The Super Duper Inspiration Machine, or what is otherwise known as "Oscar Season"!

Can a man, who looks like a cross between, a linebacker for the Chicago Bears, and a lighter (weight, not complexion) version of The Notorious B.I.G., be giddy?

I answer that question with a reverberant yes!

In the most recent of days, I've been riding on a crestless wave of creativity. it's one the few effective ways, I manage my condition (Manic Depression/Bipolar) and lead, what I consider a normal life.

In the mornings I wake from a 3-4 hour sleep, look at my computer, go over the lines I've written, lament having to go to, but always propelled, to work. I complete the tasks in front of me with speed and efficiency, rarely taking a lunch break, and complete my day with an "Adios, Fellow Wage Slaves, until tomorrow..goodnight", and speed my way home.

At this point, another writer would have used the "and thats when the magic happens". Well, not me.

I'm not a trained writer, I'm an educated writer. In fact I taught myself, just about everything I know; from Art, to Music, to Computers, to Writing, and now, to Filmmaking. If we seek knowledge and new experiences, the way sharks seek food, what glorious lives we'd lead. But I digress...

Now, were I the kind of writer, to cast of the consummately disposable line "..and thats when the magic happens" I'd be lying. It's not where the magic happens. Its where the magic is translated into words, and situations, occurrences and characters, lives and the approximation of living. The "magic" is in my head, my gloriously, chemically imbalanced, and unmedicated head.

My imagination, and the act of bringing it into reality is my medication, it keeps me sane, focused, and present. And I love it.

So much so, that the thought of being able to go home, after a long stressful day, and devise ways a two-bit criminal, with his right pinky snipped off by pruning shears, will triumph over an amoral police detective, literally, makes me giddy!

And just what does this have to do with Oscar season? Well, every year I watch. whether its holds my attention, or loses it like a virgin on prom night, I watch. And every year I watch.. I feel one more year closer to being on that stage, accepting on of three Oscars, with my Mom and wife in the audience, friends family, and children at home, cheering me on.

And for a 6'4", bear of a dude like me, the thought of it, makes me GIDDY!

P.S. The following scenario is from my screenplay "Lead Pipe Cinch".

She wore paper lingerie

From time to time, while online, I'm approached by the occasional "web/sex-worker" soliciting all manner of goods and services. The following is a conversation I had with one such worker, and having been hopped up on coffee and oatmeal raisin cookies, I was in a "playful" mood....

Gladys Jollymarbles

hi there?

LoudVoiceFilms

hey hey hey

Gladys Jollymarbles

how  r u?

LoudVoiceFilms

awesome... and you?

Gladys Jollymarbles

great

LoudVoiceFilms

where ya from , Beautiful?

Gladys Jollymarbles

are you from NYC?

LoudVoiceFilms

yes I am

Gladys Jollymarbles

cool

Gladys Jollymarbles

im from arlington va

LoudVoiceFilms

what do you do in Arlington, Va?

Gladys Jollymarbles

im working as a sexy lingirie model for a site

Gladys Jollymarbles

and you?

LoudVoiceFilms

Ooooo....my mother wouldn't like that

Gladys Jollymarbles

ohh why is that?

LoudVoiceFilms

She's really very picky about the girls I marry

Gladys Jollymarbles

ohh

Gladys Jollymarbles

wer your mother?

LoudVoiceFilms

Upstairs

Gladys Jollymarbles

ok

LoudVoiceFilms

So.. do you have a boyfriend?

Gladys Jollymarbles

no

Gladys Jollymarbles

do you want to see all my stuffs first?

LoudVoiceFilms

stuffs?

Gladys Jollymarbles

yeah

Gladys Jollymarbles

i just want to invite you to my site for us to talk privately

Gladys Jollymarbles

but dont worry

Gladys Jollymarbles

i invited you so it will be free

LoudVoiceFilms

oh ok.. that sounds like fun

Gladys Jollymarbles

ok

Gladys Jollymarbles

just follow my instruction babe

LoudVoiceFilms

ok

Gladys Jollymarbles

http://typical_nude_chick_asking_for_creditcards.com  >>>just clikc it and let me know if your there so that i cna guide you how you cna go to my private page directly

Gladys Jollymarbles

ok?

LoudVoiceFilms

ok...

Gladys Jollymarbles

?

LoudVoiceFilms

Surf nanny says its not a good site

Gladys Jollymarbles

wat?

LoudVoiceFilms

Surf nanny

Gladys Jollymarbles

wat do you mean

LoudVoiceFilms

it keeps out bad sites

LoudVoiceFilms

like bad words and boobs

Gladys Jollymarbles

ok

Gladys Jollymarbles

bye

LoudVoiceFilms

whyyyyyyyyyyyy

Gladys Jollymarbles

i want you to go there

Gladys Jollymarbles

just trust me

Gladys Jollymarbles

im here to guide you

LoudVoiceFilms

the computer won't let me

LoudVoiceFilms

can we just talk here

Gladys Jollymarbles

no

Gladys Jollymarbles

bye!!!!!!!!!!

LoudVoiceFilms

?whyyyyyyyy

LoudVoiceFilms

what did I do?

LoudVoiceFilms

I thought you liked me

Gladys Jollymarbles

disable the firewall

LoudVoiceFilms

I don't know how

Gladys Jollymarbles

go to control punnel

Gladys Jollymarbles

and disable the firewall

Gladys Jollymarbles

how old r u?

LoudVoiceFilms

whats a punnel?

Gladys Jollymarbles

how old r u?

LoudVoiceFilms

33

LoudVoiceFilms

I'm an adult

Gladys Jollymarbles

open this

Gladys Jollymarbles

gateway.mw

Gladys Jollymarbles

let me know if your there

LoudVoiceFilms

Is that on my computer?

Gladys Jollymarbles

no

Gladys Jollymarbles

copy that

Gladys Jollymarbles

paste to you browser

Gladys Jollymarbles

ok

LoudVoiceFilms

ok

LoudVoiceFilms

whoa!...

LoudVoiceFilms

Its saying all kind of stuff

LoudVoiceFilms

I don't understand it

LoudVoiceFilms

Surf nanny says its not good

And she abruptly signed off. Much like the men she's probably encountered online, frustrated, confused, and completely unsatisfied.

And this has been...

ADVENTURES IN INTERNET!

To the end of LOL's

*NOTE* This piece was written in 2001 (or thereabouts)


There are times in your life when the hardest thing to do, is facing the demons you've had throughout every step of your existence. It's not so much the facing them, it is the purging of them that's the most difficult. Laying them to rest, or wrestling them to the ground, once and forever.

It turns out, that is what I have to do. I've fought long and unsuccessfully to run as far and as fast from issues and hang-ups. Buried myself in work and other indulgences, only to to find my demons, waiting around the corner, welcoming back into the fold, with open arms.

I've effectively lost my mind. I'm not insane or unsafe to be around. But I've lost my way and my purpose. I was put on this earth to do great things, to move people and open hearts and minds. Its a big thing, a herculean effort, and the only way to do it effectively, is to strip away the things that distract you from your work. I've been distracted too long.

I've grown weary, and disheartened at where I am, and things I've done.

I want my life to be much more that momentary flirtations.. I want warmth and satisfaction, Instead of cold plastic and hints of more. This is not the way mankind is supposed to connect with his fellow. We are creatures of touch, and sensation. Our senses hunger for input, not of ones and zeros, moving at speeds faster than perception, but in whiffs of earth and traces of sunlight.

When did it become justifiable to relinquish the attempt to connect on a human level, why is it now acceptable to hide behind facades of acronyms and double entendre, blatant profanity and nick-named body parts. Why would you venture out of yourself to touch the hand and heart of a newly met friend? It is too risky, too unchartered, too unsafe. The possibilities of failure and disappointment have become hurdles and deadly obstacles to days when meeting face to face was the only acceptable form of friendmaking

I too am guilty, I covered myself in a cloak of mystery.. made from all sorts of insecurities that I carried with me from childhood to adulthood. Lived in fear of rejection and ridicule. It's a lonely life, when the guardians of the gates are large slobbering beasts that tell you your best is not and never will be good enough. That you, as a person are somewhat lacking, and in that lack are repugnant and repulsive to others, no matter how worse off they appear to be.

But that's just me, one voice among incalculable numbers of solace-seeking people. Needing and grasping at anything that gives comfort, compliment, and carnality, to them thats needs it. I can't blame them. I, in that number, have sought love in the eyes and words of those who could not possibly return it, in the amounts my wounded psyche needed. I've used those, who like myself, simply needed to be needed, to be wanted and desired, to be lusted after and adored for my weakest attribute. Its a drunken whirlwind of needs, far out of control and not one whit aware of what is left in its wake.

I too have sped home, dodging those, unaddicted to this plastic and silicon narcotic. Couples weaving in and out of waves of other couples, and solitary but involved individuals, only to slump in a chair and "jack-in", fixing my cerebellum with the purest "shit" known to man, the needy needing the needy. We feed on each other, syphoning ephemeral whisps of involvement, awaiting the "long email", punctuated with "lol's" and ";-)'s", tales of quiet weekdays and heady weekends. Promises of days when the veil of electronica is lifted, and flesh will touch flesh, eyes will not look through man made proxies, but real eyes meeting real eyes, emotions coupled with real touch, senses filled with real scents, the touching of lips and hands, hearts and hips, skin to skin delights.

These are the promises of the machinery, this is the grail that our fingers and eyes endlessly search for, click after click, scrolling and blogging for, all to the end of "lol's".

Yet to be satisfied

Why are people so lonely these days. It's true, and those who deny it, deny themselves. Harsh, isn't it.. but very true. Our lives are lived in quiet, or our lives are lived with a stillness that we can't quite describe.

Some would call it boredom, others call it restlessness.. still more call it.. nothing. Because nothing it is. We all long or have longed for someone. A person who makes us smile. Not just the smile of recognition, but a smile of salvation. A smile that tells us.. "I'm not alone, I'm not in this often farcical life, alone."

Yet with that knowledge, we misuse that urge. That driving impulse, that drive that pushes us to seek out, and obtain, that which will give us peace. That which will be the salve that soothes our aches, mends our hearts from past misfortune. That which tells us, because it speaks to that child. That child that resides in either a meadow, sun-filled and joyous. Or in a room, poorly lit and foreboding. Each child speaks to us. Tells us of its greatest need, and its most fervent desire.

But what we crave, can lead us to greed, and that greed can lead us to excess. And when you have more than you need, you no longer have need. You wallow in overindulgence. You gorge yourself on the surplus, and delight in it. What began as a simple, unwavering need, has become a drug, a deeper craving. A craving that can neither be sated or quenched, and in the wanting, overcomes that which created the need.

We all stand in vanity, whether rejoicing or recoiling, we stand in it's reflective glory and stand in awe. I'm condemned of this. I stand duly charged and doubly guilty. I've stood in the poorly lit room, arms outstretched and grasping. Longing to be both held and loved. And have fallen to its addiction. No more saint than sinner. No more palmer than priest. I am human.

So why are people so lonely... I don't think that we're lonely, I think we've yet to be satisfied.

Earthbound Venus

The morning's light greets her like the kiss of an old friend,
pleasured to see her eyes sparkle with it's brilliance. The air, fragrant with new blossoms, caress her, as her steps bless the very ground she walks upon.

No legend of ancient beauties, gives her ample contest. She, stands in standards place, she defines that which beauty once was and forever will be.

In vistas to wide and elaborate for minds caught in the grip of tedium, she sees the rich tapestry, the multi-colored weave that longs to have her a part of it. She embraces like kinds and other hued wonders of god's creation. She drinks deep the experience of life's intoxicating splendor, and levitates above the throng.

I, enthralled and enraptured, marvel at her. I am at once awed and made giddy at her brilliance, and her humanity. She is my love, my earthbound Venus, my sultry Socrates, and my angelic vixen.

And I, her love. infinitely.

Lays Down Singing

Eyes, deep calling me, using music not heard by man since times creation. A primal symphony of wants and needs, and beauty of ages past, but never forgotten.

She, in glorious splendor walks on earth that neither gives her regard, yet offers her bounty. She, of the stuff of queens and empresses, countesses and contessas, graces the sky with her form. The air around her delights at the touch of her skin, and dances in her hair.

Men, some kind, some craven, bark and bellow for her affections, prance and preen to be the ones seen before her, in hopes that, luscious lips and and soft sweet embraces, be their nights treasure.

But in light, she is the luminescence, dispelling all darkness, creating a king from common stock, to walk the earth in strides not of men with feet of clay, but with gold and bronze footfalls, that echo her hand, and her words, and her caring caress.

For she, born screaming, lives laughing, and lays down... singing.

Don't &$#! with me..

i am the fire, that all consuming conflagration, that melted Pompeii and fuels the uncivilized beast within me, I am the thunder that shakes your foundation and leaves you excited, scared, and gasping for air.

My hands shaped the heaven's and tore down Olympus, leaving fake gods and goddesses, shells of spent power. take not my kindness for weakness, lest my wrath be swift you leave you speculating glory that could have been yours.

Come unto me, yet tread lightly, because the false and trifling will be left shivering and struck dumb. But for the brilliant and remarkable, oceans of wonder will be yours.

I search for home

In truth, I never saw the brightest of days,
they, hidden by sights too vivid, and by sounds, not yet recognized
were just the faintest of waking dreams,

Upon waking, new eyes wince at the brightness
creating cool water to ease the shock and soothe the burn,
Yet that, is the image that lingers, that is the image that
paints, in permanent colors a mural on the minds eye.

In truth, I who have never known the life, undisturbed,
Seek solace in soft errant caresses, in urgent sweet kisses,
in gentle whispers, in dimly lit places.

i look for joy in normality, and taste the deep dark sweetness
of lust's fountain. In converse and in contrast, I seek the thing
that while wanting it, shifts to that, which I need, and not what
I desire.

In her eyes and in her touch, I search for home.

A Bright Glow

*Note* This was written years ago, and I felt vain enough to post it online.

With beauty like yours, I could sing hymns about you,
Shining bright amongst a sea of counterfeit goddesses
you shame even Venus herself. Her hand grows weak
holding the candle that could never glow as brightly as you do.

I want to walk with you, find out the things that excite you.
Create things that would adore and delight you, masterpieces
in tribute to you. You are the woman that men dream and
scheme for. Go to work and provide for, hoping one day
you will mean more, than any priceless gem.

I want to know you, find out more about you, from your
favorite song, to your saddest memory. From the thing
that makes you laugh out loud, to the thing that gives you
the sweetest joy. I want to discover all this and more.

You will be the harbor, that I will come to, and never sail
away from, you will be my home.

... if you let me...Will you let me?

The Box and the Bench

The warmth of the midday sun was pleasing to Crawford Steadywell, as he made his way through a fairly crowded New York City street. The yellow of the taxicabs reminded him of bumblebees, darting to, and from a nearby hive, with the hive being the city itself.

With Crawford, on this sunny day sojourn, was a beautiful crafted box. He cradled it, as a mother would an infant, now to heavy to hold, and despite its beauty, be seemed agitated. Agitation became pique, as he nearly stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, that the lovely full box, obscured from his view.

After regaining his composure, he righted himself, spotted a group of benches in a nearby park oasis. With the determination of a starving man, eyeing much desired sustenance, he nearly sprinted for the empty bench, nearest the entrance to the park. Before seating himself, he placed his precious cargo, on the opposite side of the bench, away from him.

After a while, feeling unburdened, and much less encumbered, he began to smile. His mood shifted from dour to slightly jubilant. His eyes bounced from one object to the next, taking in all that was around him. Offering pleasing smiles to passersby, and admiring the boxes they carried with them. Forgetting himself, he wanders off, entranced by the millions of boxes in the city, of all shapes and sizes, beautifully decorated, to pleasantly plain, each one found his eye, and carried it away, along with Crawford.

Short seconds, turn in to long minutes, as Everett Collier walks up to a partially unoccupied bench. It strikes Everett, as odd, why a box, beautifully decorated, in a satin cloth that shines like, rich caramel, wrapped with a bow, that could have been made of chocolate, rather that linen. Why this box would be left, unattended, undervalued, and disregarded.

Everett, being a kind and protective man, assumed that whoever was in custody of this box, would not leave it so, in such a casual manner. Some great ill must have become of him. Perhaps, Everett mused, that he was the unfortunate victim, of falling piano, or a stampede of dervish-like patrons, running herd-like into Macy's.

He chuckled to himself, these scenarios, while far-fetched, would be nothing to keep him from such a treasure. He would regard it as part of him. As a gift, for that is what it truly is, from God, and regard it as such. Much unlike the phantom owner, who hours now, has not come to reclaim his gift.

Everett stands, looks down at the box, as if to silently entreat the box to allow him to safeguard it. To his its new protector and giver of care. A moment passes, and a smile glides across Everett's face, as he leans down, and gently picks up the box. Gently cradling it as Crawford did, only with great affection, and with far more regard. As box, and new owner walk away, contentment mixes with belonging, and a glow can be seen, everso slightly, to come from the two.

The next day, the sun is as warm as it was the day before, as Crawford gingerly makes his way toward the spot he stopped at the previous day. Only he seems puzzled, as if he'd mistakenly come to a different bench. Yet this one the same bench, near the entrance to the park. His puzzlement, turns to concern, and concern melts to regret. And in this moment's clear revelation, he realizes the one true constant, that exists, in every culture, in every corner of the world.

A treasure given, once neglected, soon will be gone forever, and in its place, regret will flourish.