reality & life strike again: our hermits emerge a season too soon

dearest odyssians,

some how weve drifted into the land of the lonely. weve shed our hermits cloak and emerged from our below ground sanctuary only to find ourselves standing alone in a large empty field of endless grass. a setting sun lilts on the horizon. no funnel cloud as you see in the picture. just a perfect, windless calm. its beautiful. all of it. entirely achingly beautiful. but i find it hard to enjoy this scene alone. wouldnt it be great to have a fellow traveler to discuss the finer points of life with? none greets us.

weve shed our hermits cloak too early then. our timing, which is everything, has betrayed us. after all the screenplay isnt finished. my holy grail is in pieces- half ungathered. the other half held together by the weakest glue. any strong analysis/reading—-> implosion.

what blasphemy!

what tragedy!

i falsely imagined that i would emerge from my cave, pull the hood off of my cloak and have the thick layer of dust that had gathered there billow down in delightful puffs of clouds about the rest of me. the low light of the waning afternoon paints my revival perfectly and at the same time blinds my eyes-unused to sunlight at any strength.  id look around and lo and behold see another hermit-also newly emerged from his asceticism. wed make eye contact easily despite the vastness of that empty field. both of us would be ready to share the riches we had gleaned from the multitudes of esoteric knowledge we had shut ourselves away for the purpose of understanding.

i was mistaken. the field is empty except for me. i am alone. my brave actions unrewarded. sadness colors the air.

Before, our sole focus on work and the rewards a successful screenplay would bring for many years to come carried us beyond any need for human interaction. why have real conversation when you can imagine perfectly scripted dialogue? no unpleasant surprises. no unpredictability or chaos that being a human makes unavoidable. need an issue resolved? write it in. need to kill off someone. well….

ive dubbed this beautiful written realisty “the robinson crusoe effect”. perhaps robison crusoe reality is a better name. all controlled dialogue. unilateral thought. no surprises.

sure r.c. missed people. but the conversations he had in his mind, while stranded on the island for those years, never knowing he would be rescued-were probably some of the most perfect conversations a human can have.

i think every writer yearns for a real crusoe moment – tropical exile with food water shelter  pen paper and a pet monkey. imposed sanctions of personal thought without the distractions of “real life” in which  he can create and create alone. the petty conflicts of everyday interactions. the needed considerations for others feelings and sensitivities. the needed considerations for his very own set of insecurities and sensitivies. the loyalties one can’t do without (those with humanity, conscience, and a soul that is) that finds one disadvantaged now and again. the basic bio functions that steal time too often.

“aint nobody got time for that” – sweet brown.

now imagine just your purest uninterrupted thoughts- uninterrupted like the island stranded crusoe. brilliant! now imagine a few coconut margaritas with ice, some fresh caught  surf fish roasting on a disease free stick over a smoke free fire, a hammock you proudly crafted yourself from banana leaves, a banana leaf thong you proudly crafted to match that proudly crafted hammock. a shipwrecked proctor and gamble tanker ship less than a mile away of toilet paper, soap, tampons, conditioner, body lotion, deodorant, razors, bugspray, chapstick, and ramen- now imagine a pen and paper in your hand. now imagine unstoppable success.

did crusoe ever learn to make his own paper and pencils while in exile? i hope so for his sake.  a writer without paper = a madman.

flip script:

yes the imaginary is more perfect than real life. boo hoo. but i will add that my movie is not devoid of  believable heartfelt suffering. or conflict. but my goal was always to take the caca moments, so painfully true, and have the characters (and audience) experience a big payoff for their travails. in my universe there is sadness, but for the supremely intelligent, the poignantly honest, the brave souls willing to love a single person fully and at times above themselves rationale reason and tradition, there will always be justice.


hugs from odie to me and from me to odie,

o and om.