The Consequences of Waking Up.

I'm having issues with identity.

As a child, my biggest concern was fitting in. In middle school, it was standing out. Now I'm stuck in this position where I don't know where I fit in between that.

Fairly recently, I changed the description on my tumblr to include that I am a 'borderline crazy person'. This bothers me. Sometimes I think I do things in some sick grab for attention without consciously recognizing it, and this is one of them.

I stopped yelling at myself a while ago. Sometimes I catch myself saying things that would suggest that I have a purely negative view of myself when truthfully I don't. Sometimes I look at myself like a mother looks at their child. I love myself because I'm mine and I raised me and sure, I've done stupid and ridiculous things when I was young but I can do nothing but laugh when I look back on it. I don't hold a lot against myself because I didn't know better.

I read this piece last week on someone explaining growing up. How every birthday you're asked "So do you feel older?" and you honestly feel the same. The thing is, age is a collection. Some days you feel like you're three and some days you feel like you're thirteen. And every year you gain, you have more experiences to compare to. Some days I feel like I'm fifteen. Some days I feel like I'm ten.

Fairly recently I've found myself feeling younger more often than I'm comfortable with. I can make that distinction. I'm not going around feeling sorry for myself, because I recognize what is 'wrong' and I'm actively trying to quell it. Younger emotions are bubbling to the surface, though, which sometimes makes it difficult as well. There's a reason children need guidance, after all. As a writer, all I can do save these feelings for inspiration. As the 'Master of My Soul', all I can do is get myself up every day and do what I have to do. As a teenage girl, all I can do is write on my blog. Those are identities, I suppose, but they're just facets. They describe pieces of me.

The only thing that fully describes me is Jessica, not the generic description. Not the bratty protagonist in that one book when you were eleven. Not your least favorite character in your favorite movie with the same name. It's hard to explain this to people who don't know me personally. That there isn't any one word to describe me. I hate sounding like I'm trying to be unique, because I'm not. I'm over that. But being unique and being different, just like every other human on the planet, is the consequentive norm.

I am quite certain that these 'grabs for attention' I mentioned earlier are in correspondence with both my quest for identitive certainty and misplaced maturity expected of me as a fifteen-year-old. But maybe they're just me being moody or inconsistent. I'm not the type to try to make philosophical statements when I still get upset that some weeks there isn't a new episode of Grey's Anatomy. Maybe this is all just a part of growing up. Maybe this is all just a consequenceof making it this far. Maybe I'm just so glad that I have the things and people around me that I forget to be grateful for who I am. Maybe that'll change.

Sorry that I'm kind of all over the place, everybody. I'm working on it.

Happy New Years.

There's No Such Thing As Lesbians - An American Folktale

My little brother is in the Seventh Grade, and he is one of my favorite people on the planet. He is such a thoughtful, sweet and overall caring kid and I just love him so much. But when my brother doesn't get what he wants, he becomes disrespectful and begs. Where does he get off, cursing at my father for taking away his xbox while simultaneously begging my mother to give it back. The thing is, while he was begging my mom, he was saying things along the lines of 'You don't love me or else you would get it back for me'.

That's a normal thing kids say, right? I don't think I've ever said 'you don't love me or else you would ______ for me'. It just sounds like it would really hurt, so why would I say it? I've recently realized that I'm a really sensitive person. Well, I've always known, obviously. But I mentally spent the majority of Middle School giving myself callouses in order to toughen up my emotional skin. Ugh, 'mentally'. I hate the negative connotations associated with that word. Like talking about mental health is inherently not healthy. But back to the matter at hand, I spent a long time thinking that if I buried the 'problem' deep enough, it would cease to exist. But I realized that I will ALWAYS be sensitive. And that kinda scared me. I mean, I'm not a COMPLETE wreck when it comes to how emotions affect me (although I have been known to put too much emotional significance into shitty pop tunes and have succumbed to tearing up to some dance tunes that in my head are as hard hitting as Angels by Sarah McLachlan ie. Ne-Yo, Karmin), but it makes explaining my feelings more difficult. I already have an aversion to talking about myself. When I was reading Julian's blog post and he said he didn't know what I would feel comfortable with him disclosing, I kind of hoped he would say those things pertaining to me. Yeah, so I'm gay. And don't get me wrong, I am for the most part comfortable in it. We dated twice, and it was the reason we broke up the second time. But talking about it just puts me off. Talking about me makes me uncomfortable. Because of my sensitivity to emotion, sometimes it can saturate my thoughts towards things to the point where they are hard to vocally express.

Lying and not knowing are two completely different things. But sometimes I feel that people think I'm lying about how I feel when in reality I don't know how to put it into words, and that fact that I am quick to brush off my own emotions doesn't help the situation. I feel like I have hurt quite a few of my friends because of this. They ask what's wrong, and I don't know what to say. I spend a significant portion of my day trying to excavate and decode these ancient scriptures of myself and in the end, all I get is... a bit more confusion. Sure, I know how I feel about a bunch of things, I've spent my entire life cultivating opinions! But the reflective proper noun of myself is still mysterious. And no matter how much time I throw into trying to understand myself fully, I will never have words to express everything. And that doesn't mean I'm going to stop. It just means I know I'm leading my way through the desert for forty years in search on an Eden that isn't there. And I guess knowing what I'm getting myself into makes it better?

My mom is actually currently upset with me because I can't explain how I feel about things. And I don't understand how she is angrier at me compared to my brother, when I'm being quiet and he's spouting expletives? I have been told that I was an expressive child. Now, I don't remember this, but I remember feeling uncomfortable in my own skin as a five-year-old. So I prefer being quiet, I prefer having the ability to put my thoughts out through this medium rather than vocally. I like being able to choose the order and the shape my thoughts take such that they sound at least mildly competent.

I remember, last year, Luke said something about Escape. And I've recently started to rely on it. I've begun throwing myself back into music with an intense need that I haven't experienced in years. I need to get out of my head, and music has always been my first choice. But it's more than that. Now, since I've realized how much time I spend stuck in my head, I'm trying to find a creative outlet. And being sensitive leads music to completely control my mood. So if I'm freaking out about something, putting on music of a different emotion can completely compose me. No matter how much I want to get out of my head, I'm only ever going to be me. But I'm taking some control back. Sure, even I find it kind of unorthodox and even semi-unhealthy. But I don't have some mechanical way to fix myself, and I'm not asking anyone to try to find a way because I'm starting to be happy again.
I am not a Robot.

My mind is tumbling and mumbling.

My laptop has spent the past forty five minutes crashing, just to watch me squirm.
So, I have to get this out, quick and comprehensable.
Tankas.
I remember Mike doing his booklet of them last year and he tried to explain them to me, but all I really grasped was that Mike had some really friggin great peoms and that it had something to do with haikus.
Traditional tankas are similar to the Haiku, they have a set syllable structure of 5-7-5-7-7 which my brain seems to have already memorized. They also originated in Japan. Contemporary translators tend to agree with the set syllable structure, while in America, and even the English speaking community as a whole, we have in some part done away with the structure in preference of Free Verse. So far, I don't have much of an opinion on whether I prefer structured or free verse, but I see them quite differently so that might be way. Don't get me wrong, they are both beautiful. The examples in the readings, from Ruby Spriggs to William Ramsey, really struck me. The lack of titles and punctuation really got me going as well. The story telling is the most important part to me, though. I love how I know what's going on, even though they do go into symbolism at points. The connections made through the simplicity just kill me in wonderful way and I really just want to get into it.

Three Core Values from an Apple that Didn't Fall Far from the Tree

A year ago, I read a The Adoration of Jenna Fox. Since then, I've really wanted to be able to upload my brain onto a hard drive and just be able to sort through it in a simple way like a computer instead of the jumbled mess that is my mind. I'm a naturally messy person, and that seeps into a lot of what I do, even into how I think. I'm always all over the place. It's like most people have their thoughts in an alphabetized filing cabinet while mine are just kinda scribbled-on napkins mixed with end-of-term papers and crumpled articles stuffed in this cabinet until you can't open it in fear it'll burst. I guess that's why I'm so incomprehendable in this, because my core values are just as crumpled and intrinsic as I see my thought process.
But here we go.
I'll try my best to be as understandable as I can, just for you, Doll. If you say please. Or not. Be rude, if you fancy it.
1. Control/Security
This one seems to be a constant. I kind of go in circles with it, and hopefully someone can help me brush out the knots. But when I was a kid, I used to freak out over control. I still do, but differently. I used to need it or else I wouldn't be able to play nice. I was an older sibling, it's natural. But now, I need to be in control of what I'm put in control of, I need a choice in the matter. Sometimes I feel like I wish someone would take everything I have to do off of my shoulders, and on occasion I have tried to delegate my own burden on others. Maybe I just put too much on myself, or just get overwhelmed by little things. I'm probably just a wuss. Goddamn, this sounds so freaking depressing. It isn't, really, I promise. I'm just a bit of a worry wart. A negative Nelly at times. Wait just one moment. Now it's starting to turn into a self-reliance thing. Which might also be a jealously thing. But jealousy can be dealt with later, and with a scythe and the country radio app my Mom recently downloaded. Self-reliance is really big for me. And it fits in with what I'm saying above, in a way. All I really want is to be self reliant. I've always wanted be that way. But I'm not so I guess this is Jealousy. Can that be a core value? Envy? Aspiration? Self-improving? Security is all about keeping yourself safe, preserved. But I'm really just scared of being degraded. Which then goes into my next little point.
2. Praise/Self - Worth
I am a giant puppy. You scratch me behind the ears and I will protect you by no bounds. Wierd that I'm not so protective of myself, huh? I just want someone to put me on a leash in a totally platonic way. Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out by Richard Siken really explains how I feel. I was close to hysterics the first time I read it. There's a link to it, if you please. You don't even have to google it, it's right there. But maybe it doesn't explain me. Maybe I'm projecting. I do that.
Reading this back, I don't wan't you to feel bad for me. And I feel like that's what's happening. I want Respect.  And I just don't know how to get it.  I want to feel equal, like I haven't put everyone around me on a pedestal while I wax the Mausoleum Floor. I did this to myself and I take complete Responsibility. I don't want to be seen as this silly little girl who worries whether her hair looks alright no matter how true that is. I don't want to be grouped into something, something so negatively viewed by the world. Teenager. I don't want to be a teenager. I want to be someone that I would look up to. I want to sit in a clean movie theatre with great acoustics while I watch a fantastic movie that makes my heart swell the way it does such that I can't help but curl my toes and be abundantly happy. Not like in the movies. Like real life. It's happened before. I'm losing my train, where have the tracks gone? Is that smoke in the distance? Can we make it if we run fast and peel back our eyes till they burn and we're nothing but happy and breathless? Till we feel nothing but alive? Can I write that for myself? I'm so used to needing someone to pat my head and I'm getting so sick of it. But who can pat their head while still rubbing their stomach because I have nothing but a hunger to keep moving.
3. Escape
From what I had written today, I'm surprised this wasn't written anywhere on it. The deeper that I've gone now, I see that whenever I'd go back to relief or control or some other relatively predictable thing, I forget this little popular gem. Escape. I cannot live without escape, and I see that now. This is something I'm very protective over. I feel like a lot of what I do is fake as I've gotten older, so forced. I want people to like me so much that I feel strangled myself. Escape has always been a way to clear my head, to let someone else take up rent for a spell and just feel. Escape is what I haven't done in a while. Something that I need desperately to start again. I'm quite tough on myself, I get stress headaches quite often because I don't exactly face my problems. I have a tendency to just let them be and that can be more self destructive than running from them, the way I see it. Escape is just to let me relax for a bit. I need to relax. I don't relax. I can lay in bed for hours on end but don't think for a second that it helps in that field. Again, quite a Negative Nelly, huh? I need to stop being so hard on myself, but I also need to get my shit together. I can't seem to do either. This is long and probably boring. I'm picking my brain to an audience that shouldn't have had to suffer through the first paragraph. Thank you to anyone who read through, thank you to everyone that skimmed. Thank you for caring. Thank you for being you.

Questions! Interest in my Life!

The First Set of Questions

1) You've worked on a group film and on your own. In which situation are you most comfortable - group or solo? Which do you work best in?
I feel like I do best on my own. Mostly because it takes out the large portion of worrying that tends to go towards other people. Working on my own, I only have to worry about myself and that takes a bit of the pressure off, and the pressure that's left tends to push me to be better. I'm also quite the follower in group situations, which I need to work on, because it ends with me feeling like I haven't contributed enough which I'd like to change.

 2) What did you learn that you expected to learn?
That I could get it out. That I still had 'it'. I could write a monologue and it wasn't complete shit. I didn't do a lot of writing over the summer which is really starting to bug me, so knowing that I'm not a one trick pony is a nice little boost to my self-esteem. As I constantly restate, I am quite the spineless jellyfish when it comes to my own work, because of constant self-doubt. Hopefully this will give me enough of a push to stop whining all of the goddamn time.

3) What did you learn that you didn't expect to learn?
I'm getting back into slam poetry. I was already into listening to it, but after this I'm really interested in the performing aspect of it. Acting still kind of scares me, but poetry is in a completely different section of my brain. And I'm really curious as to why that is, why I have such different relationships with things that are quite similar in nature. So I guess what I learned is a new, different facet of a love I already had that my brain doesn't connect to what I was actually doing.

4) What didn't you learn that you expected to learn?
Whether I was good or not? I thought trying out this acting spiel would give me an opinion on whether I was good or not at it, but I just don't know. I still don't know. I think a better way to explain it is that I don't know if I like it. If I'm good at something, it tends to give me this push to continue with it to stroke my own ego. But not knowing if I'm good or not is just leaving me in this wierd space. I really don't like talking about how superficial I can be.

 5) Praise your amazing achievement and explain your brilliant plan for pulling it off.If you know me, you know I can turn into quite the nervous wreck in under a minute. But I stayed up there! I put on a brave face! I didn't pass out! Big steps for me, guys. Huge.
But in all seriousness, I'm really proud of myself for not giving up. For not buckling under my own sets of standards and pressure. Also, I really liked the script. It got through a few of the issues I've been hiding from. I definitely haven't cleaned out my closet, not by a long shot, but letting myself run with personal ideas and not thinking "No, I can't let anyone see this, it's too personal, too much of me... etc." was really releasing. Not as much negative energy in the creative process. All of the negativity went into the actual script and the astoundingly winding blog posts.

The Second Set of Questions

1) How much time did you spend working?Working or worrying? I got the writing done considerable quickly, around four hours. All of Monday and a bit of Tuesday. At the same time, I feel like it should have been quicker. For the length of it, it really shouldn't have taken me that long. I put quite a lot of thought into each line which takes up time, but ends up having a lot of meaning to me which people either relate to or don't.

2) How much time did you spend thinking about the work - sort of sitting there and staring at it, or listening to it over and over again, etc.?
I'm embarrassed to say that I spent way too much time mulling it over, reading it over and over and worrying and embossing it in braile onto my frontal lobe. Once it was all over, said and done, I loved it and there weren't really any changes from the first draft, but it took a while to get to that point. I wasted that time without realizing it, about another three hours.

3) How much time did you spend doing other stuff that seems like work to that make you think you're working but you're not?
I sat for too long worrying and thinking that I was revising when I was just sitting there, my brain exploding in a stream of consciousness word document which has been burned to preserve my dignity. I hate it when I do that. Gotta stop. Moving on.

4) How much time did you spend socializing?Now that I look back, surprisingly not as much as I'd thought. It was much more community than socializing. Once I started worrying, though, I didn't socialize as much as I threw on a pair of earphones and tried to calm my shit. Sure, it's really hard not to socialize and I'm not going to lie and say I didn't. But it's less than I expected and I kept to myself more than I usually do while under pressure. Or maybe not. My memory might be slowly getting away from me and maybe I'm in a Nursing Home and it's 2068 and my daughter won't visit me because she's a brat who lives in Colorado and didn't want to take her ailing, senile mother with her.

5) How did you use your community?While I was writing, I sat with the little dead-end community and just having people around you, seeing that they're getting stuff out really motivates you. I also used my community to keep myself from running around like a chicken with it's head cut off, sqwacking that the sky would fall which no one would understand because they wouldn't speak cock. Talking about how I was worried out loud really kept me from worrying so much, if that makes sense.

6) Rip apart your awful project and how did such a disaster happen?Jessica, you have no idea what you're doing when it comes to a lot of things, and acting is one of them. I had no idea of where to focus, my eyes were like a rabid rabbits. My palms were sweaty and I went to fast compared to the pace that I had found comfortable. Also, no matter what I say, I played it safe with the script in my opinion. It was like a bunch of stuff that I'd written before in different mediums, mainly poetry. Also, I'd like to think that I'm open about pretty much everything if you ask politely, but a new issue has come up in my writing that I'm becoming more and more frightened of to the point where I'm deliberately trying to take out it's references from my writing and it sucks because it's such a big part of my life and it's really impossible to take it all out but I'm honestly scared enough of it to run. I shouldn't feel like I have to run from things in my own writing. So what? People hear something in what you write and perceive it a certain way? Usually that doesn't bother me, but I don't know. This topic irks me. I don't even really want to talk about it but it's affecting me to the point where I feel like it's effing up my writing and so it at least has to be covered, at least vaguely.

7) You've completed a step on your path. What is your next step?I'm at a bit of a crossroads, I don't know if I should take a closer look at writing scripts for films or performance poetry. They're quite different things, and I'm really interested in both, but for completely different reasons. I started reading scripts for films over the summer after watching the movies and I really fell in love with the Social Network script (after first seeing it over and year ago and it's progression into being in my top ten favorite movies) and how it exported into the visual medium. I'm really starting to crave reading scripts, after seeing movies and tv shows I just want to get my hands on them and sink my teeth in. The movies I saw this summer just really inspired this spark in me. I was also pretty terrible at movie scripts last year, so it'd be quite nice to improve. With Slam Poetry, it's just something I thoroughly enjoy. I've taken to reading Dickinson and Siken out loud in my spare time, when I have no real commitments, and it's very soothing and therapeutic to get my buzzing emotions out of my system or to at least acknowledge them.

Final Intention Statement in the Medium of Acrylic Nails

My final product is a jumbled yet coherent bundle of me. Scratch that, it's probably most coherent to me. But to put out good work, I'm going to need to start being aware of my issues or else I'm not actively writing something, I'd just be running blind.
Last year, I started scratching the surface of my artistic issues, and Guilt is a big thing. As I was writing this, I realized how really deep these issues truly lie. To be honest, I don't scrutinize things as much as I probably should. I say I like something based on first instinct rather than with facts that back it up. Now I'm learning why I like things and why I do things and why I learn things the way that I do and it's much more interesting than I thought it would be.
I like a majority of the music I like because of complex lyrics. About two to three years ago, I wanted to be a lyricist. I also feel like the music I listen to deeply impacts my writing, it's style, and my tone of voice. Not only that, it inspires a lot of it as well. While feeling and writing this project (in that order) I was constantly listening to the mixtapes I've made for people (I'm a personal gift type of person) in the last few months coupled with some of the stuff I've recently discovered. I've mentioned a couple of the pieces in my last few blog posts, and I think they really show who I am as a person while my monologue shows quite a bit of what the songs are and so on and so forth. In the same token, Poetry and Slam Poetry in General have really influenced this as well. Sierra DeMulder is my personal favorite poet and slam poet, and I've recently discovered Richard Siken, whose book 'Crush' won the 2004 Yale Younger Poets Prize is absolutely stunning and I need to own a copy pronto. I've also gotten into Emily Dickinson this summer (this could be construed as lame and generic) and during an hour and a half wait at this place where they take blood which could be considered the equivalent of swimming under Satan's tongue, absorbing his putrid breath, I started reading aloud a bunch of Dickinson works in the corner. Sitting on the floor. Half of my body under a fake plant. This has now travelled into some strange territory. What I mean to say, is that these little quirky things I do make me who I am and make my works what they are and make me cranky on tuesdays.
And I love that. I love that I'm becoming myself.
So whatever you may take from my 'little thing' tomorrow, please realize that all I want you to know is that I'm still finding myself and what that even means anymore when everything and everyone is so clean cut and sanitary and freaking annoying.

"So I Shed My Clothes, Shed My Flesh, Down to the Bone, and Burned the Rest"

I have spent my sick day practicing, blowing my nose, sleeping, finishing a season on netflix, and listening to Things by Frightened Rabbits about fifteen times today in all. I just can't seem to get it out of my head.

I have the script down pat. In my head. Memorized.
But now I'm scared that I'll mess up under the pressure.
There's a reason I write, kiddos.
Nevertheless, I'm trying not to think like that.
And that's what this song is helping me do.
Everytime I get a little overwhelmed I just turn it on and by the time the chorus comes on I'm in back to my normally strange self.

This whole week has been unreal at most mildly uncomfortable at least. I've learned that I'm not as incapable as I thought, which is nice, but I don't know how long this feeling will hold up. Probably not too spectacularly long, seeing as I'm a massive toddler bound up in a teenager's body who has the maternal instincts of a lioness.

On that note, stay tuned for a formaldehyde-laced cocktail of a final intention statement.

As a White American, I felt Personally Victimized by us bombing Hiroshima.

Time to Post, isn't it?

Well, I'm feeling a bit stuck in an emotional sense.
I'm doing something I've never done before,
and I'm a little on edge.

I started word vomiting on this decrepid keyboard earlier, just letting go of all of my insecurities and worries and borderline self-disgust. I needed that. I recommend it.
Letting it all go just... It makes you take a hard look at what you're saying and see what's true and what's not. And a lot of it wasn't true. Sure, some of it hit hard and really hurt, but that stuff was true and I can't change it in the past, I can only get better.

And now it's all about doing the best I can to memorize it. I keep reading it over and over again, feeling it and letting it out and I'm starting to feel more and more conscious of what it's really about, for me. And it's scary but it's true.
Very personal for me, but I'm letting go of something important, something that has become integral to who I've become that I just can't seem to shake. Something that's hurting me and I let it, willingly. Something that has made me into a masochist because it taught me to thrive under emotional distress. It makes me unbelievably happy, but it's slowly killing me. And I don't know what I'm saying anymore.
I guess I just need to let this all out.
Somewhere.
But I hope you all sleep well,
and that you learn to love the stars such that you are no longer fearful of the night.

I'm known for being Reasonable and Circumcised - and other one liners I don't regret writing

My monologue is turning more and more into a poetic peice. It might be that I feel more comfortable performing poetry than 'acting', although my brain doesn't see much of a difference. Not that I feel comfortable performing in general, but breaking barriers is all about not giving yourself a heart attack when you see what's behind the brick wall.
I keep thinking of the piece Ilana put up last year. I really really really loved it. The flow, the multiple views of possible perception of... Everything.
I also tend to listen to music that I find lyrically brilliant, or that just have this poetic feel. With this piece, I've been listening to...

Justin Nozuka - Don't Listen To A Word You've Heard

 

Now, Now - Wolf

 

...and

http://vimeo.com/20529257

The Knife - Pass This On

Which apparently Youtube doesn't find important enough to have in it's immense Library.

 

 

In other news, I love the way I've ended things so far. I think I'm done. I'm excited.

But now the hard part.

Do I do it with or without the script?

I probably shouldn't.

I'm 82% sure that I shouldn't.

BUT WHAT IF I MESSED UP MY OWN SCRIPT.

I would never let myself live it down.

This is where the inner conflict comes in.

I don't want to let myself down.

Jessica, shut up.

Okay.

 

Here's the script...

MADISON is sitting with her legs crossed and a tapping a pen to a thick packet of paper. It taps louder and more violently until she throws down the pen and looks up. Her angered reaction quickly switches to embarrassment and then comfort.

Madison

I... I'm so sorry. But ya know? People can be such shits.

She picks up the pen and runs her thumb along the impressed copyright.

MADISON

I mean, people have feelings, right? Not physical, I know if I punched a guy's butt he'd be in thorough pain... Or intrigued. Not the point. I'm talking emotions.
People feel things, they say they love something and they mean it?
Does that exist anymore?

You know what? I miss that.

MADISON uncrosses her legs and leans forward.

MADISON

And you know something else? I'm starting to care less and less. Everyday, I see it and I do nothing and it's become normal.

A beat.

MADISON

It's not normal.

She sits straighter.

MADISON

But who am I to complain? Really? I'm only part of the problem, and it can be a terrible way to think of yourself, but here's the best part. It's true.
It's true and I'm not denying shit.

But I was here. And that's all I can do. So all I can say is...
Remember me.
Remember me when you think about the sun and why it goes away, remember me when you think about faith and how I always said, "God isn't a being, it's a feeling."

She looks down. A Pause.

MADISON

Remember me when Mom says I never happened.
That I was a mistake.
Remember me when you're alone and no one can see what you're thinking, splayed across your pretty little goddamn face.
I'll be out of here. And I'm so sorry.

She looks up and as she speaks, she slowly stands.

MADISON

Love me. Love me more. Do it together. Say it out loud.
I'm so sorry.

Day One! Let's sit and talk and have feelings.

So, I started writing a monologue today. And I've realized a few little quirks I have.
I can't go on for paragraphs upon eternities without little stage directions breaking it up. It looks so big and scary all put together that I have to split it up.
Also, I've gotten a bit of passive agressive angst in here, which I wasn't expecting.
This girl, she's upset for some reason that I'm still throwing ideas around for and she goes into this 'rant' (I don't read it as bratty in nature, but it could be perceived that way) about how she doesn't know if people feel things anymore (the italics are completely justified, thankyouverymuch.)
I feel like I throw this idea around in my head so much that I'm almost desensitized to it and I just need to get it all out.
I don't know.
Maybe I just need to get this out before I can put something proper out. Maybe I'll use it. Most likely, it'll go through quite a bit of editing anyways. Any ideas? I feel like I didn't bounce enough off of my community today and that I would have benefitted from it.
I need to clear my head. I can't get stuck on myself. Someone kick me in the shins actually don't that would be painful and I would react by reciprocating. Violence is only ever sometimes almost maybe the answer during a full moon.

Hello Friend, Please Hold Me

It is pretty well known that my self-diagnosed worst character trait is self-doubt.
And I hate that I need constant reassurance, but I do. And I know that it won't always be there, but I can't help freak out when I think something of mine isn't 'good enough' whatever that means.
I guess it could be considered perfectionism, but it isn't, I swear. Mostly because I don't believe what we have been taught to perceive as perfection exists, but oh well. I can't really proactively do anything about it. Or maybe I can. Someone Hold Me. Or not, if that makes you uncomfortable. I just want you to be content.

Ah! Another issue that has come up recently! I suddenly have this extreme maternal instinct to make sure everyone is okay and happy and all of that fluff. I'm not used to this. I'm so used to self-preservation that putting everyone in front of my own needs feels right but wierd but right. I think it started in December. Has enough time passed to go to a self-help class for it? Maybe it'll come in handy on a STAC trip or something equally as helpful with protectiveness.

Also, listen to Royal Teeth's Act Naturally - EP. Shh, just go with it.
I really fracking like it, if I do say so myself.
Or you could listen to Black Treacle by the Arctic Monkeys.
Which is lovely as well.
Let's dance together. Even though I cannot dance for the life of me.

And now.... off to write an intention statement!

Don't Blame Me for the Inconvenience, if there is One.

• 1. What is the first creative moment you remember?
• When I was quite young, my older cousins who are about my age used to babysit me, and my siblings. And I just remember having this idea in my head, and want to tell this story. You know when you're little and you come up with these completely stolen stories? Well it happened to me quite often. I stole everything. I stole lines from the Cosby Show. So I wanted to tell a story that was basically Goldilocks. I don't even like Goldilocks.
  The bigger part of the story is that I couldn't write yet. So I had this piece of paper, scribbled all over, and was pretending I knew what it said. As if I could actually read this gibberish when I hadn't even learned to read or write yet. But I digress.
• 2. Was anyone there to witness or appreciate it?
• My cousins, who tried to be patient and supportive but most likely just wanted me to shut my mouth. My self consciousness probably has roots in this instance as well, actually.
• 3. What is the best idea you’ve ever had?
• My great ideas tend to be borderline unbelievably ridiculous or stupid, but this is my favorite. I basically want to have a line of pillows that are a mix with blow up dolls, with faces and bodies printed on them, because body pillows are all ready ridiculous so why not expand on that? A Mila Kunis body pillow. A (terrifying) David Hasselhoff body pillow.
• 4. What made it great in your mind?
• The fact that people would buy it. People would give someone money for a body pillow with a famous person, or even themself on it. People seek comfort in the strangest places. And that fascinates me and I would love to 'exploit' it.
• 5. What is the dumbest idea?
• I could just restate, but I am very good at being dumb. Let's go through my iPod notes. I once wondered whether dogs could get abortions. I googled it. They can. But let's see. In the past 24 hours, and I think this is the most ridiculous thing I've thought of in a while, I thought I wanted to make a bad Spy Kids Movie.
• 6. What made it stupid?
• Well, all Spy Kids movies are pretty terrible, but it's so bad that I can't help but laughing. And that's why I'd want to do it, but it is just such a phenomenally terrible idea that I might have to write the script to save for a rainy day.
• 7. Can you connect the dots that led you to this idea?
• Alexa likes to fall asleep with the tv on, so I end up watching bad tv until she's in her deep bear slumber. So for some reason Disney Channel was on, and I was too lazy to grab the remote, but just hearing some of this masterful screenwriting got me thinking about how someone okay'd this. One person wrote this, an entirely different person accepted it, and then actors went along with it. Movies are more than one person, and seeing something so well financed being so wasted is remarkable. Writing it would take one day, having only mediocre plotline and humorous at best dialogue. I feel like I could do it, and do it better, even though the only redeeming quality is the irony that it's a movie. And I'm in High School. I don't know how to feel about it.

5:36 AM Idea

So, instead of sleeping like a normal person, I spent maybe twenty or so minutes last night going through this idea, and I thought why not post it. There are little flaws and it was quickly written through sleep deprivation, but I still like it in the morning so I suppose it's bloggable.

I met her on June 21st, the summer solstice. She had long legs and a freckled nose that I wanted to kiss but didn't because I was a scared, bumbling idiot. She said her name was Hannah even though it wasn't and I knew but I called her Hannah nonetheless. She slept on my couch for seven weeks during what she proclaimed to be her journey to find herself. She had stopped in six cities so far, and Milwaukee was where she had found me. I had cropped my hair, dyed it light auburn and wore stud earring because I thought it made me look tough, but it actually made me look 'butch'. She got off of a greyhound bus with a backpack, applying black cherry lip balm, and looked straight at me from across an iHop parking lot and thoroughly informed me so. You know, she was the first person to tell me what I knew, to not lie and say I looked fine but to tell the truth. That's the first thing I liked about her.
The second thing was when she told me she liked me in the dark while we overloaded the couch with our useless bodies, watching bad soap opera reruns while she smoked a cigarette while looking like the gawkiest person I had ever seen smoke a cigarette and seem to enjoy it. And I lived in Portland for three months.
Now, I'm going to cut the crap. I fell in love with her. I watched her walk out the door after seven weeks and I loved her still. I loved her when she greeted my dog with a robot voice and when she decided the couch wasn't comfortable enough so I woke up every morning with her curled up at my side and when she said to never tell anyone when she made me tea and kissed me on the mouth. I loved her when I knew she was leaving and I thought it was my fault and she took my face in her hands and told me it could never be. I loved her when she got angry that the wifi wasn't fast enough and when she got back on that greyhound bus. I was deluded into thinking I'd see her again. I thought I knew her. You know, the type of girl, the chameleon who can walk into anyone's life and relate to them on the deepest level, and yet never know who they themselves really are. She said nobody knew her. Nobody at all. And when she took that first step onto the bus, I could barely breath with this grip on my chest telling me it was the end. And I finally saw it. And then she was gone. And now she's gone forever. Her casket is underground while I still struggle to swim through the air.
AND IT'S MY FAULT
I LET IT HAPPEN
You can't uproot this type of guilt when it's this deep seeded, so buried in my core that I can no longer reach inside myself and tell it from what it has intertwined with.
Am I wrong to hate myself for her mistakes? I should have protected her. I never promised I would protect her, no one audibly expected me to.
But when you grow with a child from a sapling to an oak soothing the sky, your roots reach for each other and intertwine, indistinguishable, like my guilt in the summertime. When I remember the way that her face smoothed while she moved barefoot across the shag carpet. And when she told me I was the lucky one when she ran, and that she would be the one stuck with her faults, not me.
I got the news on the autumnal equinox that she had fallen in love in with a trucker in Tennessee who gave her the keys and led her right off a cliff. Maybe she ended up finding herself, in the end, but the Summer of Hannah will stick with me when my own journey gets too chilly or when I board a Greyhound Bus in June to figure out if I ever meant anything at all.

The Average School Year is just a sequence of days, repeated with minor inconsistencies.

All of the sudden I'm having a strange relationship with change.
I guess I've always had it, but it has come to more of a forefront fairly recently.
Don't get me wrong, I can deal with change just fine. I get through my stages of grief and learn to live anew. But now  I feel like so much is changing around me and that it has been happening, gradually, for so long, but that I'm only realizing it now.
I guess there were early signs that something like this could happen. When people ask me how old I am, I still answer twelve or thirteen.
I'm fifteen now, and I need to start acting like it.
I don't know what it's going to be like, being a sophmore. Lex is going to be a Freshman, Ellen's going to be a Junior, and Megan's going to be a Senior. And it blows my mind.
Sometimes I feel like I'm one of the posters on my walls, or what people assume I mean when I put them on my walls. I don't feel watched, I feel like they're something to watch. They're looking to get looked at, passive-aggressively. My sister used to have these porcelain dolls scattered throughout our room, and my friends used to find it creepy. But you almost feel taken care of, like someone's watching you, protectively. I need someone to take care of me, no matter how immature that sounds. But I know my needs and I find it important to make them known. I don't need someone to look after me, but I need someone who will at least look at me.
My parents aren't the most protective people, and I guess that's what a lot of kids dream of. Parents who will let them go out and trust them and not call every hour on the hour. But sometimes it's nice to get a text and know that someone is interested.
Wow, that was a tangent.
But Change. Back to Change.
I don't know what it's supposed to mean, to go up a grade or get a better grade or get a medal. I guess it's a sign of improvement.
But, improvement is gradual, personal. And personally, I find it hard to chart.
Seniors are leaving. Everything is going to change. And they're going to be expected to be upstanding citizens, College Freshman. God Save the Queen.
Somehow, in about three months, almost everyone in my grade is going to be expected to be a 'Sophmore'. Whatever that means. But I don't see it that way.
In three months, I'm still going to be Jessica. This girl with a bitchy name who writes scripts and attempts to connect with people through self-ridicule. I will still prefer the nighttime and hate the horrible lives of penguins and wish everyone would recycle more. I'm going to be 16 next year, March 2013. But I'm still going to have the same bones, the same blood type, the same DNA.
Because what am I, if not Human?

Living in the Lion's Den

In summary, Ellen was such a godsend yesterday. There. My blogpost is done. You can go.


The following sounds extremely rushed, impotent, and cretinous. I apologize in advance.

Yesterday, Ellen and I switched projects for the last period of class, and it was one of my favorite parts of this project so far. I needed to change gears in order to get some ideas for this project.
So, I wrote some poetry about Enneagram Type One while Ellen worked on one of my Plays, gingerly titled 'Untitled: The 5th Swarming Edition of Wasps in the Zoo '. It's a pretty ridiculous piece, but it has a special place in my heart. Anyways, I ended up getting stuck. You know, once you accuse someone of coming from an unplanned pregnancy and her father of having a secret stash of Charlie Brown Specials, you know you have to take a time out.
So, Ellen and I switched. And it was exactly what I needed.
I've actually never been into rhyming poetry, I find that it tends to be repetitive and boring. At least when I write it. But Ellen's project was Songwriting so goddamnit I was going to rhyme. Even if it (most likely) killed me. And I actually had fun. It was more structured than I've been doing for the past couple of weeks (which was basically me writing poetry about why I was having a block with writing poetry). And Ellen was flashingly fabulous.
She gave me an entire scene that I just couldn't seem to write but it's perfect.

Schuyler and Mom stand together while Laurel sits down in front of a lion exhibit. Schuyler points behind Laurel.

SCHUYLER

Hey, look at that lion!

LAUREL

I don't care.

SCHUYLER

No look, it's clawing at Laurel's head! And it keeps opening its mouth...

MOM

Sweetie you might want to move away from that glass.

LAUREL

What are you-AHHHHHHHH!

SCHUYLER

Haha.

LAUREL

Be quiet Schuyler. You want me to repeat the story of the time the snake-

Behind them, a young boy approaches.

LAUREL

And a really fascinating fact about the lion is that it actually lives in the grasslands, not the jungle as many believe.

SCHUYLER

Yes, because I can't see the obvious informational blurb.

MOM

Shut up Schuyler, your sister is just being nice because a cute guy walked by.

GUY

What?

LAUREL

MOM!

MOM

Let me introduce you to my daughter Laurel. She is truly one of the most unbearable people in the universe and I think that you two will get along quite well.

LAUREL

I hate you for all eternity.

MOM

She's just oozing with charisma.

GUY

Umm, alright.

A girl appears from behind him and they hold arms.

GUY

Nice to meet you, and never speak to me again.

The couple walks off

MOM

Well, I tried.

I've cleaned it up from this version since yesterday, but it is still basically the same and I love it and I couldn't have done it without her. Kudos.

I'm not crying, I just got mauled by a Nuclear Missile is all.

I don't like thinking about myself. I feel like a pompous jackass when I do. I feel like other people are more important than myself and therefore I am more invested in other people's well-beings than my own.

This needs to stop.

I have to care about myself, right? I should be more focused about my wants and needs than those of others that I have never met and probably never will. This is why I can't watch game shows.
I get so invested in these people coming back every week with the real chance that they will be voted off at any moment. I don't understand how others just look at these people on the screen and don't acknowledge or realize that those are real people, that whatever chance they're taking in that moment could make or break their life/career/etcetera.

I need to find a middle ground. One where I can seriously commit to my own well being while still caring deeply for everyone around me. I feel like a goddamn mother hen sometimes, while at the same time, her baby chick. Sometimes I really hate being a Six.

In other news, I'm absolutely petrified of talking about my work on Friday. Don't be surprised if I'm not in school because of being hospitalized for stress ulcers which at this point, I am 76% positive I have or will have at some point in my life.

It's not only the fact that I stumble over my words and have almost crippling social anxiety, it's that I just restarted one of the plays today because I realized that I can't write zombie apocalypse plays without ripping my hair out, so now the main character has cotard's delusion and that's all I'm going to say on that matter. And I might go back to my original idea because I still have too much hair on my head and it was pretty cool to write, albeit quite hard. It has also made me realize that I have a strange obsession with mental disease. And serial killers. But that can be saved for another blog post, because that is such a tangent that I cannot justify including in this.

My Second Day in Captivity

So, along with having started my first script which is coming along nicely albeit a bit slower than usual (I'm going to really have to get into gear tomorrow). I've been doing a bit of googling (which is now a thing/verb) about mental disorders. I didn't expect wanting to incorporate that in, but it's becoming more and more apparent as I think about what I want to write that it's going to creep in anyways.
I've always been fascinated with disorders and abnormalities, so really researching it and going in deep is fun.
I ended up finding this thing called Brain Fog, which I think I actually have. It's a really interesting idea which isn't even a scientifically proven disorder, but it fits a lot of what I do.

What Am I Even Doing?

This quarter, I'm going to be pushing myself. I just don't know in which direction.
So far, I've decided I  want to write 4 one act plays based on  two songs each that I have picked out. I don't have anyone to act, and at this point I'm not even sure I would want them acted, really. Right now, I'm outlining them all in an actual word document which I honestly have never even had time for. Luke usually gave us what we were doing and just had to write, and now I have the freedom to write whatever I want. The first play I'm going to be working will be based on/inspired by Broadripple is Burning by Margot and the Nuclear So-So's and I Am Disappeared by Frank Turner. It's a wierd combination, but I think I like it.

Definitely Long, Maybe Interesting - My Individual Written

Individual Written: Writing Intensive

The intensive was, for me, a very important milestone. It jump started a flow that had not yet been fiddled with and revealed a hidden interest in playwriting. Before the intensive even started, we had to send Luke scripts of what we wanted to do, and, well, I fell deeply and undeservedly in love with mine. Now that I look back, I see that it wasn’t as great as it seemed in the moment. But I still love it.

Luke emailed me back with an added scene, and I immediately got frightened. This would lead to an extended period where if I got an email from Luke, I wouldn’t look at it for an hour or so until I finished an entire episode of Law and Order: SVU just to calm myself before the storm, which never actually came. I finished the added scene like he asked (I still haven’t emailed the script back first out of pure forgetfulness and then out of the fact that it seemed like he didn’t want it anymore.) and when I got to school the next day, he explained the scene he added because I had been clueless in the meaning behind it. Without my exact knowledge, I had written mini-play which was unbelievably angry. Not at anyone in particular, but it had a sense of pessimism and anger at the world. I read it again. I saw it. The scene he added where I was a boxer getting coached by midgets and fought in a ring alone where he (“taller than usual, skinnier and more muscular than usual.” His words, not mine.) comes in, beats me up for totally understandable reasons and then cuts off my gloves and has a seemingly meaningful talk with me, suddenly made more sense than ever. I had to stop fighting everything around me. It also made me realize that I had made up this Luke character in my head while the real Luke couldn’t have been more different. And there were more characters in my head. Years of watching shoddy television programs had shown me all types of people, and putting my own spin on them only made it an even more positive experience for me. And I loved it. And then intensives began.

The first day when we had timed script writing while artists had timed portraits and photographers got tied to a door to take pictures, was probably the hardest day for me. We had to write scripts. In under five minutes or so. Sometimes, it took me fifteen minutes to come up with a retort in normal, flowing writing. I felt it was absolutely impossible. My breathing got a little funny. And then I did it. I wrote a mini-script. And then we wrote another. And then we took someone else’s and rewrote theirs. It gave me the idea that it didn't have to be absolutely perfect, it just had to get done. And sometimes that's the exact slap in the face that you need. And that, my dears, is just the beginning.

The first day of actual intensives, we had to write three scripts. A six-page, a three-page, and a one-page, and they had to center around the latest fight you’d had with someone. This ended up becoming difficult for me because I didn’t want to tell the truth. I didn’t want to be the problem and I didn’t want it to sound all, “Oh, woe is me!” I had to get over myself. Sure, I then had to shrink my scripts which is definitely uncomfortable when you’re trying to make it sound like what actually happened, but, then again, it was necessary. We had to find the root of the problem and see it straight on. Oh, but then, the next day, we had to write apologies. One direct, one indirect, and then fuse your favorite into your original favorite fight scene. I originally thought that I would prefer the indirect, but ended up choosing my direct apology to fuse. It was more fun and less beat around the bush, which I then realized was harder for me to write. Maybe it's the loss of theatricality. Maybe I thrive on exploding personalities.

When we started our first and only screenplay, I found out that I was really incompatible with writing screenplays. I was unfamiliar with shots and where to put things and, my goodness it was atrocious. The dialogue was good in my opinion, not perfect, but still. I was proud to have tried my hand at it. The thing is, Luke couldn’t just teach us how to write these things. It was mostly trial and error. And if we did something really bad, we got a cheat sheet of sorts, like a sample of how a screenplay is actually written and notes on where what goes, like time of day and what type of shot. Luke was there to help, sure, and he did (loads of help, actually) but it was more important to learn yourself than to have him put us through baby steps. Because, if this is what someone Really wants to do then you have to be able to do it and not get coddled incessantly.

Oh, and monologues! I hated writing them, but I love reading them back. Madeline and her Dog, my first out of the four written, is especially close to my heart. Although I have never been the victim of abuse or really seen it first hand, I did have a dog when I was little that I loved with all my heart, and he bit people and my parents had to give him back to the shelter. But of course, my creative side turned it into this dark soap opera of abuse and bum-biting shenanigans. The best thing I can say about this is that monologues can be really difficult to work with. You don’t want to bore people, and you don’t want to get out of hand, so you have to find this middle ground that is both entertaining and moderately-sane. Crazy monologues may seem fun, but, they have their challenging bits as well.

But do you know what was the hardest thing for me to comprehend while playwriting? That people would act it. Because, for me personally, I could see it all as it went through my head and that may seem all fine and dandy, but people surprise you. And people act differently in your mind than they do in real life. So, when we had to write scripts with certain actors in mind for the parts, it was hard. Because with people in mind, they weren’t just characters in my head. These had faces to them. And I couldn’t just write words for them to say and then I became weirdly self-conscious of whatever I wrote because it was a reflection of me, not them. That was another thing that I had to get over, being self-conscious of what I wrote. Especially when you have it stuck in your mind that this WILL get performed, it begins to lose some of its value in my mind. Over all, it ended up being quite strange and very much more of an inflection on my life than I intended while writing it, but hey, when it doubt, write what you know.

Then came Pinter Scripts, which were extremely hard because they had to be very indirect which I had not improved on since my first stab at it in the apologies. Looking back, I might have even dug my heels in because I had already thought I was bad at it and instead of trying to improve, which was the entire point of intensives, I was a big baby and I regret it because I look back at the scripts now and although they aren’t perfect, they aren’t the worst thing on the planet. The big thing with the Pinter Scripts was the imitation factor. Pinter used pauses and beating around the bush and frankly, even though I felt uncomfortable, it shows me that I have to get off my high horse and just knock stuff out. Or else, what's the point?

And lastly in the Script-writing came the ‘Contest’ pieces. We each got a song (I got ‘This Night Has Opened My Eyes’ by The Smiths, an absolutely gorgeous song and Morrissey is so important to me personally that it was exciting just to get.) and had to write a seven to ten minute script using three to five characters and get it emailed by midnight, which was the case with almost all of the scripts written. I read through the lyrics a bunch, listened to the song over twenty times in my opinion, and wrote a play where a man gets a brain tumor (okay not weird at all), has it removed, it comes back (bad luck but still not too weird), his wife gets pregnant (good for them) and… He drives them off a bridge and into a river in early March where they drown and he dies laughing. Later, I found out the song was about abortion. Now, I’m kind of glad I didn’t learn the true meaning of the lyrics until after it was all written because it’s more important to make your own connection and opinions about things than to just go along with whatever it is, even though you might write crazy homicidal plays. It’s all about the adventure.

Now, I’m not going to lie and say that I’m now an amazing playwright and that I am a good example to follow, because I am most certainly not. What I will say is that I now feel more comfortable with it and also, I feel like I am much better than where I started from with cornfields and false assumptions. But it’s also taught me that no matter how much I watch people and how they act and pretend that it’s giving me more inspiration to see how people interact, I need to stop watching and start doing. Because no matter how long I watch, I won’t get the perfect experience until I actually GET first-hand experience. So, I think it’s time for a more outgoing Jessica. One who doesn’t freeze in front of large crowds and instead feels comfortable with those around her because I need to find somewhere comfortable now that my mind has been outed as a pretty crazy place to get stuck in.

Insert Title Here

So, I have two drafts that I don't seem to like that much anymore, so I'll just sum those up in this along with other new developments.

So, first off, my Nana is a Leap Year Baby. And on her 'birthday party' a couple of weeks ago, I got into an argument with my brother about personal beliefs and the role of parents. I happen to be of the opinion that as you get older, you shouldn't believe in something just because your parents do, but because you can look into yourself and say that it is what you truly believe in. My brother, bless his heart, believes everything my Dad says. No questions asked. Now, the reason I've gotten closer to my Dad in the past year (I kind of hated him for the longest time for a real reason, not teenage girl problems.) is because we can have educated disagreements without holding grudges about the issues. I don't agree with my Dad about a Plethora of things, but we both agree that it's healthier that way. My brother doesn't see that, I guess. I can just hope the kid learns with age.

Second, my birthday is on the 29th. And I kind of don't give a shit. But I'm upset that I don't care. I wish I cared. And then I went off on a tangent.

And recently, the weather has changed my mood. I no longer want to listen to the same music. All of the sudden I'm listening to music I was listening to a year ago. I prefer music with thoughtful lyrics no matter what, but right now I'm into more upbeat music with a full band and maybe a trumpet than a kid with an acoustic guitar and shy voice. But it might be temporary. I do still love my Bright Eyes and Sufjan Stevens, but now we're adding my Belle & Sebastian, You Me At Six, The Killers etc.
Night, guys.

My Alien Fetus that Has Progressed to a Deformed Infant

Otherwise known as Day III of WRITINGWRITINGREVISING

So, the best way to put it was that I wanted to leave the room the entire time. Seeing it performed and perceived that way makes my shoulders cringe even thinking about it.
In my head, even now, it sounds right and I can see it happening in my head, but I've found it's hard to convey that in the text. Hopefully that'll get better with practice.

I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that it looks so right in my head. Is it wrong, should I have lower expectations, especially in a cold read? Or is it right, and I'm just overthinking it? 'Is it me or is it them?' was one of the main things on my mind, sitting there.

I also feel like I'm not revising ENOUGH. Overthinking again, I think, but I could be wrong. Or I could be right. Or I could be wrong. So what?

Day Two of writingwritingwriting

Today I think was definitely easier than yesterday, just because it seems easier to incorporate things I've already written into the overall finished product.

Writing the apology seemed easier than it actually was, though. We don't exactly 'apologize' in my house. When you try to apologize, the other person tends to stay a little angry no matter what. You can forgive mostly, but you can never forget. And we can't forget how angry what the other person did made us. Every time we fight it just builds up and reeks of subtext, so I had to make things more open without being corny. We all hold things against each other, so I had to find a way that seemed like it could happen while still trying to abide by the 'rules'.

There's not a lot I want to say about this whole project that I didn't cover yesterday, to be honest. Sitting next to Emily while working and having her look over and make comment snippets really helped me keep going. I thought I would like writing the indirect apology more, but I ended up dragging through it and that was ridiculously annoying.

This is such a boring blog post. But today was just very monotone for me. It was easy enough to get done and in the end I just want to get over it and not have to read it again because every time I do my eyes tear up and I get pissed. Maybe that's why I don't want to talk about it. But I'm not certain.

Day One of writingwritingwriting

Blog Post Time!

So I had do deal with a lot of frustration today, which is a first, let me tell you. It was definitely frustrating because my writing tends to be 'angry/angsty' in nature, but in a sarcastic and not outright Fighting tone. So having to write a fight, and one that has ACTUALLY happened, multiple times because I never learn, was really.... I hate talking about fighting with my family, and the fight I wrote about ended up being very superficial almost because I am constantly fighting with my family over the same things. I don't want to talk about some of the things we fight about that maybe would have been for 'entertaining', but I'd be too embarrassed or scared to turn in.

I wanted to start banging my head against something whenever I'd feel as though I'd been getting even slightly offtrack. And I felt like I wasn't going fast enough. I would look at the clock on my laptop and cringe a little. Pounding things out when I felt like I wasn't saying things right was something that I found that I really need to work to get over. When I'm writing, I always want to say the exact right thing (and Luke, that's EXACTLY why I STILL haven't sent you my original script back yet! It's so hard to put my exact feelings to words that I am almost disappointed that I haven't been able to!) So I'll be working on that this week.

I hated but understood the one page script (we had to sum it up and that's important to be able to do in writing, but I love my descriptive nature no matter how boring it can be sometimes, it's part of my voice), found the three page to be probably the easiest, and the six page to be gruelingly long and pulled out in the end. Overall, it felt nice to turn my brain off at times, but thinking ended up biting me in the bum because trying to write in the voice of other people sometimes makes me stop and go 'Would they REALLY say that?' and gets nothing done.

Expressionism

Taking from everything we've seen today and my comprehension of it, I feel like Expressionism is all about putting yourself on display or taking all the feeling and thoughts and beliefs that you hold inside and letting it show in the most straightforward way possible with it still having meaning. With Butoh, it was spirituality and you easily could see that, but it pulled at you and the pace and movement of it all really made me personally feel connected to it. I think that the biggest thing that stood out to me from the Butoh was when the four people were surrounding the circle of what seemed to be stars and it reminded me of how science and spirituality used to be so intertwined in mainstream culture and that got me into how it really connected to me on a person level.

And then there was the Opera. Oh dear, the Opera! I loved it, and although it is harder to connect straight to the little definition I gave in the beginning... I don't know how to say this correctly, but it just is. It just is Expressionist. I mean sure, I could go into detail about how with what I saw in Wozzeck and Lulu that it isn't how Luke has explained acting to us, it's acting with your heart and not so much your mind. In 'real life', is he going to kill Marie? I imagine not. If he did he would go crazy and I guess that would be that logical thing, but the entire Opera section of expressionism didn't seem to me like it had so much to do with logic and calculation as it had to do with quick decisions (although they did take forever to do them) and speaking exactly what is on your heart or mind and that's all I really want to get into on that.

Sidenote though, I love how Horror movies are related in this because while they can be... oh what's the best word for this?... adorably ridiculous (?) (don't drink the milk!) when they are done nicely you can get attatched and even though you know it is completely irrational you are still connected to it and it brings up fears, like death, which seems to be a main focus of these movies. Death is a big thought on everyone's minds (which might just be a side effect of dying, ourselves) so to make it so forefront and accessible and still meaningful can be beautiful just to think about, just putting that out there.

What else was there? There was Mary Wigman (who I went back and watched the video of her again because it creeps me out so much and I love it) and the poetry (my goodness I am just speechless about it, because whatever I say cannot do it the justice of just reading it over and over again like I have would do) and the Scream! I had a feeling once Luke started talking about van Gogh that Munch and his 'the Scream' would fall under the category, and him saying it did was a 'Phew, I think I know what is going on then' reassurance moment for me.