CRAZY, DAUNTING, AND PERFECT

So a while back, my good friend Tim, who I have known forever and who is one of the few people on this planet I trust completely without question, and someone whom I love completely, suggested we make some movies together. This sounded both crazy, daunting, and perfect. So I said yes. 

Or, to be more exact, "Fuck Yeah!" 

We had worked on many projects in the past, from a nine hour, three part  theatre adaptation of East of Eden at the Western Stage in Salinas to a production of Richard II in NYC to my first, and up to that point only, short film, Strong Tea. He was also the lead in my most successful play to date, Burning the Old Man.

That's us in the photo above. Back in the day. Young and crazy. NYC. Cigarettes and beers after a long day slinging hash between acting gigs. Having the time of our lives.

So, there we were having coffee at one of our haunts here in Denver, talking about life and theatre and film. Tim had just made a movie, Publish or Perish, that is kicking ass in the festival circuit and is now available to stream on Amazon. I was in the middle of yet another script- a pilot I was finishing before the deadline for the Austin Film Festival. And that's when Tim popped the question, so to speak.

Yes, I used the phrase "popped the question", the classic phrase for proposing marriage. Let's face it. Making a movie is a commitment up there with marriage. You pledge your heart and soul. For it to work, you have to bare your soul. Be vulnerable. Improvise when problems arise. Be flexible.

So he asked, I said yes, and then it was time to think of a project.

We wanted to make something that could be both a short, and also a proof of concept for a full length movie. And we wanted to take advantage of where we live, with all this natural beauty surrounding us. 

And Burning the Old Man popped up almost immediately.  A story about two estrange brothers taking their father's ashes on a road trip to Burning Man, as per his dying request. Their relationship with their father was difficult, and their relationship with each other even more so. As such, their road trip is full of recrimination, anxiety, and tension, with a tragic sense of loss tuck under a veneer of comedy.  Tim had played Marty, the older brother in the original play, and we both felt he should do so again. 

So I wrote up a script, we kicked it around,  adjusted the story as needed, gathered a crew of dedicated geniuses, and set some dates.

And the magic began. We kept having things happen that just seemed to be signs we were doing the right thing. A friend offered us a hotel up in the mountains to use as our base for the main stretch of shooting. Another friend just happened to live in that same area and offered to scout locations. 

And what locations! Colorado is so pretty, so majestic and huge and full of wonder. And most of the time,  I manage to not see it. But not on the shoot.

I really wanted to just talk about this one moment from the shoot today. It happened at there rocks in the high desert, during the climatic moment of the movie. These two brothers, who have been bickering like children for the past 24 hours, have ended up on this precipice, screaming at each other and having a tuh of war over the bag containing their father's ashes. As written, the bag rips open, the ashes fly, and the brother's dumbfounded at what their stupid fighting has wrought, stare at each other as their father's remains float away. 

On the day of the shoot, we were all a bit tired. We'd shot for 14 hours the day before. Drew, the actor playing Bobby, the younger brother, was not feeling well. Even so, we were all amped. We were making something that felt good, felt right. Felt like what we had all chosen to do with our lives. 

And we get to the scene. Now, to prefect, we had talked a lot about the brother's relationship the past few days. How underneath all the hurt and anger there was a deep love. A heartbroken love. A longing to connect like that had once been able to effortlessly but now seemed impossible. 

So we get to the big moment. The point when the bag rips and the ashes fly. 

The first take, a long shot, goes great. We get a safety shot, then move in for a closer shot. 

And when the bag rips, Drew almost falls off the rocks. For a moment, I think "Shit! I just killed Drew!" Everyone freezes.

Except Tim. 

He instinctively grabs Drew, pulls him up. And then, in character, Tim impulsively hugs Drew. Or rather, Marty impulsively hugs Bobby. We keep rolling. Nobody on set is making a sound. But we all feel connected to what is happening. Bobby tries to break free of the hug. Marty keeps hugging. It's really touching and sad and real. After a beat, Bobby hugs his brother back. 

And we all start hotting and hollering. Something had happened. Something unexpected but totally real. 

Then everyone looks at me. "Do we keep it?" they all ask, in various ways. It is quite different than the ending as written. Changes the trajectory a little. But it feels so right.

And I have to make a decision. It's my script. I'm co-director of this with Tim. Also co-producer. It's my call. 

And I go with it. Tweak the script slightly. 

We finish. And it is clear to me that the movie has now become more than it was. 

And that I am learning more than I could have possibly hoped for when we started making this movie.

Now we are in post. Editing. Mixing. All that type of thing. 

We hope to send it to festivals. To show it to some producers who will shower us with money so we can make the full length film.

But no matter what, I have gained from this experience. 

Here's a song. It's one of my all time favorites. Pale Green Things by The Mountain Goats. 

I COULD AND HAVE GONE CRAZY ON A DAY LIKE TODAY.

I think there is a power in the universe, a creative force or mojo or zone of some type, that visits us at certain times, giving us clarity of purpose and vision, joy in what we do, and a feeling of being exactly where we are supposed to be doing precisely what we are meant to do. I've been thinking about that a lot lately, because I think I am in one of those times, one of those eddies in the cosmic river. I think this run started with the production of The Addams Family I did down in Parker with Sasquatch. One of those shows where everything clicked, top to bottom, and we all spoke in psychic shorthand to each other. It carried on into SpongeBob at StageDoor, Sound of Music also at the PACE, the Shakespeare Fest, and on and on. Even with a second round of Covid in the middle of that, I feel this connection to something larger than me. I don't know why, or really how, but I am not questioning it. 

It's here now. In Eigg. In Burning the Old Man. In the Infinite Hallway. And I raise my cup of coffee to it with glee.

I am going with the flow, and consequently reaching my flow, my zone, my place.

Maybe it kicked into high gear the the Austin Film Festival, when I got pulled up in front of hundreds of fellow writers for a live recording of ScriptNotes and lost my mind and had a crowd chanting my name while I paraded up and down the floor like a Mad Dog Poet Visionary Lunatic.

Jesus, I am in love with myself, aren't I?

Well, why not? I think I love the Vibe in me, not me in the Vibe, so karmically speaking, I should be ok.

And if I'm not, I am sure at some point soon, Life will say "okay, enough of that, McAllister, here's a big steaming pile of sorrow. Enjoy."

But that hasn't happened yet. 

No. I keep connecting, with myself, with my cast, my crew, my friends, my wife, and the universe in general.

This feeling is always a surprise to me. A miracle. A gift. 

And also makes me say to myself "Of course! This is how it is, stupid! You really can make the best of life, and should, because as far as I know, this is it. Once around, and then off to Oz. So live it up, live it well, live it now, and sing as loud as you can."

There is a lot in this world that is crazy. So much. Death and War and Famine and Plague. As a species, we seem bent of destroying ourselves and the planet, with a sort of insane glee. The sky is poisoned, the oceans are warming, and there is so much awful shit we could and probably should run up and down the street all day every screaming, weeping, gnashing our teeth, and so on.

But I don't see the point in bemoaning our fate. 

I think we have to remember what it is to be alive if we want to live. We have to revel in what joys are afforded us. We must embrace the mystic wonder of being a human being if we want to save humanity. 

We need to get, and keep, our shit together.

This involves: listening to music; dancing at every opportunity; calling old friends we haven't called in forever; picking up instead of letting it go to voicemail when they call back; speaking up when we are hurt; calling out ourselves and our friends and loved ones when doing stupid shit like we all do from time to time; forgiving as much as we can; listening; letting go; being in the moment; not faking a thing.

Man, I might as well get out a soap box, whatever that is, stand on it, and be a street preacher of some sort.

I don't mean to be didactic, but I somehow manage to be just that, often.

Sorry. 

I just feel so much energy and joy and love right now.

Also, it's my blog, and I can say whatever I want. I can  post various photos from my life showing times of awareness that have meaning to me but might just look like random shots to you. 

So be it.

May the photos and the Force be with you.

So here's a song from the summer of 1994. A seminal year in the story of my life. It's Mystery by Indigo Girls, and I dig it immensely. Still, after all these years. Still crazy. Still. 

FRIDAY THE 13TH BBQ AT JASON'S

It's Friday the 13th. Jason Voorhees is having a party somewhere, a demented back yard grill. No. It would be in the woods, right? At that abandoned summer camp where the naughty go to meet their doom, their retribution for having fun and being young. I wonder, when he's not on one of his rampages, what Jason thinks about? What is his go to playlist? Is he more of a full breakfast kind of guy, or just a piece of toast and an apple as he heads out the door? As I ponder the lifestyle of the undead and demented, I also wonder what did they do during the shutdown? Must have been very hard. Probably caught up on a lot of his Netflix cue. Maybe did a trial of HBO Max or Disney+, reewatched the first season of The Mandalorian.

Where do we put Jason and Freddy Krueger in today's world? What monsters, myths, and legends can speak to us?

I think about these things because I write stories. All the time. And I tend to lean towards the supernatural, magical, and far-fetched. 

That's a good word.

Far-fetched.

Like, I fetched this idea from a faraway land, a world where all myths are real, anyone can learn to use The Force, and if you get bit by a radioactive spider, you will develop some awesome super powers.

So what crop of gods and monsters is ready for harvest? 

I do believe our ghost stories and legends are in a way documentaries of what is happening in alternate, mirror universes that are tied to this plain of existence by strings.

Thus the question on what will show up in the shadows.

We all seem to be questioning reality, one way or another. Some of us question authority. Others question the status quo. Some question the way things have gone, some the way they think we are going. 

And questions are great.

How we deal with what we perceive to be the answers is usually where we get into trouble.

The world has a lot of angst. Troubles. Anger. Sorrow. Rage.

It also has joy and love and art and music and even more love.

Are they all different reactions to how we take in the world, how we deal with the monstrous questions and mystical answers?

Well, the monsters keep coming. The ghosts and goblins and cannibals and cults and demons and super villain and Sith Lords. 

So do the heroes and chosen ones and magicians and Jedi. 

We are the stories we tell. Let's tell some good ones.

Happy Friday the 13th.

Here's a song. It's Days Like These by Low. Enjoy.

ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN DAY

Monday. Tax day. Day after Easter day. Today. Up early, and listening to the soundtrack to Summer of Soul, which I started watching last night. So good. So different. I watch and listen and feel like I am getting some music that is more about expressing true feeling than about selling me some corporate crap.

Art always flourishes, regardless of who's in charge. Which is cool. The good stuff is always off the beaten path. Usually made by those not quite in the inner circle, the rebels and lost souls and lunatics, who are of a mind compact.

And I think this is true for all types of art, of expression, of doing something that is an attempt to say "this is how I think it is today". Music. Theatre. Movies. Writing. 

Writing. 

That's my place. I act and direct, but writing is the place where I think I feel most like me. 

And I feel good. 

I think the world has a lot of good and bad in it. War, greed, miscommunication, abuse of power, degradation of our planet.  Love, harmony, community, taking care of one another and this miracle we live on. It's all there. 

And when I hear someone sing in a way that connects to that, I feel like there is hope, possibility, a reason to keep on. And I hear a lot of that in Summer of Soul. 

I want to do that kind of thing. To connect, express, and get the love flowing.

Okay. So. Time to dive into the waters again. See what happens. 

People getting possessed by ghosts of selfish souls. Children escaping into fantasy worlds when reality gets a little too hard to take. A kid taken on an adventure to save the world with the help of Sasquatch, Mothman, and the Loch Ness Monster. 

That's my reality. That's the stuff that gets me going. Today, I think I'm diving back into a couple of different projects, but that's just the plan. Once I open up the laptop and start clacking away on the keyboard, it's Anything Can Happen Day.

Yeah. Anything Can Happen, and usually does. In abundance. 

Here's a song. It's Precious Lord, with Mahalia Jackson and Mavis Staples. It's ridiculous.

THE DAILY RABBIT HOLE

Thinking about writing, my writing, my projects, what I need to do, what I want to do, what I have done, what I haven't done, what I should have done, what I could have done.

The Daily Rabbit Hole.

I started writing long ago. I suppose I started writing the day I learned the alphabet and was given a pen and/or pencil. The memory is a little foggy, as it was long ago, before kindergarten. I do remember by kindergarten being able to visualize a notebook in my brain that had information and words I needed. It was like an old fashioned book from Victorian times. Must have seen it in a cartoon or movie. I can still see it in my mind right now. I have, or had, somewhere, an old journal entry from fifth grade where I put down the words "I want to be a writer". 

I didn't always think that would be the case. I drifted through a lot of school, at one point wanted to be a minister, which I suppose speaks to me wanting to influence people and how they think, which I believe is part of being a writer. 

But I didn't really, truly, think I could say with any sort of conviction "I am a writer" until my first play was written and published. Even though I had been writing all my life, poems and stories and match book poems and part of a novel that still is waiting to be finished- a magic realism extravaganza that will one day make a great anime film when it's adapted.

But I digress.

I am trying to think of why I write. 

What do I want?

I think it varies from day to day, hour to hour, year to year, dream to dream. 

Mostly, I want to tell stories that make me laugh and cry in equal measure. 

Because it feels good. It feels right. 

Yes, I want to be paid for it. And have the right people think this is the shit and the new thing and world changing and brilliant.

But more than that, I want to think it is brilliant myself. I want to find a way capture the world as it appears to me in my dreams, to borrow a quote an old friend who no longer speaks to me used to say Chekov said.

I just looked up that quote. It's from The Seagull. "We should show life neither as it is, nor as it should be, but as we see it in our dreams."

I should have known that, seeing as I was in that play in NYC in the late nineties. 

And I was pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.

Of course, it was a modern interpretation, put together at Expanded Arts when things were still exciting, before excess and madness led to that troupe's demise.

Sounds dramatic, and it was. 

Anyhow, that quote about what to aspire to as one writes is pretty on the mark. I would only add "and it should be either incredibly funny or intense, and make everyone cry at least once."

I am working on two main projects at the moment. Well, maybe three. And when I say I am working on those, that doesn't mean there aren't several other things hovering in the background, waiting for their chance to speak. Those three are just on the front burner.

I'm rambling. I know. Sorry. When I open the door into my own brain, the waters pour out and go where they will and I try to clean up the mess, but what can I say, there's a lot of stuff in me, and the more I write, instead of the clutter going away, I find the palace of my mind expands, sort of like the Winchester Mystery House, getting bigger and weirder as time goes by. 

Each experience this life affords also adds to the fun.

So. Yeah. I am a writer. I have stories and jokes and tales of glory and woe. I will try to amuse you. I will try to amuse myself. 

I have no choice in the matter.

Here's a song. It's Lonesome Fiddle Blues, by The String Cheese Incident. I chose it because one of my projects was partially inspired by String Theory, by the idea we are connected to many different dimensions, by cosmic strings. 

Enjoy.

THE MIRRORVERSE IS OPEN

My new favorite show is Moon Knight. 

Moon Knight is the latest Marvel show streaming o Disney+. Moon Knight is a superhero with some issues. Like multiple personalities which result in gaps of time that can't be accounted for. 

I love it. 

Moon Knight talks to himself in a mirror. A lot. 

I find this exciting because I have a script I've been working on for a while that has people talking to people via mirrors. 

That shows working title: Lunatics and Assholes.

Lunatics and Assholes is about a young woman who discovers that some of her friends have been possessed by a couple of evil ghosts who seem hell bent on bringing out the worst in everyone they encounter. The idea for it sprang to life during the Trump administration, when people I knew and loved were saying and doing really ugly shit.

The idea hit, I started to work on it, and things slowly solidified. There were many drafts, early excursions into alternate versions of the story, but the basic idea of the ghosts, and the souls of those whose bodies had been taken over talking to their friend via mirrors was always there. At one point, some folks at one of the larger production companies in Hollywood took interest, and we kicked it around a bit, before moving on to other projects. 

Their response was pretty excellent, all things considered. It wasn't ready for production yet, and had lots of work to be done. I went on to other projects, and at the time, decided that since they hadn't gotten completely behind developing it right there and then that it was dead in the mirror, so to speak.

Often, I take encouragement the wrong way when it comes to my writing. I was going over some old rejection letters from various theatres I had received early in my career. At the time, all I saw in them was "thanks, but no thanks". But on second reads, I see things like "please keep writing"; "please let us know when you have a new draft, as we'd love to read it"; please keep us on your list of people to send new scripts to"; and so on.

I didn't realize that people who run theatres like Steppenwolf or film production companies like Anonymous Content don't say things like that to everyone. That if they don't like your work, they don't take the time to write personal letters going to great length to compliment your writing and asking to please let them read more.

I still find rejection letters hard to read.

But I am getting better at reading the nice parts more than once, and of keeping those people on my list.

So, today, I am working on latest draft of Lunatics and Assholes. I'm cleaning up structure, clarifying character, eliminating scenes.  Diving deep and finding that balance of mystery, action and comedy. 

And keeping it true to my vision. 

And when I think it's ready, I will send it off to various managers, agents, and production companies. 

And on Wednesday, I'll watch the latest episode of Moon Knight.

Here's a song. It's You're Somebody Else, by Flora Cash. I have it on one of my playlists for when I'm working on the script. I find music opens doors in my mind when I work. Weirdly, once the door opens, I don't even hear the music anymore. 

MORE LOVE, LESS YELLING

In the interest of mixing it up, I am writing in a different room today. Usually, for this blog, I sit in my little den, at a desk, and write whatever comes to mind. But today, I decided to sit in the living room, on an ottoman, listening to Iris Dement. 

So far, so good. Of course, it's only a few sentences in, so this could turn out to be a train wreck. I am noticing that my typing is not as good when I'm not at the desk. And my focus wanders. But maybe that will lead me to new insights, different styles, and more. 

I think we all need to mix things up from time to time. When we don't move, we rust. We get stuck. Isn't life movement? Keep the blood flowing. Roam if you want to. Run. Leap. Also, take a different route to work. Call someone you haven't called in forever. Eat something besides the same old toast and butter for breakfast. 

Don't do new things that suck, like becoming a serial killer or anything. Just try something different.

We went to the Oscar nominated animated shorts yesterday before the State of the Union speech. They were a mixed bag. Lots of bleak, sad tales, with only one spark of joy in the bunch, really. They were all beautifully made, and worth the watch, but I do think you should be in the right frame of mind, and ready to be depressed a bit, if you go. Sort of like listening to Pink Floyd's The Wall. An awesome experience, and food for the soul, but a bit rough. The last film, in particular, was just sad. It was sort of a meditation on love, but felt more like a study of loneliness. One of the characters described love as "a secret society". And that to me was very telling. 

If Love, or rather one's perception of it, is a secret society, something to join, something people keep hidden, the Love doesn't have a chance. That makes love a commodity, something kept.

In my experience, love comes from within, and is reflected back to us. 

And it can't be sought, taken, won. 

It can only be given. And given freely.

Life is always a little lonely, a little sad. I've had times of sorrow, of anger, of isolation. And I've had times where I wanted love to be found, to be given to me, to be that last present I open. 

But the happiest times have always been a direct result of embracing the moment, loving life for all that it is, good and bad, up and down. When love is unconditional, for the world, for others, and for myself.

Easy to say, hard to do, I know. But worth repeating, worth thinking on.

It would be nice if there were more love in the world right now. 

I don't think there will be more love by me wanting it to be out there. There will be more love if I put more out there. 

So maybe sitting in the living room makes me write more about what I think on the nature of love. 

One thing about the State of the Union before I go. I think yelling out nasty things from the floor while the President is talking is kind of sad. 

Put another way, I don't think you get much accomplished by yelling. I can't think of any time I've been in an argument with my wife where me blurting out "you lie!" has earned me points.

So let's stop yelling.

Also easy to say. Harder to do. There are plenty of times of late when I've felt like yelling at someone. Especially at the powers that be who seem to not care about the environment or the less fortunate or anything much beyond their own money. 

But the better thing to do, I think, instead of yelling, is seeking ways to help. Maybe donating to a worthy organization, or volunteering, or writing a letter to my representatives. 

So love more, yell less.

Also, the animated short Robin, Robin is amazing a joyous and a must see. Please do check that one out.

Here's a song. It's Our Town, by Iris DeMent. 

I AM CACOETHES, ASK ME HOW

I get up every morning and go through my eternal list of emails. I get so many updates, ads, pleas for money from various causes, it takes a good five minutes to delete them all.

I don't read them. I just delete. Even so, I have over 95,000 unopened emails in my inbox. And that's just the gmail one.  

That's kind of sad. All these unread messages. 

Sometimes, I take a few minutes and try to clean up old messages, deleting page after page. It's a fool's errand, I know. But still I do it. I am not sure why.

One of those emails I get but mostly ignore is my daily word. I opened today's, a rarity, a sign I suppose that I got a good night's sleep and woke up feeling energized and ready to take a long walk, eat the right things, get in at least two hours of writing on the new screenplay, and answer the emails I actually do open and need to get to.

And the word today is cacoethes, which roughly means the urge to do things you maybe shouldn't.  

That word describes my first thirty three years of life this time around. 

At least, that's how I am choosing to interpret it. Though I supposed it could mean urges to do really stupid things like stick your hand in the garbage disposal to see if this reality is actually reality or merely a dream a butterfly is having in some other dimension. Or pick a fight with Cad Bane.

But the way that word resonated with me was in reference to things I have done and survived. Like jumping from one building to another six stories up while at a theater party, or running across a freeway in the wee small hours of the morning after another theatre party.

You know, a lot of my past poor decisions were made at or after theatre parties. 

What was that urge? I think a desire to keep life exciting, to seek a reality slightly more exciting, more real, less dull. And yet, those were things that could have killed me. Was I defying death itself? Or embracing life? 

I don't know. 

But I do know what it means to feel the urge to do crazy things. 

In my experience, they've all paid off. My wife always says "leap and the net shall appear". 

I've leapt a lot. 

This past week, I closed a production of two one acts, one by me and one by Shannon Brady, a former playwriting student who is just amazing.

This was in the middle of putting up a huge production of Wizard of Oz down at the PACE with my company Sasquatch Productions, rehearsing A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Logan School, casting and beginning rehearsals for The Wedding Singer up at StageDoor, as well as beginning a production of Chamber of Secrets for young actors up at Reel Kids. And beginning prep work for another new play called Puerto Rican Nocturne. 

Holy shit, I do a lot of theatre.

And I am writing the aforementioned new screenplay, as well as getting ready for a new draft of another.

And I feel like I am living well. Doing what I am supposed to be doing. Living. Writing. Directing. Teaching. 

I am absurdly lucky. And all it takes is listening to the mad voices, the ones that say "go ahead, write it", or "add a wizard's duel for the witches"; or "yes, take on yet another show". 

I am not interested in life without these things. 

The One Acts, under the title Dates with Death, sold out three of four shows, and got very positive feedback. Oz is selling out every show, and has one more week end. The scripts are coming together and there is a very good chance the new one will be shot this fall. 

There are plenty of things that suck in this life. But taking risks is not one of them.

Here's a song. It's The Legend of Xanadu by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick, & Tich. It captures how I feel sometimes. Absurd, joyous, insane.

MONDAY PLAYLIST: SPIKE, HELA, TROY, & KILL ME NOW

Monday morning, cold and bright. Clear as can be, really. Took our morning walk, and the mountains were so perfectly visible it didn't seem real. Snow capped and pink in the dawn, they seemed to exude glory and hope and magic, while maintaining the aloof mystery that nature keeps at all times to remind us we are but fleas on the backs of giants. I'm sitting in my little den, listening to suggested songs from Apple Music, an eclectic mix based on what I've played before, a little Courtney Barnett, a bit of Jane's Addiction. The songs wander my mind, mixing with the coffee and toast. 

And I stare at the screen. 

I jumped back into this blog when the lockdown happened. Back in that other dimension known as the past. Isn't time fucked up these days? In every sense, I think time has gone out of joint, that we've all taken Billy Pilgrim's cue and gotten unhinged, bouncing back and forth from then to then, now to now, with no rhyme or reason or proper sense of the season. Some days last a month. Some months come and go unnoticed. 

And I don't even care that much that I live in a different universe than I once did. I still hear the music. I still see the mountains. I still enjoy the warmth of my covers when the alarm goes off each day. And somehow, even within this disjointed timey-wimey reality, I wake up three minutes before the alarm, with out fail. So maybe somewhere in my brain, in my soul, in this Elseworld, a little timepiece clicks on in precisely measured steps.

Who knows?

Whatever the case, I am working on several projects, and I think the next chunk of this blog will be about a new script I'm working on, my journey while I create it, and all that jazz.

The script has no title as of yet, but I am leaning towards Kill Me Now. It's loosely based on my play Burning the Old Man. And when I say loosely, I mean it. 

But the spirit is there. The essence. The idea of how we are all haunted and crazy and in need of love. Not very new, but what is? I find most movies and shows that claim over and over how they are new and different are anything but that. Let's face it, when someone has to tell you what they are, how what they are selling is the next step in evolution, it is more often than not a bunch of bullshit wrapped in glittery paper.

So Kill Me Now. Set in Texas. Funny, sad, maybe exciting. It's the result of meeting a director at the Austin Film Festival and hitting it off and deciding we should do something together. From there, director introduces me to producer, we have some phone calls, and next thing you know, I'm working on getting a draft out by the end of the month.

End of the month. Fuck. That's soon. And in this month, I've opened a large production of Wizard of Oz down at the PACE, am about to open a pair of one acts, and began a high school production of the Wedding Singer up at StageDoor. 

The one acts start Thursday, at Chaos Bloom, a little performance space on Broadway here in Denver. The first is a play called Spike, and it is intense and brilliant and written by my good friend Shannon Brady. It's about a woman coming to terms with her past in the form of an old friend coming to town on a dark mission.  The other one act is Hela and Troy, by yours truly. It's about what happens when the Norse Goddess of Death goes speed dating. 

If you want to come see it, click HERE.

So yeah. 

That's me today. Hope to see you at the theatre, or on the street so we can gaze at the mountains in wonder, or in my eclectic mind as I write these stories of lunatics and poets.

Until then, here's a song from this mornings suggested playlist. It's I've Been Down by Haim, a group I've been listening to a lot lately as I just discovered them. 

STAR EXPLODING IN SLOW MOTION

It's a little before 8 am here in Austin. I am sitting in an empty Driskill Bar, the main meeting place for the Austin Film Festival, having my first coffee, collecting my thoughts and recollections from the past few days, going to this blog to keep some sort of connection to the Not-at-the-Festival me. And to let out some of the newly minted ghosts that sell memories. 

Was standing in line for an oat latte with my fellow bleary eyed geniuses and lunatics, and the woman who runs the Festival got in line behind me. I thanked her for the Festival, and we got to chatting like people do here, and in one of those odd things that happen in life, found out from here how a friend of mine had recently committed suicide. I knew he was dead, that he had his last film in this year's festival, but I didn't know the cause. 

Now I do. 

I must have some defect in my brain, because I have never understood someone taking their own life. I know the world can be relentlessly cruel, that there is anger and sorrow and stupidity in abundant supply. I have spent plenty of time in confusion. But always, no matter what, I sense this great underlying beauty in the universe. An ocean of peace waiting to be waded into. 

I can't say much more without sounding like an insensitive asshole who doesn't understand depression, mental illness, or people who experience life the way I do. 

I just miss my friend and wish I could text him after seeing his film and tell him it was amazing.

So there's that.

I have other news of the festival to share, triumphs and surprises, new friends and fresh insights.

But for today, I will just say this. Life is... a tapestry that demands to be noticed, and touched, and reflected upon, and then noticed some more. It is that first cup of coffee in the morning. It is the little fights you get into with your significant other that seem so important at the time, then vanish with a smile at the most unexpected moment. It's a new piece of music you've downloaded but haven't listened to yet. It's a comedic short, a feature that didn't quite get it right, and also the discussion on the way out as you throw away your popcorn container. It is a symphony of birds and bats at dawn. 

And I love it so intensely. I love this world. I love it all. 

Here's a song. It's Star Exploding in Slow Motion by The Comet is Coming. I was told about it last night by a film maker named Kingsley I met here at the AFF. I am listening to it for the first time as I type this.

FLYING WITH FRANKENSTEIN AND NORMAN BATES

November already? Really? What the fuck has happened to time, in general? I get the whole as time goes by it goes quicker thing. It sucks, but I get it. But since the Lockdown, it's totally gone bananas. Like we are all Bill Pilgrim from Slaughterhouse Five, unhinged from time and bouncing back and forth, in and out of reality, places, situations, and even dimensions. Which November is this? Am I laying in my tiny studio in NYC in 1990, dreaming of my future, or have I lost it and am sitting in some home for people who have lost it, stuck in a memory? Am I five? Thirty? Sixteen? Fifty-five? Did I have too much candy last night and this is just that crash after sugar, delayed for some reason? Was it a mistake to fall asleep while watching Frankenstein? 

And when I say Frankenstein, I mean the classic one. The one we all think of, or should think of, when the movie version is mentioned. It's so good and weird and campy at points and full of a style of acting I do not care for, but Karloff. Holy shit. And the lighting and sets. That first scene at the graveyard, so creepy. It always freaked me out when I was younger. Something about the titled gravestones in the background, the stoic mourners at the funeral, the statue of death, also tilted, and the gravedigger who treats putting a human body in the earth like a job to be done, nothing more or less. And then Doctor Frankenstein and his pal Fritz peek out from behind a tomb, clearly the villains. That scene puzzled and intrigued me every time I'd watch the flick, which was at least once a year. 

Also watched Psycho yet again last night. I think the shower scene is amazing, but what is to me really frightening is the sequence after, when Norman Bates cleans up the mess. It's both hilarious and horrific and fascinating. He finds the body, and reacts as if he truly thinks his mother has just killed someone. Then he gets himself together, runs to the office. If this was the first time watching, you'd think he was running to the phone to call the police, or maybe keep running past the office to the house to confront his mother about what she just did. But no, he runs in to the office, and then runs back out, holding a mop, and it is clear what he is going to do. No dialogue. Just action, image, and terror. It shows us how it wasn't just an act of madness in the moment, a crime of insane passion. This is a person who can and does on some level understand what has happened and what he has to do to keep himself safe.

Truly frightening.

So now, November and I have some writing to do. Got a few good bites after Austin, and need to clean up script and get it out. I've given myself two week, told the biters I'd have it by Thanksgiving, to give myself a little bonus time should I need it. Nothing like having a deadline to get your ass in gear. Or onto the seat, to put it in writer's terms. Butts in chairs. That's the thing we have to keep as our goal. The rest is just leaning in, crossing over to whatever world we have created, and then playing God. Really sort of crazy, saying that I play God. But I sort of do. I determine people's fates, personalities, journeys. Then, when i feel like my creation is good, I rest and hand over the reigns to others, who are... other Gods? Celestial judges? Not sure, but certainly part of the process.

Okay. Must rise from the dead, clean up the bodies, and create, or to be more accurate, recreate, another world.

Here's a song. It's a live, early version of Steve Miller's Fly Like an Eagle, and it's sweet.