We are filming a movie called Werewolf Bitches From Outer Space. I have a small scene. My co-star's name is Kristen Schall. Faceboy is also in the scene. He plays an unbalanced cop ( Read more... )

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I passed a double-A test in this skill today. Was not pleasant, but OK. I'll try now to write about it.

Read this Wednesday. Killed.

* * * * * * *SCENE: We are in a BAR. It is bright in the afternoon on a Sunday. Various PATRONS are scattered around the bar: a COUPLE in their mid-30s read the Sunday Times. Two SPORTS DRUNKS argue. A DISTURBED HARMLESS ECCENTRIC stares at his beer, mumbling ( Read more... )

Grief.

I forget how alone I am.

I have two pieces almost done. One's satirical and one's sentimental. Both relate some part of me, except the first one uses manners to rank on how stupid manners are, the other ignores manners and tells the truth. The former's perspective is considered acceptable ( Read more... )

Every board was slashed and in the scratches it looked like blood. I should go, she thought. She heard her own voice screaming and didn't like it. Wronged and robbed. Who gave a fuck? --ROBBED. A woman wronged. That's what people say who never GET ANY, they talk about other people, other women. Men, no one talks about them they're not that ( Read more... )

Starburst.

"What happened to your door?"

"Brick."

"Guess I've been away awhile."

"Last time, it was a cinderblock."

"I'm sorry ... I was hoping it was nothing."

"Sign of the times, I guess."

"Even when I was underage ... never got that mad at a liquor store."

Shrug.

I want to talk about this fat kid Billy. His parents owned this unfortunate oil portrait of Billy age 9. It had this creepy, Vermeer lighting that might've glorified a normal child but with Billy looked like evidence. The portrait was no help hiding Billy's greasy pale skin, unnaturally white like the paper wrapping a roast beef sub from George' ( Read more... )

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