I just spent the past 3 hours editing my friend's 4 year old short film. But I'm actually able to just sit down and willfully edit it while obsessing just enough over each shot to get it just right.
Mental note for future films, Sigur Ros should always be considered for a soundtrack.
Gus, if you're out there, you've got a bit more than you thunk. But, I'm going to bed now.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Resuscitated...
It didn't feel like I had any extra weight on my shoulders. My brain wasn't aching in any way. Sweat wasn't secreting profusely from any of my pores. My eyes never felt especially sore. My nostrils never flared or dialated out of anger. My face was never flush nor extremely pale. My sanity was able to manage for the extended period. I only felt as if my lungs weren't getting enough air into them, thus effecting my blood flow and impeding any cognitive or critical thought.
I'd hit a wall that I had built myself, and when I had turned around to go back and revisit who I once was, I discovered that I had unconsciously built a wall there too. My only option was to shimmy side to side looking for some kind of opening in the wall. I was too lazy to climb over and too proud to dig underneath to attempt the great escape.
The idleness was taking its toll. Almost all my passion, appreciation and ability to partake in the trance was dwindling. It took me longer than it should have to finally notice the writing on the wall. "Time?" it read. The question mark brought a new meaning to the word. The strongest association I had with the word "Time" was the Pink Floyd song which begins with the line "Ticking away, the moments that make up a dull day." Had this lyric finally come true in my own daily life? Before, I was able to laugh at it and appreciate the fact that I was free to do as I pleased. Was the wall ahead of me protection from something painful that lurked on the other side? And that wall behind me, how could it cut me off so abruptly that I felt like an amputee. The turniquet stopped the bleeding, but how is this mutilated vessel going to recoup?
My lungs filled with a healthy dose of Oxygen and exhaled a warm breath of Carbon Dioxic waste. I closed my eyes, took another breath and could almost feel the division between my cerebral lobes. What felt like a bound and sealed encyclopedia for the past while had now opened and cracked at the binding as if it were being accessed for the first time.
I took one more breath and could feel the replenishing effects as if my confidence had been restored, as if my wits had been recollected, as if something exciting were about to happen. A gust of wind blew down the alleyway that the walls had formed and refilled the rut that I had created.
The people I love and who love me I could hear on the other side of the wall behind me. They broke through with sledgehammers in hand, ran past me and broke through the wall in front of me, rekindling my feelings of appreciation and gratitude.
I walked forward through the opening in the wall and found nothing. There was no path for me to follow, no one to guide me or show me the way. I had to find my own way and build my own path as I went. The thought was frightening but the opportunity to create something from nothing was a high I'd never reached before.
I'm ready.
I'd hit a wall that I had built myself, and when I had turned around to go back and revisit who I once was, I discovered that I had unconsciously built a wall there too. My only option was to shimmy side to side looking for some kind of opening in the wall. I was too lazy to climb over and too proud to dig underneath to attempt the great escape.
The idleness was taking its toll. Almost all my passion, appreciation and ability to partake in the trance was dwindling. It took me longer than it should have to finally notice the writing on the wall. "Time?" it read. The question mark brought a new meaning to the word. The strongest association I had with the word "Time" was the Pink Floyd song which begins with the line "Ticking away, the moments that make up a dull day." Had this lyric finally come true in my own daily life? Before, I was able to laugh at it and appreciate the fact that I was free to do as I pleased. Was the wall ahead of me protection from something painful that lurked on the other side? And that wall behind me, how could it cut me off so abruptly that I felt like an amputee. The turniquet stopped the bleeding, but how is this mutilated vessel going to recoup?
My lungs filled with a healthy dose of Oxygen and exhaled a warm breath of Carbon Dioxic waste. I closed my eyes, took another breath and could almost feel the division between my cerebral lobes. What felt like a bound and sealed encyclopedia for the past while had now opened and cracked at the binding as if it were being accessed for the first time.
I took one more breath and could feel the replenishing effects as if my confidence had been restored, as if my wits had been recollected, as if something exciting were about to happen. A gust of wind blew down the alleyway that the walls had formed and refilled the rut that I had created.
The people I love and who love me I could hear on the other side of the wall behind me. They broke through with sledgehammers in hand, ran past me and broke through the wall in front of me, rekindling my feelings of appreciation and gratitude.
I walked forward through the opening in the wall and found nothing. There was no path for me to follow, no one to guide me or show me the way. I had to find my own way and build my own path as I went. The thought was frightening but the opportunity to create something from nothing was a high I'd never reached before.
I'm ready.
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