Write in “American Typewriter” font, become Hemingway.
I once saw a homeless man,
wearing a Hawaiian shirt,
and when I asked him
if he’d ever been,
he just frowned and walked away.
I once saw a homeless man
wearing Nantucket red shorts,
and thought better of myself.
There’s something sincere,
About a beautiful girl,
With nothing to hide,
Raw and alive, filled with doubts
It’s much like a sunset,
That turns’way from itself,
Humble and shy,
Counting down the seconds,
‘Til the gloaming arrives.
Oh my dear, look at you cry,
All dolled up, your makeup’s run
I’d pick up the pieces,
But you’re not falling apart.
The Q Line Waltz
There’s no music or melody,
No harmonies to hum along to,
Just the purr of a car,
Riding along on its tracks
Standing, swaying,
intertwined and at ease,
we let the weight of our bodies,
carry us along,
And as you rest yourself against me,
I stand strong to hold us both,
To keep us balanced and afloat,
While we dance this slow song alone.
Truer words have never been spoken. When I first made my decision to go full on into doing something film/writing related with the rest of my life, I was terrified. Just thinking about all the incredible and brilliant people out there creating wonderful art, had me pretty overwhelmed and intimidated. I thought that as time goes on, the well will eventually run dry and it’ll just become harder to create material that is new and refreshing. Then I read this quote, and it made me realize: as time goes on, filmmakers are just going to continue to become more complex amalgamations of their favorite artists that have come before them. Instead of the well running dry, art/film/writing will just become more refined as we “steal” from each other and combine what has already been combined before. This idea makes me excited to see what I will be able to create, “stealing” from the artists and filmmakers and writers I love most.
I loved to take her hair down and she sat on the bed and kept very still, except suddenly she would dip down to kiss me while I was doing it, and I would take out the pins and lay them on the sheet and it would be loose and I would watch her while she kept very still and then take out the last two pins and it would all come down and she would drop her head and we would both be inside of it, and it was the feeling of inside a tent or behind a falls.
“
| — | Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms |
