March 31, 2009 § Leave a comment
INT. MEETING ROOM – NIGHT
Looking out a window we SEE a speckle of multicolored nightscape: blinking lights, cars driving by, hundreds of lives living quietly. An unidentifiable Los Angeles suburb rests below. We HEAR a voice introduce, “Nick Sadie”.
CLAPS make us look onstage.
You deserve more–you work hard everyday.
NICK SADIE is in his 30’s, average height and looks, in a suit, no tie, yet with an aura that makes one watch and listen: we want to see what’s up next.
Are you getting what you’re worth?
We SEE a man staring up at NICK SADIE, his eyes focused on each thought as if in a hypnotic spell. Nick’s words speak only to him. Nothing else matters at this moment. This is MARCOS ALIAS.
March 30, 2009 § Leave a comment
Words inspire, defeat, give beginnings when none existed. The order and meaning nebulous by degree, created by the one listening when hearing isn’t enough, when passion and relative humanity include all and make what one needs meaningful at the right moment. As we sometimes say, “getting it!” Synecdoche for the literati or, possibly, epiphany. Maybe even an Art House coming of age story. Coming soon to selected theaters.
March 20, 2009 § 1 Comment
Seeing an empty glass on Friday afternoon on the marble counter says something. Full or empty? Looks clean: as if no one has touched it. Was the drinker wearing gloves? White, leather, knitted? Was this the beginning or the ending to the weekend stories that will become the reminiscent memories of years to come?
March 18, 2009 § Leave a comment
Had to stop and turn around, pay respect to this contemporary shrine. Since the move east this has been the place were a continuous meditative state has helped me become quieter in times of loudness. An oracle of sorts as I sit awaiting the next available barber chair. And all for under $15.
March 16, 2009 § Leave a comment
It has always happened. There isn’t a time were I can’t remember feeling sad for no reason. It’s a natural cycle. Nothing wrong, really. Low instead of medium. Physically cold even though it’s 63℉ and sunny. Nothing matters–even the things that take me high into existence. Music all sounds the same, movies are the same banal archetypes I’ve seen hundreds of times before, ideas from great minds are uninspiring and forced, oblong on a jagged plane. Even the internet can’t remove this boredom. Sometimes it lasts for hours, a day or two. It always wears away in time.
I think of it like the turbulent Porciúncula during a darting rain. Its murkiness settles from seven foot smashes as they hit up against concrete on N. Main to inch-deep arroyos within hours, a day or two. It always wears away in time. Out.