Will Farrell must like his sports movies. Signing up on films such as Talladega Nights, Kicking and Screaming, and Blades of Glory, Farrell now laces up his shoes for Semi-Pro, a story about the 1970s American Basketball Association and the Flint-Michigan Tropics. The tropics, a subservient team with little talent, little reasoning, and little fan- ( Read more... )

Her: I just wanted you to come because I'm bored and lonely.

Me: I love you
Her: Yeah.

Me: I miss you.
Her: I heard you.

a thousand strange voices coming from everywhere.

And you're not going to believe this, but we had to go under the water to get to the city.
And we lost contact with everything. It was like we were on another planet.

So my source of anxiety stems from a sick brain, that links to my caged fucking trap of a head. People aren't annoying, they may be stupid, or mouthy, impatient or quarrelsome, but they are just people. Working at Blockbuster doesn't make me feel empowered to chastize anyone, though, unfortunately, I have. Work stresses me out, and I feel partially ( Read more... )

I am going on a strike. A fruit and bagel strike. A strike that includes instrumental doses of non-dairy smoothies and writing binges. I will also consume large pots of coffee and yell about shit. I'm beginning to write a screenplay, I wrote four lines of dialogue. Colleen is pretty hot.

Realization is kind of an ever changing visual. I mean it's completely self reliant and yours to own or alter, shift or create. It can be negative, positive or a neutral color. I feel like I've 'realized' several things about myself. I am ambitious, but only when momentum swings my way. If I am not cornered or called upon aggressively I take a ( Read more... )

Running on a cracked pipe dream like a water stream.

I'm unknowing. When the sad end of your eyelashes fall.

I'm not sure how to properly describe my feelings without using cliche syntax. I'm not positive about the manner in which I'm supposed to compose myself. She's gone, and I feel a swelling of something sad inside me that discriminates against nothing. There are planes, and we leave so fast. Vacations and dreams, sequences and surrealism. My memories ( Read more... )

I go to sleep speaking with her, and wake up dreaming of her. There are times when my thoughts become memories of our heads against each other, and her hair falling on my shoulder, my face ( Read more... )