venice beach

edward and i do the same thing, except he does it on a greater scale,
a much, much greater scale.

still, it’s nice to know that someone understands me.
like when i admitted to him how during one shoot,
the cast and crew were working their asses off for me
and i had to play it off like i knew what i was doing;
i couldn’t let them down..
even though the whole time i was shitting my pants,
thinking to myself, “wtf am i doing?”

he said, “it’s like being the belligerent, drunken captain of the ship.
you’re standing at the bow, waving your sword in the air,
leading everyone on deck through a fierce storm.
you might not know where you’re going,
but theyre all counting on you to lead them home.”

we played catch-up over cuban lunch this afternoon.
both exhausted, but both still smiling.


ed zwick once wrote to me:
When I was a young man I had no idea what Henry Miller meant
when he would rant about the need to surrender to the dark Dionysian urge.

To write, to fuck, to burn. (To paint, to sing, to dance, to act, take photos, it’s all the same).

To burn brightly. To burn white hot.

To surrender oneself completely, a heedless, headlong, silently screaming.
Until there is nothing left inside. Until you are spent and sweating, depleted utterly.
Crashing and grieving, too, because you know it will never come again.

and i realized
now is the time to escape.

three months of notes compiled,
story mapped out.


i’m too distracted in new york.
heading back to california in a few days
to spend the next three months writing first draft of screenplay.

currently listening to:

my autumn theme song


probably the best word to describe this past weekend’s events.