another beautiful beach sunset pic that i dug up from the heavenly pits of the matrix: full description is as follows: Two crossing waves at sunrise in Miramar, Argentina by Luis Argerich.
pure visual Magic on digital film has been achieved,
O & OM.
** on a personal note, ive been feeling off kilter since that dumb tarot reading. that meaningless but can never be dismissed reading where a bunch of cards were flipped by a total emotionless stranger and placed in irrelevant order on a 10$ walmart small cloth/rag covered table in the back on a small dark room off the side of a less than street. but the less than stellar premonitions deigned by those well worn cards haunt me. slightly and somewhere beneath it all. that irrelevant reading of course calls into play relevant questions, one of which is “whose driving my ship anyhow.”? people that have it all dont give a fuck what the spirits and gurus think. People like me do care… its as if ive stepped away from the yoke and want a stronger person to step up and guide the handle in my place. jesus take the wheel.
whatever is going on, it def feels like its not me thats driving. but what unsuccessful artist is? hell. what successful artist is. they only simulate control and hope they can keep the next trend wave.. An artist somehow is never in control because there are no guidelines. zero guarantees in this game of creativity. every move and whim an unguided gamble with the fates. a precarious place to be. a sort of hell actually.
file the ominous Tarot under moments in time id like to forget. one of the major character faults of the gemini sign is our endless ability to dwell on mistakes big and small and non existent of the past. and who decides how to color code/grade the mistakes anyhow? lets just admit it shouldn’t be me.. often i feel my mind going to that one abandoned lonely down and out pitstop on the emotional detour trip: the dread zone. a swirling mental bombast of : I should have done xyz differently. wish i hadnt done abc. (abc are not people btw and thank god- the guilt of deviance in dalliance would have me on the verge of institutional). im not facing serious personal regrets. mostly work related regrets. why did I: take this job and not this one, appreciate this job and not that one, invest in this venture and not that one, not invest more in the following ventures, allow myself to feel less than worthwhile at these jobs, not stand up for my beliefs, hours, wages, salary, position, promotion, direction at these jobs… & of course, most fearfully pressing why did I choose this art form over that one.
there has never been a guidebook for me on this journey called my life. for some ive seen crowned haphazardly with untold sucess its as if they stepped off the curb directionless, narrowly missed the speeding bus from hitting them and ended up on a yellow brick road to the land of gold. A team of expert handlers guiding every move,an d granting every wish.
Me? ive never seen a clear cut message of what to do and lord i wish there had been and would be. with zero arrogance implied i admit i have a variety of talents that i feel like if i spent 10 years honing each i could do very well at each. yet in my limited time and vision ive been watering all the plants in the garden (a tyler perry metaphor) and none have bloomed. just spuds. its a recurring problem. my recurring nightmare. i wake each day not knowing where the fuck to devote my time. each project overwhelmingly important. if i only had one thing i knew how to do. only one thing i felt i could do wouldnt that have been better for a mind as actively in overdrive as mine is?
what to do? what not to do?
crippling…. simply crippling. These roundabout thoughts so easily diverted.
and now try writing effective unique persuasive screenplay dialogue. i think oedipus had more fun gouging his own eyes out with a brooch after finding out the truth about his jacked up family than I do writing dialogue.
actually dialogue writing is even more depressingly painful than that at times. does that mean i shouldnt do it? I cant not im drawn to it immeasurably.
I must ask is the only way to know that you are doing good work to feel like your extracting your own brains, peeling the skin off, squeezing them with a lemon press, collecting the juices, filtering, cooking on high, cooling, and baking a pie with them…?
ahh writing. my bane. my bastion.
is this not what a perfect hell was meant to be?