Ode to the Luscious Locks

I’m not really going to write about my hair. That would be stupid. However, this whole plan of growing out my hair was part of something. I assume you could call it an identity crisis. It was easy to see, I mean, I do advertise my mind in a little section of notes on facebook and other venues of the interwebs. There was a lot of darkness. So much that I couldn’t see. Not saying that I have some clear sight of anything now, but at least now I seem to be content with the surprise of life. Maybe that’s just because life has been good, or maybe it because of something else.

I don’t know, I suppose I’m just as lost as ever. The whole world seems to be standing before me and just sit and wonder what do with it. At times I can be master of my domain and at others I feel helpless, unable to make any kind of decision that will lead me to that ultimate happiness which I have babble so long about wanting. Is there such a thing? And if there is, can I have it?

But after all the trials and woes I had placed upon myself, I think that I finally have found that I like myself a lot more than I ever reveal. Not perfect because Satan only knows how many flaws exist within my mind and soul, but at the same time I can’t help but feel a bit proud of the boyish man that I have become. He’s alright is what I’m trying to say.

But now what to do? In an hour, eight months of struggling to find myself by emulating ten years of John Lennon hair styles will all be gone. I’m gonna miss it, but it was worth it. It’s the little things, I suppose. But there are also big things. Big things that have to be considered because as far as any of us know, they may lead to that ultimate happiness scam we’ve all be sold so sweetly by those who have come before us. I don’t even know what might get me there. Success? Money? Friends? Drugs? Booze? Love? What is love? Have you ever been in love? Do you ever want to get married?

“No marriage without love, Watson.”

“Then why not love Holmes?”

“Absurd, Watson, absurd! I am not for love, nor love for me. It would disturb my reason, unbalance my faculties. Love is like a flaw in the crystal, sand in the clockwork, iron near the magnet. No, no, I have other work in the world.”

Sunday Morning Thoughts 3.27.11

Hmmm… well, what to say? I spent pretty much all day in bed. It was nice. My mind is very at peace. I apparently have gorgeous eyes. It’s nice to hear things like that. Especially when they’re real and sincere.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds, and that’s almost comforting. A little mystery makes life exciting. But in order to prevent finding some sort of problem that may or may not exist, I think this is all that I’ll write. Get some  Dharma Bums in and then get some sleep. Take me away Jack.

 

To-do list… sort of

It started out good enough

1. TV Studio mid-term

2. Miss Julie Lines

3. Acting midterm – The speckled band

4. ERS – EVENTS!!!!

5. TV Writing – Ad – Talk to what’s his face

6. Story??

7. Re-write lyrics

8. Write Lyrics

9. Kilt?

10. RA? Anything for that?

11.Ummmm… Talk to someone? Yeah? Don’t listen to Ryan Adams before you decide though… dumbass.

12. Other people to talk to?

13. How about money? Would you like some of that?

14. Quiting smoking? Or at least cut back, and maybe not smoke reds.

15. Gym and that stuff

16. Hey funny guy, stand up?

17. Get studious up in this bitch

why not?

I’m going to try and quit smoking… again. Yeah… I know I’ve done it a millions times, but what’s one more. If nothing else, I could at least take a break from it. Start working out again. Why not?

A Picture is Worth a Few Good Laughs

PSA Script

For my T.V. Writing class

I kinda like it

int. classroom – day

Five students sit and quitely observe as the TEACHER writes on the blackboard. In large letters on the top of the blackboard is JERSEY SHORE and underneath is CHARACTER ANALYSIS. All but one of the students are taking notes on the lecture. The SMART STUDENT sits the the center of class looking confused.

TEACHER

(Jersey Accent)

Yeah so, who can tell me the Situation’s motivation for hooking up with that broad?

SMART STUDENT

Wait… what?

The student next to SMART STUDENT raises his hand and TEACHER calls on him.

TEACHER

Yeah, Christopha what do you think, huh?

CHRISTOPHER

Umm… yeah… his motivation was to uhhh…. GET IT IN BRA!

At this the class breaks out into uproarious laughter, excluding SMART STUDENT.

TEACHER

(laughing obnoxiously)

You got it man!

The TEACHER goes over and offers CHRISTOPHER a high five.

CHRISTOPHER

(high fiving TEACHER)

Yeah boy, I kicked that question’s ass!!!

SMART STUDENT

(objecting)

Wait, are you kidding me? Is this serious?

CHRISTOPHER

Hell yeah, bra!

SMART STUDENT

That’s just stupid man, you guys are idiots.

TEACHER

(like a child)

Nu-uh, you’re the idiot, idiot.

SMART STUDENT

(calmly)

Can you even spell idiot?

TEACHER

Yeah, duh of course I can, idiot.

The TEACHER pauses and looks up thoughtfully. It slowly turns to a blank stare and then he grows upset.

TEACHER

(angrily)

Oh yeah, smart guy? I don’t need to, I’m the teacher. You fail. Not so tough now are ya?

SMART STUDENT

Are you kidding me?

CHRISTOPHER

That sucks Bra!!

SMART STUDENT

To hell with this crap. I’m getting out of here.

SMART STUDENT stand and walks out and slams the classroom door. Everyone left in the class is left laughing on the floor.

EXT. Park-day-sunny

SMART STUDENT walks to a bench and sits. He opens his back pack and pulls a copy of ON THE ROAD by JACK KEROUAC. He opens it and begins reading. Slowly his angry expression fades to peaceful smile. He sighs with relief and turns the page.

FADE TO BLACK

Sunday Morning Thoughts 3.20.11

Well… it’s been one hell of a week. Now where to start? At the beginning? At the end? In media res, as all epic poems are written? Should I just jump back and forth with no rhyme or reason? Oh, how life is filled with such questions and yet the answers seem to be so elusive. But since I am not one for giving up, I shall forge ahead. After of course, I invoke my muse.

So sing to me, O Muse, of the young man walking down the street with a mace in his hand and a song in his heart. Tell me of how he came to be and where he may go and what he may see. Show me what this boy thinks and what lies within his heart.

The people gave me funny looks. Some smiled, some wore looks of concern, but I can tell you that everyone notices when someone walks down the street with a giant stick slung over their shoulder and a cigarette in their mouth. I can’t lie, I enjoyed the attention. I would wish every bar I passed a happy St. Patrick’s Day and offered everyone a smile. I suppose the least I could do is share my joy.

This whole week had been quite eventful. I got some time at home to rest my mind and escape to the nothingness that lies in this place. In fact, I was talking with a good friend about this. You don’t appreciate the place you grew up in until you leave. Now I’m not saying that I want to live up here again, because I don’t, but what I am saying is that it is nice to be able to lie down in the grass and enjoy a cigarette as you gaze at the stars and ponder your thoughts.

But I only spent two days as an astronomer, then made the trip to New Rochelle on Wednesday, to drink, and then to Bay Ridge, to smoke and at midnight, had a few Guinness to ring in the holiday properly. I bummed it out on my friend’s couch and woke up early for Brooklyn breakfast, which was for me, that’s right you guessed, Guinness and soda bread. Happy St. Patrick’s Day kids.

And off we went, Mr. Hanko and I, to the city of New York on the only day that it is acceptable for a man to wear a skirt with no underwear underneath. On our way, I saw people from high school and a kid who called Kyle’s bagpipes a French Horn. But we got where we needed to go, and after waiting for I don’t know how long, we were off. It was great. All the Bay Ridge kids chanted “smoke that piff” as I passed and I tried not to laugh with little success. All in all a great day.

Then you do what every man in a kilt does on such a day, you drink… a lot. And for not a lot of money, which was nice. So from bar to bar we went, and the band started to become smaller until it was time to go to Bay Ridge, where after a great train ride discussing life with a 4 year old girl, I got even drunker and eventually passed out at the bar. I was woken up… sort of, and was given a couch and some underpants by the one, the only, the great Sean Greany. I woke the next day to find that I wasn’t sure where I was for some time. Had some coffee and a cigarette and then I was off to my Brooklyn day, which included finding my mace and jacket that I had left in the bar, for whatever reason. Luckily I found them because they were all borrowed, and played some nice songs with good people.

But Spring time is in the air, and it fills me with this feeling. I think it’s the season that I fall in love with. If spring were a woman, I’d spend every waking moment trying to win her heart and make her mine. But as with all other girls that have been in my life, she will fall away. Still, I know she will return, so until then I wait.

And since I’m waiting all this time, I could get a few things done. Get my grades up, maybe work on some lines, maybe write another song, maybe do some stand up, maybe write some things. All things that I have to do, so I might as well milk this feeling and get some productivity out of it. Or I could waste it. Either way, I know that my life unfolds as it should because if it doesn’t, what the hell is the point? Things happen, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I don’t know what my life holds for me. But, I can tell you this, I can make certain things happen. Not everything, but there are those things that if I want, I can have. If I want to be something, I can be. Or maybe that’s just fate too. Maybe fate will align with all of my desires. Or maybe it won’t. But I will try. I can’t not.

Just Some Thoughts

And so I suppose that this is what growing up is. Now I am starting to understand what they’ve all been talking about. It’s not some sudden and complete realization of something. No sir, it’s much slower and you can only really get the idea of it when you stop and glance over your shoulder and try and look to see if you can spot the place that you started at. Go ahead, try and tell me what you see. No of course you don’t have to, but if you’re not doing anything and I’m not doing anything, we might as well chit-chat for a bit. Shoot the shit, so to speak.

Well, I should really get back to this original point. I’ve looked at pictures of myself throughout my life. No matter how old I was when the picture was taken, I can look at it and wonder. I wonder what happened to that sweet boy who was so full of life and hope. I wonder how he’s changed and who he is. I feel like I hardly even know him. But he’d say the same thing if he could see me and if I could see what I may be like in ten years. So am I stranger to myself besides the exact moment in which I experience myself and my consciousness at the present?

No, I’m not. I know that kid in those pictures because I know what he’s thinking. He’s watching his life all around him and can’t help but be amazed by the beautifully complex world he sees and how simple it actually is. He wonders about what he’s going to be like, and I wish I could tell him. I wish I could tell him all the moments that will lead up to this. But maybe not. No, I don’t want to tell him, because I’ll sell it all too short. I want him to see it for himself and tell me what he thinks. I want to know if he’d be happy and proud. I want to know if my life has filled his dreams as he wanted them to.

I wonder if he even thought anything like this would ever even happen, just so I can tell him “Yes, I did and it will be great. Trust me, you’ll be sad and angry and all those things no one likes to be. But I can tell you this, someday you will be happy. I don’t know when because I don’t know if I ever have been truly happy. I’ve had tastes and believe me, I’d go through a thousand years of shit for another taste at that light, man. It’s beyond this world… happiness, that is”.

Then he can tell me something even wiser, and probably much funnier.

P.S. Notice the eyebrow… Skill beyond words

Fiction

And with this explosion of life I have found, there is nothing left for me to do other than creating more. I have a new Kerouac book in my possession (Thank you Sean Greany) and refreshed sense of self. I have memories that I can hardly remember and aches in my feet. I have no cigarettes, no money and a little bit of pot. So i’ll drum up some ideas and see what there is to work with. Maybe try a tune or two. I should probably work on lines and my screenplay. I should do a lot of things and I think that I will. And read outside… I’d like to do that today too.

Something about this time of year just makes me crave life. Paul Simon and Central Park and pretty girls with hope in their eyes just makes me love spring time.

A Nameless Story From This Time Last Year

It’s warm out for April. The streets are quite besides a few sirens off in the distance. People can be heard in their houses as her steps echo silently through the streets. They sound heavier to her than they really are. Everything seems a little heavier. She walks alone down the block, arms folded, head down, dreaming awake. She feels the heaviness of her heart, all weighed down with desire, as she aimlessly carries on.

Dreams are a scary thing. Dreams can make you feel so distant sometimes, especially when they’re grand ones. The world never seems to work the way it should, something’s always there, holding you back, or slowing you down. Maybe people are designed to never be truly happy, but we all get that taste sometimes. But if you’re a young girl with big dreams, it seems hard to find that little glimpse, especially this one girl in particular.

Her friends were all partying, have a good time, but she felt off. She would laugh with them, smile, and tell a few jokes, but just enough so she wouldn’t show her heart to everyone. She doesn’t like to wear how she feels on her sleeve. I think a few people could tell she was down, but didn’t want to pry. She left early, said her goodbyes, and walked out the door. I wish she knew how beautiful she looked with the moon shining on her face, lighting up those eyes of hers, but she starts her lonely walk. She asks herself a lot of questions, always looking for some sort of answer, even when she knows there’s none to be found. You’ve got to understand, she’s in a bit of a rough spot. Very much caught in the purgatory in between stages of life, carrying all the hopes she had made up to this point, and trying to get them to the other side. You know, all that jazz about being yourself, and never giving up, and love; the works. She won’t let go of them either, not this girl.

Maybe that’s what he likes about her, but this isn’t about him. This is about her, walking away from something she’s not even sure is chasing her, thinking so loudly she can’t hear what her heart is singing to her, because that’s where all the answers are. Her heart has been crying them out for awhile now, and I think she’s been hearing a little bit of the tune. She pulls her red coat tighter around her body, and picks up her pace. She doesn’t really want to go home, because she knows it’s all coming with her there, and then she’ll be alone with it. Her footsteps start to slow, and her head starts to lift. She feels something, it’s a strange feeling that can’t really be compared too much besides the feeling you get when the way the sun lights up the clouds just right to make the sky bleed. It’s starts to grow and her mind dwells on the few memories she can reach that have some sort of emotional significance. She tries to reason with it, throwing some chains around it, hoping it’ll sink back down, but it’s no use.

Her feet stop moving. Her muscles relax as that troubled head of hers starts to lift. The arms let go of each other, as everything suddenly gets screamingly silent. Her heart beat feels like the start of a song as she imagines her life is being played out on screen. Then she looks at the sky lets out a pent up sigh. She hears the things people have told her in her head, as her heart sings melodies far beyond what ears can even hear. She smiles more real than any picture could show. She just gazes at the moon, and starts to walk again, this time lighter though, with a little bit of skip. She is overwhelmed with the feeling that everything might just be alright.

The song starts, the screen goes dark, and the credits roll. He fills his lungs from his cigarette, as he picks the remote of the couch. Click. Screen goes dark, the room gets quite. He hears the groan of the refrigerator.  Sitting up, the blood in his previously stagnant body moves around, making him light headed. He places his feet on the cold wooden floor and slowly lifts his body up. He begins to walk away from the T.V. with the girl inside. He makes his way down towards the hall and places his hand on the switch… but before the turns of the only light left on, he looks at himself in the mirror. He can’t even recognize himself. His heart wants her. The light goes off. The floor creaks further down the hall until the door lets out a small screech. Silent for a moment. Footsteps. Door closes.