Bumpety bump bump

We steel ourselves up for so many things - bad hair days, getting fired, natural disasters, possible deaths in the family. But no matter how much we practice, no matter how many times we've done it before, nothing can cushion us from the breathless palpitations of falling in love.
We've all been there.
By a certain age, we think we've gotten it down to a controllable art...but we always, always fail miserably to slow down that initial rush.
The next time you fall, don't bother trying to cushion the blow. You'll bruise any which way it ends.
Just go with the flow, enjoy the rush and smile for the cameras.
You never know then it'll happen again.

INT. FTV CAFE - DAY

INT. FTV CAFÉ – DAY

Absolutely no effing inspiration to write anything. Am tempted to make the whole thing an MOS. What about making fun of deep gold? Man is running around tropical island trying to catch model girlfriend who may be cheating on him with hot male model. Hmmm….will probably get expelled. Next.

Music playing: Joan Jett I love rock ‘n roll

“I love rock n roll, so put another dime in the jukebox baby, I love rock n roll, so c’mon take the time and dance with me…”

The amount of ego and bullshit being thrown around here makes one wonder why we aren’t all buried waist deep in figurative fecal matter. The company hires the strangest people, the guys all think they’re irresistible Casanovas and the gals…well, while some of them are cool, the others are just clackers. Wait, rewind on that…the girls are pretty funny.

Music playing: Joni Mitchell A case of you

“If you need me I’ll be at the bar….I could drink a case of you…I’d still be on my feet.”

The whole point of writing a treatment is what again?

As she sat there contemplating her next script, a Casanova passed by, fully expecting to be given due attention for merely existing. She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. She ignored him instead.

The school was falling apart. She could see the ceiling practically falling over their heads. Random pieces of plaster on their shoulders. It wasn’t going to be pretty. They all had to get out – sooner rather than later.

Where was the future for any of them?

In 16mm celluloid.

Music playing: Aerosmith Knocking on Heaven’s door

“Mama take these guns from me, I don’t need them anymore, it’s getting dark, too dark to see…feels like I’m knocking on heaven’s door…”

Cement mix

Random memory from way back: My mother crying on a hospital phone to my father. The doctor had just been incredibly insensitive to her and had triggered a chain of emotional reactions on her part. Women have a tendency to fall apart when hit at the right time of the month, at the right place and under just the right set of circumstances.
Can't quite remember if it was another hypertension or high blood pressure scare which brought us there this time. That's besides the point I'm trying to make...if any at all.

Random reaction to that memory: I have perhaps, had more practice in steeling myself against attacks of that nature as compared to my mother, and take note, she's roughly twenty-nine years older than me. So I'm thinking, either the world is getting less polite these days or I've personally learned that the more walls one has up, the less chance those battering rams will have of doing much damage.

Random thought from right now: Current state of ho-humness is a direct result of my current attempt at apathy. The attempt stems from a need to detach myself from an old muse. By the by...those walls are useful for purposes such as these as well. I've found that my bounce-back curve has improved over the years. I must have put new material in the mix.