Tuesday
We were filming on one of the hottest days so far; nine pug dogs and a headcold that left my sinus aching. As it was, I did get one scene done which involved me looking like an SFX man.
Friday
"As I inut this, I have a bitchin headcold, which I put down to several days of filming in the rain!"
As per usual this week, John and I had been at the location, other than the writer/director and occasional other person and the cook; and her daughter.
Most of the cast went to encounter the tree of death, leaving the cook and myself behind, so she could cool the meal ready for 1:30.
A monsoon had fallen over the long brick building with the outhouse by front entrance, used as a classroom, with sink & table and chairs.
And she and I had looked out of the lead light windows imaging those around the tree of death getting soaked.
The cook and I had worked as admin support in an Internet-based community based learning centre a couple of years ago, which is where I’d met my friend, young John, when I’d acted as teacher support and I.T support in the web public open access area.
Yet, there had been a further connection, people that I knew from my past, who she knows, including some of her family. That had been interesting, to say the least.
So food prepared and the main room tidied, ready for a quick exit, we sat beneath the green and white tent/gazebo to the left of the front door, on two white chairs, my portable radio on, a coffee, a smoke, a sunny day and some good intense conversation.
When the rest arrived and the morning weather allowed, the cameraman and myself went out the back door, to where it was quieter, to film some lines ‘to camera’, to add to the vox pop footage shot the other day.
Having developed a good rapport with the fellow who has played the part of the cameraman within the film, who’s given John and I a lift home, I was sad to see him drive off as he gave me a lift home after his final day on the shoot; although, his last few photo’s he took will be a blast and I really look forward to seeing them.
Those last pictures had been of us all, lined up in front of the girl guides centre, just like a class having their class picture taken.
And, boy had I been so-pleased to get out of the hat I’d worn most of the week for the character I play in the filming.
Then I left home, having shaven and washed, things in my pocket to drop off for a friend in Wallasey, having intended to for a week or more; and not having the time to do so this last week.
Having got to town, I’d walked to my bus-stop, taking in a quick double-whiskey at The Firemans Arms on the way.
Having realised I had awhile to wait for my bus, I had decided to check out the new smoke-free environment at The John Laird, purely in the name of research, of course.
So, after my second double-whiskey of the day, I went back to the bus-stop for the No.1 bus, stand no. 9
I’d looked down the road to the left and a fine orange tint to the clouds as the sunset began; and I waited for the bus, as the sunset highlighted much of the clouds on the horizon; and a strutting young black man decided to pee behind the bushes, just opposite where I sat writing, of the day’s events as I continued to wait for my bus.
After ten minutes or so, a pretty young thing with a penchant for biting ther nails, asked of me, “Do you know where there’s a post box on Seabank?”
I’d learnt she had recently moved in and didn’t know where it was.
Then we got talking, as you do; and continued to talk when we sat on the bus, upstairs on the left. We got talking of her father who’d had a stroke. And it was quite obvious how close she felt toward him. And I’d wanted to encourage her to be as positive as possible, for him and her; so I told her several techniques for helping with a stroke victim. The advice was simple, but encouraging; and as I spoke I saw a light in her eyes, as I noticed a flicker of hope show in her face, as I said I thought it possible that he might be able to sign his name, by this time next year.
I even went as far as to guarantee the statement, by a figure of eighty-five per cent, which I thought fair: and I could see the way the girl reacted to this, it’d been a good thing to say. She needed to feel belief, so as to best help him. After that, my brief visit to my friend on King Street had been my imperative, as I knew full well my last bus home was due. Saying that, the visit may have been whistle-stop, it’d certainly been pleasant and certainly, the diversion my tired body and mind needed.
Thursday
It was a strange day, but a good one. Saw a field mouse and the swallow, or House Martin that is nesting in the outhouse is still with us. I do wonder if I’ll be there next week. But boy-did it rain and we were out in, acting out hearts out being ‘told off’ and having a pep talk, around the remains of a camp fire, used by the girl guides, whose building we’ve been using.
And we’d had a half-day, as the centre was need: and I’d appreciated it, as it had given me a chance to go home and rest, before toddling off to voluntary work.
And yet again, I was asked what religion are little bunch of volunteers on the project were, by a Greek, I’d guess by his accent; and someone had thanked us; and drink was hidden from the neighbours, as I asked. Furthermore, a few of the lads had taken to ‘helping us’, by actually tidying up a little, after themselves.
So all in all, it had been a good day.
Wednesday
One mistake at the end of the day in a somewhat tight schedule and I had left the days shoot feeling very discontent. That and the weather didn’t turn nice until we were packing up to go home and the day wasn’t the best day of the filming so far.
Truth be told, I ended up realising that acting just isn’t easy, not that I’d thought it was. But, I hadn’t expected to find it quite so frustrating when one little thing goes wrong… that said, I’d tried my best. Just one persons ad-libbing took over a scene and then after that, I phrased my line in a way the director/writer hadn’t envisaged, which was a pity… and I can’t let it go, which is a pity.
But, tomorrow will be another day.
Tuesday
After a catnap I arose at ten, to write and visit VR and learnt that the make-up used to make me look even gaunter than I am, doesn’t come off on the pillow.
I’d shot the last two scenes with my back aching something chronic, wearing the hat that the director/writer/producer intended for me originally, which she tells me gives me the look of the dissectionist Gunter Von Hagen.
Thankfully, the weather had been pleasant, all day this time.
Monday
I'm going to bed shortly, to learn tomorrows lines and I'm shattered, after a hard days shoot, in the countryside, in the mud, on a sunny, slightly showery day.. yet, the whole process was fascinating.. but as soon as I got in, I had to clean the mud off, then eat.. although tired as I was, I had eaten.
And you have to wonder, about those whose words talk in such a prosaic manner that they obscure all clarity and render unintelligible the essence of what they’re trying to say, to an audience of people who are hardly able to translate what has been said; let alone comprehend the meaning, behind them.
I acquired broadband, for email and VR
thinking my broadband connection was due to end, I was freakin..
so, I contacted the BT service desk and actually encountered some very helpful staff, whose reassurance soon alleviated any concerns that I had.
It sems therefore, that VR is stuck with me, thankfully for me.
..with filming due to start soo, panic had set in, as I didn't feel I knew my lines well enough.
So, John and I have sat down to do several read-throughs. Now it seems, after last nights reading, I fel evr-so much more relaxed about the whole idea.
I went to Raby today.. panicking about the script reading.
John did call.. and we got quite a bit done..
thing is.. I noticed, it helps if you've both got your book with you.. aha, then you're both reading from the same script, as it were.
Then later, I cut my thumb open on a tin of corned beef, making my meal after the script reading: then discovered its hard to take your shoes off with a thumb dripping blood.
..and as I type, here, Now, I'm panicking at the idea of the film starting next week.
'the film' being the one I'll appear in, which will be shot near where I live.. and I have the shooting schedule and the call sheet.. and Now the nerves are setting in.
my friend John didn't arrive for a script reading.
so I'm a little cheesed of..
so I got creative..
If you want a laugh, go to my profile and click on the link for the last website listed.. you might enjoy it?
there's also two other pieces of mine there!!
John called round last night, with a view to working on the film script with me.
Well Life gets in the way of the best of even the best of intentions.. as did the film 'Smokin Aces.'
I'd recommen it to anyone.. on the proviso they understand its an expensive hybrid, of several types of film-making, as done by Quentin Tarantino, Guy Ritchie and Sergio Leone.
All in all, a good film.
But, smiles aside, we now still have the script-reading to do.
..as I sit here, the sun pours through the window.
Just a very short while ago, I was outide on the bench, after edging the front lawn, eatching bannana, pear, Greek-style yogurt and ice-cream, clad in just my jeans and shoes: and a light summer shower fell upon my body.
Perfect.
I feel as if I were on holiday, sitting in the caravan in Abersoch, as a kid, with the folks. The weathers been one of those fairly warm pregnant pause kind of days, when it doesn’t rain as you expect it might, but has a brief go every Now and Then, as if to show it can: and thus disturb any plans you might have for the day, as it successfully did so, an hours or so ago.
I’d got the back lawn edged and been going to do the front, when it began to rain. So I’d helped the folks bring in the washing and begun to tidy up after my work before oiling the tools to close-up the garage.
It was as I was on my way into the house, I noticed the brown blackbird, a female, with either food for young, going nutso with a frantic call, annoyed with the pigeon on the aerial of the bungalow next door.
Then I saw a male blackbird dart out from the beech hedge at the side of the drive, heading upward. Now blackbirds don’t like pigeons, as they don’t get on with their eggs, so I think theirs a second clutch around. And I think I’m right, as it would explain why the bird went nutso.
And here I sit, just typing away, having set aside ‘The Face Eater’ the first book I’ve read for ever-so long. It does help it’s a Dr. Who book, yet even so… it is the first in awhile... and I just can’t put it down.
Her choice: not to talk.
The synopsis says it's done and dusted.
Again: her choice.
Of course, she has the last word.
Isn't that what 'they do?'
He muses aloud, bitterly.
Still having me blocked, the lurker says I thought my words would let you know I read your journal, at least that what the synopsis read..
"What difference does it mean that I show in your last 10?" She wrote.
How about there's, nothing to hide ~ unless you you feel the need.
And this time the lurker let me know, by leaving a trace behind. Why do so now though?
Because I commented?
Why do my words mean anything to her now?
Her picture in my last ten read were Footsteps in the sand, an echo in the wind.. but not the whole, that couldn't be: as it'd mean she'd be relinquishing that all important control ~ instead of talking, face to face, one to one.
Yet, my experience says, 'they don't do that!'
QueenClover gone.
Headlessdoll gone.
These people I have known, I will not forget.
Having thought long and hard I decided to see why someone would send me messages about my insecurities. Someone who I liked still.
I was blocked from sending them a message though.
Well, why should I be surprised?
I said I'd leave them alone and thought thats what I wanted.
Yet, as they were the main thing I've thought of in those quiet moments, it actually hurt more than the rest, to find I was blocked and couldn't even seek an understanding, of any kind.
All I can think of is that yet again, a woman I'd thought I'd known had shown me that its they who are the stronger sex, paticularly with the propensity, for seeking that last word.
I regret saying I'd not contact her.. but truth told, I'd not lnown what to say anymore, such was the change I'd noticed. in the week before those last few messages.
I suppose in her eyes, I'm to blame for that, as well. Perhaps, for her, I am...
As it is, the museum of past hurts had gained another wing: and I recall that Valentina had said, 'Take Care', while 'she' had said, "Be well."
They tear me apart with words, then wish me well with them.. Cha, what's the difference??
Yet, it irks me that the list of the last 10 to read my journal didn't show the Lady lurker.
I guess that why lurkers lurk then... to be as clever as they need, to learn to their advantage and then use what they know.
Cha, now why doesn't that surprise me?
It’s been raining most of the day I’ve felt stuck indoors. The inclement weather has affected my television reception and the screen should display an image from BBC1. Instead, I see a blank screen intermittently, with a blue box in the middle, with the legend on it, spelt in white, ‘No Signal.’
So like last night, I sought a distraction from the urge to dwell, by finishing a drawing that I started last night. I’d then taken it this morning as I’d run it through Photoshop and applied a background to something I was ever so proud of accomplishing, my first drawing successfully completed to my satisfaction, in years.
This evening I’d had do a similar sort of thing.
And as I sat, working on a piece for a young Lady, it occurred to me that the opening paragraph is particularly pertinent to my current state of mind.
“We’d been sharing messages ‘of an intimate nature’, for months. Now here I was at your home. Standing here, I’m already aroused; at the mere idea of meeting you, for real and enjoying all that we’d spoken of.” I’d written.
Somewhat insecure at times, recalling my past as my present, as I find myself doing; and feeling far too sensitive, over a perceived hurt; I tend to analyse situations to the nth degree, much as I’m doing Now.
Certainly I have learnt measure of acceptance: a good thing.
Yet, I still have mistaken expectations, having the belief the people need the same things I do. Further, I was talking of need. I am Needy and know it.
I am looking for someone, who is creative, a talker, a sensitive, prepared to feel and acknowledge that they care.
I needs friends, like those who have been kind to me of late: friends, who are prepared to accept me as I am, a Needy, generous, loving individual who long to meets that someone, who can take the time to understand that.
Yet, isn’t a little like the common need of every individual?
Doesn’t everyone want that ‘special’ person in his or her lives?
It just occurs to me that I’ve taken that ideal a tad further than most, as I only feel comfortable around people I can identify with, albeit a little; with people who are as supportive as I try to be; while still allowing me the freedom of self that a single person of my age learns to enjoy.
And all of this I gleamed from writing that initial paragraph of an erotic fantasy.
Good grief, “Now what does that say about the convoluted machinations of my mind?” I think I’ll save that rumination for another day.
here's a fascinating fact! I've just learnt that if you decide to make a film in movie maker, don't leave messenger on, as running both will kill a machine my size.
oh-boy
mother fell..
broke a finger
I have to be a witness in a court case
and someone here hurt me
probably unintentionally
~ I mean, I am insecure
and over-sensitive:
and my sense of self-woth is not always what it could be...
but, Wednesday was good.
I'm here to put a drawing up
I'm so pleased with it
just a simple image.
but the drawing was good
then I worked on it
first drawing in a long time..
so so pleased with it.
it looks really cool, I think..
Wednesday was a good day, but to me felt as good as having a holiday. As I don't go out often, when I have a good day, I do enjoy it, as they don't happen often, but when they happen, o-boy do I enjoy it.
it's Thursday.
volunatry work
and I'm the man in charge today!
god help them all.
A friend said, "Don't worry, it'll go like clockwork."
My answer had been to say that it'd go like those painted by Dali...
had a very bad week.
I'm a winess in a court case.
had to talk with legal people.. Mother broke finger and digital camersa broke.. and... I had my heart broken...
but today was the day I've wanted all week.
It was a good day.
John and I went to Parr Street studios in Liverpool, the biggest studios in England outside of Lobdon; and the last script read through of the film to be shot soon, much sooner than I thought.
And at least with his help I'd been able to pronouce, 'fractal' and 'tetradotoxin.'
And boy, have the pubs in Liverpol changed, again.
Someone who cares took the trouble to phone from Colarado.
blew my head that she wanted to.
it was a real pleasure.
since then I've been playing with images.
maybe you'll like what I put up??
incidentally, I mentioned ladydragronrose to her, who's the only person who I've known a long time here who still keeps in touch regularly.
that means a lot and I appreciate it.
It turns out I have a stomach upset..
a very bad one.
I have had for a week now
and now its as bad as it was.
I wonder why??
That was indeed rhetorical.. I know why.
I'm emotional, which leads me open to getting very hurt by people, all too easily.
I feel like I've done something wrong and I know I didn't. Yet obviously she thinks I did.
I mean, how does an enquiry about your health after you haven't heard from some via email, msg, or VR mean you 've caused offence?
I feel so effin empty..
I felt the need to rant in my journal after I learnt in a msg, that someone I REALLY like just doesn't feel the same, or has too much in her life to msg me, until today.
I truly dislike being lonely.
But, there's nothing worse than chasing something that isn't.
I've had days when I've thought that I would never get to know someone again.
So when I've met someone I've thought I could relate to, I've found myself expecting more from them than can be provided, it transpires.
People have their lives and all that means: and its taken a lot to realise that no matter what I want, some things I might want, like friendship, just won't happen.. no matter what I've heard from someone. It just won't happen.
And much as I find it devastating to be reminded of that yet again, I refuse to put my shell my up.
I've got to take on board that this is not my reality, not matter how often it seems that it becomes part of my reality. It isn't.
I am alone.
I am often very lonely, to the extent where I've found myself believing I've become emotionally crippled.
Yet, thats often a reaction to the inaction of those around me, not something I've chosen for myself.
What I'd chosen was to feel again; to try and trust; seeking companionship and friendship with those I could connect with.
My mistake, it seems today; is that I expect too much from those I like: too much from those with lives of their own to lead.
And that revelation hurts, as it demonstrates to me an emotional need, which I'd not wanted.
It seems, that I can shut off and 'enjoy' my own sel-imposed isolation, or choose to feel and then end up finding myself open to further disappointment, from seeking something that just doesn't exist.
And yes, from my ramblings, someone might gather that I wish I'd not woken at all; I wish I'd not logged onto VR at all.
Learning lessons is one thing.
But, learning that when you're have a fuckin bad week is quite another.
John called down in the evening, with a view to helping me read through a film script as we have a reading tomorrow and I keep having a problem with ‘fractal’ and ‘tetradotoxin.’ He also brought with him a couple of good film, ‘The Illusionist’ and ‘Smokin Aces’ acquired via download, with nice fancy interface he’d made on iDVD, on his new Big Mac. And there’s no two ways about it, it’s easier to learn a script with feedback. Without it, it’s just too much like talking to yourself..
I’ve spent much of the day talking with the Criminal Justice Service and the police in regard of the case forthcoming and gardening for my Mother, ( a hard taskmistress!! ) on a beautiful sunny afternoon,
I'm tearful.
someone asked if I liked them.
after all I have told people
it's probably the last thing to ask me.
I show it if I do.
and I had ~
Now I'm so upset its unreal.
And she just msg me
she's upset coz she
read the journal entry
not the point
it isn't her fault
she just asked a good question
and a fair one
I am alone
two fiancee down:
I know it.
and someone just asked 'do you like me?' meaning a little bit more than she said and the tears have begun to flow, as I realise just how alone I am, when all is said and done.
I finished a story!!!
So, feeling better than when I got up to discover I'm to be a witness in a court case in Crown Court fairly soon.
living in a windmill
in Old Amsterdam..
I saw a mouse.
where?
there on the stair
a little mouse
with clogs on
well, I declare
going
clip clippety-clop
on the stair..
oh yeah..
Sung by Brooke Benton, I think.
I went to a restart interview with the dole today. It took me fifty minutes to walk there on a blue-sky fluffy day, walking against a hard wind most of the way.
And Alison, who saw me, was the rare thing at the benefit office; an understanding member of staff: and the walk was enjoyable.
I ate well, which was good, particularly after how my stomach has felt of late.
Then later I won a CD off our local BBC radio show, a local artist trying to break the American market. Here he is Acer Murphy, he will be Acer Heart, in America.
He has an excellent voice.
My little Mother is definitely better than she was: yet looks like she's gone ten rounds with Tyson. Her guts are in a similar position to mine, which isn’t a good thing.
Yet, the rain stopped long enough, for my Father to do the washing done and dry and for me to go the walk to Raby Mere, wishing that my camera wasn’t still poorly.
The air smelt fresh, the colours bright; and as got to the Mere, I relished the imagery of a blue sky and clods above me, reflected on the waters surface.
The water levels had raised, after all the rain we’ve enjoyed of late; and I’d watched the water pouring through the overflow.
So, I’d crossed the road and looked downward at the waterfall and the strength its flow and I’d closed my eyes a moment to listen to its aural majesty.
I’d turned back to the road, and then begun to walk home, enjoying the air as I did.
Just a short while later, I’d been walking down the lanes back home, when it began to rain, a light summer rainfall, hardly sufficient to dampen my clothes, yet enough to refresh my senses.
And though my camera isn’t working, I had the imagery I sought, enhanced by my other senses.
The rainy day gave way to a light blue sunny day, but I still didn’t get to go for the walk I’d promised myself, after my stomach upset left me with a distinct attachment to the bathroom: perhaps, I’d wondered, ‘in sympathy with mother?’
Or maybe I’m stressed out at the recent demise of my digital camera?
Either way, the upset had left me weak and tired, all the time, which I assume is down to the lack of nutrition. So as my Father saw to the housework, I arose slowly.
Then just an hour or so later, I heard my little Mother call out for Dad.
She had fallen and after her last fall, didn’t want to revisit hospital, at all.
As it was, the idea of the district nurse was dispensed with and she agreed to go, after a good deal of persuasion.
After several hours of waiting and dozing and a snack of mushrooms on toast; and another couple of hours of waiting and dozing, my parents got home.
Besides the cuts on her face, she had broken a finger, on her left hand. Unfortunately my Mother is left-handed and doesn’t like sitting down doing nothing. But she was able to eat and watch part two of ‘Coronation Street:’ and I was able to find some order in what was left of my day, with a C.S.I. re-run and a quiet smoke.
my digital camera died today
and I have a stomach upset.
but I still took Karl
to see the new
Fantastic Four Movie:
The Rise Of The Silver Surfer.
To anyone who had read the storyline
~ it was quite close to the original.
An enjoyable comic book romp!
COMMENTS
-