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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.

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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

last night

over beers and bbq ribs,
jimmy and i wrote the greatest love story. ever.
except that it’s centered around canadian sled dogs
and a little terrier in search of the perfect heinie.

anton said i’d be nuts if i ever tried to produce this,
but i think it’d be fun to direct dogs.
emma would be my first pick.

coming soon someday..

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