Friday, February 27, 2009

God Have Mercy on Our Dirty Little Hearts

Not to dwell on this but the feeling of paying your bills at the 11th hour—and having the actual money to pay those bills—is fucking incomparable.

Bills paid, you sons of bitches.

One credit card completely paid off, in fact. And a bigger dent taken out of an older credit card debt that I hope to be able to kill off once and for all before this year is through with me; which will be incredible because the interest on it has been bleeding me for too many adult years now.

Fuck you, MBNA! Go suck a fuck, you vultures! YOU SUCK!!

It was a good feeling, Thursday afternoon. But good feelings don't last very long these days. Not in my hands.

All my concerns remain.

I've got to work extra hard to make sure the next several weeks pay off for me. Not only with the writing but with... the larger world.

It's Friday, all you unemployed people. Time to play a crude text-based adventure:

Don't Shit Your Pants!

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Sobriety's for Suckers

Red wine may be much more potent than was thought in extending human lifespan, researchers say in a new report that is likely to give impetus to the rapidly growing search for longevity drugs. The study is based on dosing mice with resveratrol, an ingredient of some red wines. . . . [In a related study] scientists used a dose on mice equivalent to just 35 bottles a day.
—The Times.
A really funny piece written by Noah Baumbach from The New Yorker.

(LWD forwarded it to me weeks ago, I begrudgingly acknowledge.)

Over 48 hours of sobriety interrupted by 3 Tanqueray & tonics and a beer. Or was it two beers.......?

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

The Way You Move is a Mystery

Paramount renewed the option for my movie for another 18 months.

To say this came just in time... would be accurate.

Talk about being able to keep the lights on. Godsdammit, that was close. Between this and the pending tax refund, I'm saved from utter destruction. Staved it off for a little while, at least. Ought to have money for a warm blanket. Maybe a glass of milk.

Now I just need to get some more projects going.

How difficult could that possibly be...?

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Endless Wonders of Horror

I can't work with an untitled project. The title is a mantra that keeps me on a path. I've been looking for a name for an untitled project the past few days. In case it ever goes anywhere, for my own records, here's what I've come up with so far:

"Creatures of Heaven and Earth"

"Poisonheart Trials"

"The Shadowland Experiment"

Something evocative and curious and not completely generic.

Speaking of which, I had some curious dreams last night. In one, I was in a house that was being flown/driven above the clouds. As if it were an aeroplane. But there were somehow people standing upon/around the clouds and they kept ducking as we tried to lift higher than them. And I remember thinking, there shouldn't be so many people up here...

Monday, February 23, 2009

Tried to Run from My Destruction

Saturday evening began with toilet water pouring from the ceiling of my bathroom.

I won't even go into the exchange I had with my psychotic Russian super in the aftermath. The amount I'm paying to live here, the very least I should expect is an apartment where fucking TOILET WATER isn't gushing down from the ceiling. If the building didn't employ an asshole psychopath who can barely speak English, maybe I'd have that.

Fucking poetic.

But then I went off to see my accountant for some Saturday night tax prep. And the guy worked his miracles. And suddenly, the world began to open up again.

Living on the brink of disaster is a fucking hard way to live. Surviving complete ruin might be fleetingly life-affirming, but you still get wayyy too bruised up.

Next few weeks: my Hail Mary.

I hope I can share something with you...

Saturday, February 21, 2009

All By Mice Elf

Friday, February 20, 2009

Shootin' at the Walls of Heartache (BANG, BANG!)

This ought to be one of the most exciting times of my life. It's like a rollercoaster, you gotta enjoy the ride...

But it's NOT a fucking rollercoaster.

Rollercoasters are safe. You're strapped in. You can see the track ahead. You see all the people who've gone on the same ride seven times today who are still alive and are having a blast of it.

What if you didn't know there was ANY track ahead...?

What if you weren't sure that car wasn't going to just SMASH STRAIGHT DOWN INTO THE CONCRETE BELOW...?!

Then it becomes a form of torture.

I am riding without a safety bar here. Nothing to offer solace except some encouraging words. Nothing to hold me. Nothing to hold onto.

This is so fucking irresponsible. All I'm doing is closing my eyes and hoping there's a track ahead to take me somewhere safer.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

The Buzz (and how to swing it)

I've got some buzz in the industry. That ephemeral sense of heat that can cool before you can put it to your lips.

Nothing I could, or would want to, report in public at the mo. It is a bit of a lightshow and none of it could pay off, so this isn't about bragging. (Not *entirely* about bragging, at least.) It's fun and ego-stroking to have people—with some influence—who are fans of your work.

But there ain't gonna be no action till there's money on the table, ya feel meh?

Jesus God.

I'm in the midst of the most confusing time of my life.

I should be thankful, at least, for the element of hope in all things... but I remain unthankful. I'm done with the hard times. I get it already. It's time for a resurrection...

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Please Stand By

Nothing like poring over a year's worth of receipts to really re-live a year. And what a year it has been.

Next week will be better.

Wait for it...

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Fortress of Solitude or Arkham Asylum


Sing a song.

Sing it loud.

Sing it strong.

Sing of good things—not bad.

Sing of happy—not sad.


Sing a song.

Make it dreadful.

To plague you all night long.

Don't worry if it's not good enough for anyone else to hear...

Monday, February 16, 2009

Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

Awkward, fumbling, anti-climactic weekend spent with strangers. But predominantly spent alone, as if that had to be said.

Something about right now feels like a punishment.

An excessive tax levied against a bleeding heart.

Met a girl this weekend who thought I was a good decade younger than I am. In person, at first impressions, people tend to think I'm a lot younger and party-minded than I am. Which is not to say that I don't like to rock the party—I *like* to rock the party—but people imagine me in a far more extravagant social world than the one I inhabit.

(At least, the people who aren't privy to the conspiracy of this blog.)

I guess this is part of the outward deception. I *look* like I should be having a better time than I am. When, in fact, I am having a stultifyingly atrocious time.

I need a boost. I need a boost. I need the boost.

"Friday the 13th" has banked the biggest opening weekend for a horror movie in history. To date. A Paramount/Platinum Dunes production. Jesus Christ, I hope this helps us. I pray this helps our project. Because I need this. I need the boost. On so many levels.

I think I've suffered enough to EARN this boost.

It is cold and lonely in the deep, dark night. Can't see the forest for the trees.

Light a candle for me. Light a few.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Devastation Day

Could there be a worse holiday than today's?

Of course not. It is a hateful, unnecessary day.

I remember making out in public and knowing we were being gross and that people were hating the sight of us... and just not caring!

It is a hateful day to be lonely. A hateful day for the brokenhearted.

That is the worst. To not just be lonely but to miss someone specifically. Someone who's lost forever. Someone who might be having a great time right now. Without you. With someone else, maybe.

It is a useless thing to still be thinking about. I know.

The pickup artist community would call this One-itis. Getting fixated on ONE person being... The One.

I don't think that. I just know it was rare. The things that worked were rare. Not easily replaced. And it just makes me sadder.

Some better things ahead for me that I'm hoping will boost me out of this dark place. If not fully, then enough to see some light again.


Today, everything hurts like a fresh wound.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Long Hard Road Out of Hell

Friday the 13th. Gotta open a horror movie today. It would be criminal not to.

It's a Paramount/Platinum Dunes production, so I'm hoping the fucking thing makes some paper. (I've been keeping tight-lipped about The Project here; hoping I'll be able to share more soon.)

This weekend is V-Day Weekend, obviously.


Thoughts on that tomorrow. But the entire weekend is reserved for couples. I think they shoot you if you try to go out without a date.

(Actually, no, that would be too merciful. I would welcome that.)

To hell with it all.

Contrary to how this blog may read, my spirits have been somewhat lifted lately by some quiet signals that my career may be picking up again. It's amazing what a faint glimmer of fire can do to illuminate a long dark tunnel.

And yet, all the old wounds still ache. Does it ever end...?

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Help Wanted

Seeking Employment.

Looking for high-paying part-time job with minimal responsibilities, no multi-tasking, no attention to details and zero potential for advancement.

I am a distracted, unmotivated candidate, filled with contempt and quite generally misanthropic. Dreadful interpersonal skills. Please do not expect much value from my employment. I pledge to give as little as possible. The bare minimum on my best days.

I may also leave abruptly with no notice.

(NOTE: I'm fairly depressed and unpleasant to deal with.)

Thanks for your consideration.

Malice Highload.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Employees of the Dead Companies

Nick forwarded me this first-hand account of an employee experiencing the final days of a Circuit City store.

Some excerpts...
All employees are pretty much security guards nowadays...that is only when we're not putting up liquidations signs for 9 bucks an hour. Instead of having to greet every customer, now we just have to patrol the store...

We've had our share of customers come in yelling that they've been screwed over by us in some fashion. This may sound like rhetoric, but 30,000+ associates are about to lose their jobs—how do you think we feel? I've had customers say they are glad that we're going out of business, all because we can't return their XBox game that they bought, opened, and didn't like. I'm sorry, but how does losing $30 on a game compare to someone that is about to lose their livelihood? I'm not looking to make this a topic of money, but some associates here live paycheck to paycheck, and the thought of not having a job is scary. Some associates here just bought a new house, a new car, just got married, or just had a child. Impending job loss is devastating to them. I'm seeing it first hand...

Had some more reports of customers being really degrading to employees, to the tune of "Can't you knock off another $200 on this, it's not like your job matters"...
I worked at Bear Stearns so I've witnessed and experienced some mass job panic. Retail is worse because you're dealing with the public. But losing your livelihood is losing your livelihood.

I've done a wide range of office work over the years, but it's all been non-career day job bullshit. Specializing in nothing doesn't really help when you're scouring for a job in a shitty job market.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Beautiful People Fucking

I've been catching up on the new season of "Friday Night Lights"... and I've been wondering why.

There's little that's more excruciating to me right now than tracking the adolescent love lives of beautiful young people.

You can't get much more impossibly, offensively, putrescently pretty than Lila Garrity and Tim Riggins. I hate hate hate hate hate hate watching these characters. It's a well-made show and there is not one character that I can relate to on this show.

And then I remember that I need to be able to write for the beautiful people. Because the beautiful people own the world. Or, at least, they own popular culture. And I need to be able to fucking serve them.

I'm bitter. Hurting. Riven by old demons. Haunted by the past, paralyzed by the present, afraid of the future. These are black, ugly days. Fundamentally ugly. I hate so many things about right now, you just can't understand.

(Oh, and it was my pop's birthday yesterday and I forgot because my fucking phone didn't remind me.)

Monday, February 09, 2009

New York Comic Convention

Homemade Watchmen costumes unite at the New York Comic-Con. (I don't know who the guy in blue is supposed to be, but he's decidedly outside the Watchmen universe.)

Many thanks to my friend, who dragged me out of the Fortress of Solitude to wallow among the grease-painted geeks.

We didn't manage to catch any panels, but who needs panels when you've got 360 degrees of nerd-vision?

(This guy's been drawing in chalk for 3 days.)

Sunday, February 08, 2009


Finally got around to seeing Michael Moore's SiCKO. What a fuckin horror story.

The health insurance industry in America is totally fucked up. After an all-too-long stretch of not exploiting my WGA health insurance, I've had a hell of a time getting some really basic shit covered in the past few months. I've had to go through a lot of bureaucratic bullshit to get a routine blood test covered and have had to make some more phone calls to get pre-approved therapy costs covered. (Anyone who reads this blog knows I fucking need those.)

And I've GOT health insurance.

This is the shit that feeds the fear of going to see a doctor.

Friday, February 06, 2009

Must Hate Dogs

I grew up obsessed with dogs. Wanted a dog for years. Eventually, my folks caved and I got a dog. And I adored him to the bitter end.

The ex loved dogs. Absolutely loved them.

And now, because everything remotely attached to her is impossibly sullied... every dog I see is an enemy. Every dog—every breed—is a cruel, panting reminder. And I hate them.

I do not want this...

Christ, when does this stop? When do I stop hating myself for this fucking thing? Something ends, you move on. You live your life. You meet someone new. You don't meet someone new. The world doesn't stop.

Yet here I am. Pinned to the floor.

During this ruined time, I've met a number of people dealing with similar grief/loss. I've seen things in these people that I've found repellent. Things I don't want to be.

And still, here we are. Writhing.

I want this to end more than anything.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

that sinking feeling

Maybe if i had a job, a source of income, the world wouldn't seem quite so punishing.

Personnel Express. Temp Trends. Custom Staffing. Monster. Adecco.

There was a time, I could re-up with Adecco and get some bullshit job like it was nothing.

Now? It's FUCK YOU. What don't you fucking understand?

There are wavy points in the horizon that could be rescue ships. If I could just stay afloat till they reach me. But faith in the wavy points is waning. The Church of Wavy Points has a poor reputation.

And yet, on the cold end of the night, it's all I've got out here in the middle of nowhere...

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

lost days

i slept so much yesterday. day and night. i was out so late the night before, stuck on the train and then out in the cold trying to get home... and i haven't been sleeping a lot in general for such a long time... maybe i just needed a crash day.

didn't drink any alcohol yesterday. though i guess there's not as much need for alcohol when you've already got the sweet escape of sleep.

can't shake the feeling that i am going to die alone. and that every girl i've ever loved and lost is going to live happily ever after.

some people make it seem so easy.

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

everything i've ever loved

Late edition.

I dread Brooklyn. I dread heading into Brooklyn. I dread the familiar trains and the familiar train stops and the barrage of memories associated with every step of the way.

Still, I braved it last night. Went to Barcade, which I'd never been to, which was sort of excellent. An amazingly nostalgic collection of 80s arcade games. A selection of beer that changes constantly. Little wooden shelves installed next to each arcade cabinet to rest your drinks as you play.

I went to see off a friend, who's leaving this city for San Francisco because the painful memories of his ex-girlfriend are just too thick for him here. A bunch of his friends were there and there were a lot of laughs. He handed out little gifts to everyone. Everyone was having a good time.

And then his friends gradually peeled off as the night wore on. Till it was just me and my friend standing in the cold, drizzly Brooklyn night, by the Lorimer L-stop. And suddenly, the façade of good spirits dropped from his demeanor. And he began to openly weep. In mourning for the pending loss of everything he's ever loved.

Inconsolable. I was the last friend standing beside him. Not about to run from the raw display of emotion. And yet, there was no consoling him. A new life out West, slate wiped clean, no constant reminders of all that was and all that could have been... all of that going for him—all that I envy—and yet there was little sense of hope last night. On that dark corner, under the freezing rain.

He got into a cab, I got into a train. Little did I realize, the L-train is fucked up during the late hours. Basically, I passed out for a little while and suddenly found myself at the end of the line in Brooklyn. Had to ride the train all the way back to the first stop in Brooklyn then transfer to another L to get back into Manhattan.

The L stopped dead at Union Square. I walked out into the frigid, unforgiving night and hailed a cab the rest of the way home.

Monday, February 02, 2009

doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?

A friend of mine who's been struggling with his own broken heart is giving up the fight here. He's got a one-way ticket to San Francisco this week. Leaving behind all the devastating memories that New York City bleeds.

I envy him.

If the logistics of moving weren't so daunting to me... I would love to run away from this.

If I had less stuff. If I had a little money saved. Christ, it would be so good to just be somewhere that doesn't remind me of anything. It's the fucking memories that kill. The vague threat of running into someone you don't want to see.

I wish everything weren't so wrong all at once...

February. I need some better news soon. Something to hold onto.