In the works 

So I have something in mind to film, I have no idea where it’ll end up for now, but in the interest of making it as real a possibility as I can, I’m posting what I have so far. Hello world, I’m actually a writer.

Christmas in my childhood was an occasion to be marked. It was a time when my family let go of everything for just one day. My mother let me sit in my own mess of wrapping paper and plastic and my father, he encouraged it. Whoever visited, may it be family or neighbours, the television repair man that one year, they were subject to my thrown.

Growing up, social situations became less easy. I wasn’t really allowed to live in my throne of Christmas. I had to consider others and how my actions affected them, that was until I realised, the most selfish people at any situation, would win the heart of the crowd. It didn’t actually matter what you had done or what you actually had to say, it’s how you owned the room. How you took attention away and whether or not you were able to dish out the spotlight. Sharing this light made you kind and caring, regardless of whether you were. So I made every social situation Christmas, every room my throne. I could work any room and I didn’t have to lift a damn finger.
The charade had to be nurtured to be kept and so it changed the way people saw me and the way people found me. I don’t believe I ever worried about finding love. It found me each time, more often than I’d like to admit and each relationship was Christmas, ending like New Years, drunk and hopeful, that the next year would be kinder and more understanding. It never was, maybe my Christmas couldn’t be understood, a bright light in an aggressively cold wasteland.
The end of something and the beginning of something is remarkably similar. We used to say love is suicide. We used to say it with such confidence that you would have believed that whatever it was we were really saying, that it was true and that it was a truth that would consistently elude you, like star at the periphery of your vision. The moment at which you focus, the moment it is lost and you question, was it a memory? A faded dream?
Allow me to demystify, what we screamed about over the edges of the city. We are talking about change. Love changes you, as does loss. If your heart is ignited or if it is shattered, each step you take from that moment, is a step away from the old you. You change and the skin you wore up until that moment is shed and buried. You committed a definitive suicide of the old self by engaging in the action that brought you to that moment.

We may slip and slide out of that moment, yet you will never reclaim it.
That’s how I came to be at this particular Christmas and love did find me that night, but I was un-willing, exhausted and knew far to much to repeat the cycle and so I wanted to see it from the otherside of the looking glass. To see someone else’s New Years and to see whether it was New Years at all, maybe I had made it New Years, when it should be something else entirely.

Then there’s this bit

There’s always two versions of what you write. The version where your characters kill and the version that plays out like real life. Things go unsaid. Questions go unanswered and they just play out their relatively dull lives. Hence Jessica can’t be megan. Because megan castrates her enemy. Jessica throws a few punches and leaves.

And then this I think?

I vote daffy is in this room. And what daffy is dealing with is what Courtney experienced, just weirder. After getting out of the hospital, she goes after guys who are emotionally unavailable. It’s her 0.0.0.0. It’s what she understands. So her boyfriend is in the Air Force. And she’s so proud and impressed and perfect. She fills in the gaps, but it’s the 7th month in a row that she’s only heard from him once a month for about 6 minutes and she’s weary. What kind of partner exists like this. How much information can you get in 6 minutes. So she sends him a picture of her tits and there’s no response. Okay, maybe he’s busy, but surely the love of your life finds time to at least say, “that’s hot let me see more”. Apparently not. What’s a girl to do?

Hopefully I’ll sort it out better and it’ll be a visual masterpiece.

Out through the indoor

Pinangel

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