What if we wrote and never looked back with the editing eye. Would it become a mode of literature to add to Joyce's stream of consciousness (or was that part of Joyce's and Burroughs's work)? Maybe we could try and tell a story from an organized, skeletal source, but the subconscious to be analyzed and understood are the mistakes, our mistakes.
It Comes BackThe art stopped the day I figured out I was creating it all along. Red blankets, red doors, and red sofas were clouding my life in one week’s time; I didn’t understand it, but this opened my mind to something (it raised a question). Am I creating my reality in real time; is everything I experience and know created by my mind? Am I watching a movie I am actually creating while I watch it (but how would that explain the shitty movies?). Maybe I should be analyzing the shitty ones too.
I started watching movies after high school; of course, I had seen movies before that; my grandmother was the one who always brought me to the theatre to see all those genre pics of the 1980s: Tron, Rambo, The Black Cauldron (I owe a tremendous lot to my grandmother for this). My mother would watch old episodes of Mr. Ed and Donna Reed, but my favorite was always Dobie Gillis and Patty Duke. My mother also introduced me to Katherine Hepburn and Judy Garland, and one the fictional characters who raised me: Jimmy Stewart. MY love for black and white films was because of my mom, and my love for black and white genre flicks was because of my grandmother (although I have a great memory of James Whale’s Frankenstein, giant coloring books, my two cousins, and their mom, my aunt—she was murdered by a supposed burglar, but all suspicion has always pointed towards her husband at the time.
After high school I bought a laser disc player and learned about gangster films of the 1990s: Goodfellas, Reservior Dogs, and True Romance. These films blew me away, but nothing blew me away more than when I picked up a laserdisc at Camelot Music for $14.99: Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me. I had heard of Twin Peaks, so I bought it. I remember falling asleep during the movie, but I also remember waking up during the Pink Room scene and having a digital epiphany; I had no idea film could be made that way; I had no idea film could do that; I was amazed, but I didn’t know why, and I didn’t know what it was that amazed me about it. I mean I liked Dali as much as the next kid who smoked because it was fucking cool, but why was this triggering my subconscious and coughing up a spit of joy for this kind of film?
Now, as someone who loves film and wants to understand why a film was created and what within the structure and make up of the film makes it what it is, I can’t help but wonder why my world is being turned inside out by film; it is becoming my enemy, because everyday I get something in the mail: a DVD that has exactly 15 minutes of me doing something I have never done before. Sometimes I’m eating fried eggs, which I don’t like, and sometimes I’m singing popular country songs I’ve never even heard. Sometimes there’s daylight coming through the blinds, and sometimes it’s the whisper of the moon. I’m scared and I can’t sleep, but I cannot figure out what this is.
Rabbits have always frightened me, but I know a 6 foot rabbit named Kylie (you really thought I was going to say something lame like Harvey?). Kylie is a scientist who has been working on a way to bring back Christ with mathematics; he almost killed a homosexual by putting the man on a cross for 14 hours. Kylie is technically naked, but he wears a bow tie and the nicotine stains around his mouth make him seem rabid, but he is a sweet old rabbit. Kylie was the only one I could really trust with these threats (I guess they really aren’t threats yet) I’ve been getting in the mail.
