Terrible loglines for the Academy's consideration.

[leondacter]

Synopsis: You'll have to read this as it comes; it isn't much here yet; L.A. is a wintry sprawl of growing disenchantment; politics are spun centrifugally to the extremes; gas power rules the land. The supercilious poet, Linus Carew, is upswept in an assassination plot that will transform the world. Is the heart the loneliest of hunters? (There

Comments

Never been a man of Origins

[ex_revolutem972]

I've always been better at the endings.

Once upon a time, I knew everythingNo, erase that

Re: Never been a man of Origins

[leondacter]

Synopsis: I began as a somewhat shy athletic kid and mutated as I saw those around me respond to the death of a friend with varying degrees of histrionics and self-positioning fictions. I became quiet, with an angry stare and dark eyes, and began focussing all my attention on reading and writing varying fictions about the circus of humanity around me, most of it very bathetic, or contrived, or beyond the ken of my true maturity, which at that age (13) was marked with little more than a reticence (sometimes seen as "wise") I kept to mask my festering disdain toward socialization. It's not at all unusual for a thirteen year-old to hate the world, or to rebel in some way, but it wasn't really a phase for me. I changed. I've matured, and I've learned a lot about myself and the world, and continue to, and I still dissect it and overanalyze people's social habits. It's a terrible curse to have in Los Angeles, such a wonderful place full of people both sunny and empty, rich and perspectiveless, well-educated and mostly callow,

...

[leondacter]

Today I find myself typically so sensitive to the world I abhor that I can't help but speak politely as I try to live in it. Much of life is composed of strawmen, and once you find that you too have come undone there seems to be little left but esoteric spiritualism or the feckless nihilism of eloquent rage. And if your identity has been invested in reflecting something back at the world, as the pathology of the writer tends to be, it seems there is no greater (and so worse) surrender than to assimilate all that former truth into the meaningless cacophony of existence. ...I'm just desperate and lost in a world I refuse to comprehend.I'm only 23 now, and I feel disgraced. I feel like I have been the foolish one, and I understand what practical purposes socialization could have had. I get along well enough, but I have a soft underbelly of intensely critical analysis waiting to be prodded at, which sometimes halts me in meaningless conversation. It is my secret depth as well as my Achilles heel, and is mine to overcome, judge,

[beautifulgame]

Unresearched, I think its originally from old W.Shakes, though I cant remember which play. More clearly in my mind, it is the title of my least favorite Steinbeck novel.

As for a contextual explanation? I have my opinions. I feel silly offering them, though.

It can roughly be summed up by the phrase --a gnawing, unfixable sense of dissatisfaction that must be weathered, not cured--. Or maybe I be an idiot.

Ding-ding-ding!

[leondacter]

It is from Richard III. Most people take it to be an expression of agony--as in, we are enduring the bonechill of our deepest unhappiness-- which is indeed what it sounds like on its own. In context, it actually refers to the final stages of a sorrow ended, but bitterly, as it describes the social inflorescence of most living people and the ascension of others in contrast to Richard III's joyless and deformed existence.

You be no idiot, sir.

Good ol' Willy Shakes is the man. The language of Shakespeare is almost incomparably expressive.