Saturday, March 26, 2011

Screens + Shades: Illuminating My Screenwriting Resistance (reblogged from

Screens + Shades:

If you don't make time for the things you hope to achieve, you might not get the chance to see yourself actually succeed. Its not like you sit around waiting to "make it", that would be stupid. Instead you simply have to just "do it", even if the act of doing it goes back around to kick you in the ass. Its a big circle honestly, the trial and error of ambition.

This is what I have been thinking about for weeks as I prep myself for a recommitment to screenwriting, that I put off what I learned in film school because I couldn't bare the notion that I felt like I failed. I went to Los Angeles thinking I was going to stay and make something of myself in the film industry, but ended up burnt out from long nights of stress, and a bank account barely reaching the five dollar mark. The time I spent in the basking shade of Hollywood was a time I will not soon forget though, as I learned so much that otherwise would have stayed dormant. I found community in L.A., I found creative vision in L.A., and most of all I found out a lot more about limitation in L.A. You can't kill yourself before you live and you can't be an artist if you don't go through periods of uncertainty.... or something like that.

I have made plans, as of this afternoon, to start to write three short films by June and begin pre-production by the end of that month. It is going to be a large and probably stressful feat, but one I have put off for far too long. Going to L.A. was one of the best and worst things I ever did. It opened my eyes to much, closed them to others, and re-constructed them to see things not as I did before but in sometimes un-identifiable and stupid ways. Its not like you can go back and undo what has been done though, you have to keep moving forward and hope that in your next venture you can determine just how you want to reinvent yourself.

In High School film was such an integral part of me growing into a man. I had the power of a painter or an architect when I held those Panasonic VHS and Super 8 cameras (so ghetto) and I liked it. My projects were never better than a particular group of fellow film students, I despised them in a quiet sort of way even though we were friends, until I actually bested one of their projects by a half grade- which felt great... but regardless, if I hadn't had that exposure, I am not sure I would appreciate the art form quite as much. Its really not about film at all, honestly, its about capturing the human experience, which is what art essentially intends to do. I am rambling aren't I? Well the point is that over the next few weeks I will be looking to start up again on screenwriting, something I put on hold as soon as I (along with Joe Arnhold) drove past the city limits of that city of angels. I haven't looked back, but now I see that I never really left... its still in me, in my growling and gnashing of teeth, and I gotta give it another chance. I am beaten, broken, and little more cynical than I was when I graduated from Simpson but I also feel more alive than I did before... something that I find all the more intriguing. Stay Tuned.

Look for updates on the writing process and the eventual production of three shorts!

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Dustbowl by Eric Wilkinson

Eric Wilkinson

I waited along the side of this road
For what seemed like a thousand years
My eyes followed the sun each and every day
And as it continually set I lay and wait
This suit, stained brown by dust and caked-on mud
sticking to my brittling bones
I remember name-tags
Signs of seniority and dominance
Now washed away in dreams and smoke

Kansas brushfire, elements on elements
Highways never ending in a malignant papertrail,
I’ve seen an exit but I don’t believe it
Just keep going
Over hills oh so high and valleys so very low
my head down so far I'm afraid I'd lose my mind
when the banshees and devils of torrential rains
pour like bourbon on acid rained streets
clinging to my notes like a: 
  1. preacher to a pulpit
  2. A child to a mother
  3. A blade to its sheath
I can't recall but what I see.
Speaking in tongues is regular, right?
In reverberations, in pale eyes
I spoke all tongues as I walked, but didn’t write it out till afterwards
Decaffeinated memories of being strung out
Replay like tapes caught in an imaginary street sweeper
Turning like the wheels of loss and struggle

Hung out for like an hour, feet over the edge
Down n out is the only way to travel, or so they say...I feel all right now... I guess

I have no words as they escape my dry mouth with puffs of ash ridden drifts

Clenching tight to keep the last vowel in… no use...sometimes Y
What seems like rain is dirt and it’s pouring entirely on me
Upon my pathway…blood crusting over like eggs in the sun
I’ve circled this dustbowl a hundred times
There is no place to go but onward
Upward is downward
Is sideways..... is byways

I thought I saw her face, but didn’t
Then I thought I thought the same thing, but didn’t
No use in saying it over
I didn’t think that
My face feels like 
                    g butter
I hold it onto my head to keep it from leaving

Over fields of sand harvests I lay flat
  • Slowly becoming dried up
  • Sand and Skin; Skin and Sand..................Granules of a millennium party- a thousand words, a thousand visions, a thousands EYES

 Shriveled up nosebleed fixture, I spring a LEAK
I feel like my face paint is drying as I spurt out nonsense ramblings
The sun is so hot I cannot see...

Moisture slowly sucking away
Becoming one with my path
Disappearing…drifting to wake
No trace outline
Behind, I left my fears and doubts
Piled high in separate stacks of un-calculated value
Blowing away in the wind

Weekly Update: March 22nd 2011

I want to write but unfortunately I can't. I need time to spend on this blog. I feel like I'm slacking... but soon an update worthy of a post.