There's something somewhat shameful about bringing a french student to a stereotypical spectacle of american stupidity. Country music, pulled pork, a mechanical bull, drunken students straddling the headless machine.
I tried not to think about it. Thank god for the drink.
(there is nothing that washes the hands like alcohol. or destroys the mechanism of self-reflection)
found annie. we chatted and played with her speak n spell. she understood whenever pauline and sam conspired in french. we went to the Whites And Lights party.
The dance of death. I lapsed between the grind and ggroove of the gyrating animalism permeating the party. but. at the same time, the sides of my head throbbed knowing the pleasure derived from music and dance and alcohol were as titillating as watching a rabid dog twist and foam at the mouth. We were all in the downward spiral. Building nothing, destroying everything. (conversely, one could argue that it was a celebration of life, of the senses and the pleasures of such)
A girl in neon body paint humped a chair. Another girl rode her from behind. Everyone circled them, cheering.
I remembered how i felt watching the vet put Zip to sleep. The vet shaved off some fur from zip's front paw, swabbed, and stuck a needle. It was a heavy opiate. Zip's eyes unfocused. Staring at me but not seeing. Then the vet injected the drug that would killer her. Zip stopped living. Po-tee-tweet?