Feeling in need of an inspiration transplant. Life of late is a waking dream that has no focus, and no respite - wandering through it like the undead shopping at K-Mart.

I have ideas, I have goals... now where did I put that motivation...
posted by Casey Eyedunno on 5/9/2003 08:41:32 AM

Oh my...

first the story doesn't seem all that interesting, and then it's simply hard to look away...
posted by Casey Eyedunno on 5/8/2003 03:12:15 PM

Stephen King! Paging Stephen King!

Um, Stephen? We're going to need the screenplay by Friday...
posted by Casey Eyedunno on 5/8/2003 10:27:54 AM

... Well, I took a half-day off from work yesterday. No reason in particular, just uninspired to be there, and more inspired to be home. Spent many hours tooling around, looking at other ways to "blog" - and tested out Blogger to use on this page which I have always wanted to use for a journal site.

Then my friend Jason came over while gb was at school, and we watched Malice Mizer videos. Man...

And now, it's morning... I'm back at work, although I would rather be at home writing.

I have recently accepted an assignment (non-paying) as editor for these clever German comic strip artists... and just finished cleaning up their English for another ten. I just love their ugly little nekkid people...
posted by Casey Eyedunno on 5/8/2003 10:27:20 AM

I frequently go months without remembering a single dream, and then the ones I do are usually small fragments of reality-based... well, boredom, really.

Night before last, I had another dream related to my dad. I think the fact that it played with some guilt I haven't worked through might explain why I somewhat deliberately tucked it away - damned-near forgot it - as opposed to grabbing ahold of it, cherishing it, like the one I wrote about below.

Still, it was important; Somehow, a gallery was offering me a showing specifically for a tribute to my father - and all the unfinished projects and ideas threw themselves in my face while I looked at the beautiful space I had to work with, and the notion that this would be just the right place to do it...

When I woke up, all the obstacles and excuses bogged me down and made me sad - sad that I had not kept up correspondence with the few friends of his that had written about him for me, sad that I do not know where his AIDS quilt is, and frustrated that I have not done anything to get my book project going.

This morning - partly because of this journal, partly the request for a story, and partly that dream - I am feeling like I need to be a writer. I am a writer... but a writer who writes.

So I started the story... then thought of the dream... then all the dreams of my Dad. And I realized I have not done enough to record these moments which are remarkable in their clarity. (Usually when I try to write about the past I find giant holes in my memory, and just give up.)

Here, then, the last dream I wrote about, and hopefully the beginning of something. At least this will be one long muthah of a post...

-----------------

I was in a large city - drawn, I think, from the recent visit to S.F. - where I stumbled upon a two-story club whose face was one giant wall of plate glass. I was attracted to the light and the cool crowd, but what pulled me in was the sight of Tom Waits' face on a giant projection screen on the second floor. As I climbed the stairs, I was enthralled by Tom's face, singing directly into the camera, so close... with the kind of saturated color and light that makes his face and his eyes glow in a sea of white. (I hesitate to make anything too spiritual out of this part; the image reminded me strongly of a scene from the sci-fi movie, Minority Report, with psychics floating face-up in back-lit liquid. The woman's eyes were riveting due to the effect, and every pore of her face was visible and countable)

anyway...

As compelling as the image was, I eventually made my way downstairs to check out the rest of the club. Clearly a gigantic place, it was the sort of place with multiple bars - and I found a small one tucked in a corner near the foot of the stairs. It seemed sparsely, but dedicatedly populated by regulars, and I sat on a stool observing the interactions of the others until a middle-aged trannie I somehow knew walked by, and I exchanged jokes and flirting gestures with her before she went on.

Soon I was feeling that what I was looking for was not in this place, so I left, and eventually found myself in another enormous - though much more opulently ornate building. What might be called halls or corridors were as wide as twice the length of our little condo, with 30-foot ceilings, fountains, huge open spaces with sound ricocheting quietly from distant corners....

Somehow knowing the scene before me was from another movie - Cat's Meow, about a fatal event on William Randolph Hearst's private yacht - I instantly decided, by way of explanation, that the tableau in front of me - a near-endless dining table surrounded by rich folk in vintage clothing - was a Hearst reenactment event (sort of an SCA for the 1920's). I soaked up the visual as I moved around the table. While it seemed I knew someone there, I could not quite see them, but knew that I had been likewise "made," and so I motioned to a side room, where I awaited an encounter.

Dad walked into the small room in (of all things!) an emerald-green beaded coat, smiled and quietly said "We really can't be meeting like this." Choked, and a bit hurt at the notion, I sarcastically parroted, "You're right; we really can't keep meeting like this." And then we hugged each other. A long, rewarding hug of long-parted love - and then I woke up.

I cry recounting that moment, and yet I woke exhilarated and happy. After a week of dulling sadness and loneliness, it was as if a giant cowl had been removed from my shoulders. And I have not felt all that bad since. No question; no matter how selfishly I would beg visits of this sort on a far more regular basis, Dad came by just when I needed him.

-----------------

Now back to that story...
posted by Casey Eyedunno on 5/8/2003 10:26:09 AM

So many images, so early...

I mean... What the HELL?! *this was a much more interesting picture the first time around*
posted by Casey Eyedunno on 5/8/2003 09:47:14 AM

Okay. I'm going to give this a shot. I have to say, I am not immediately in love with Blogger. I started with a LiveJournal site, which has its own problems but some nifty features, and I think I am fully in-like with moveabletype, but my server won't support it. So, for now, I am going to try keeping both of these and see which I like better. I'll dupe some things now to make the place a bit less barren.
posted by Casey Eyedunno on 5/7/2003 02:13:46 PM