Love-Brain

I realized recently that I've been changing. Do you know how things escape you? Well they escape me too. It used to be the norm for me to never remember whatever it was that I had let escape - an idea, the movie I meant to rent, the groceries I needed, etc. Lately I've been recovering this data iwth the greatest of ease, albeit lost like before, now I relax and it pops back in to formation in no time. I'd go days struggling over what it was I was trying to remember, and now it takes but 5 seconds of Anglo-Meditation and the lost is found. This must be due to being married and happy, as my brain is less muddled with stupidity (although Amy might beg to differ). I used to think that my relative chaos was the root of my creativity and expression, now I realize it was only the root of its arrested development. I don't want to make a movie out of the script I wrote in 1997. It would be an awful movie. That inane yet stifling chaos I mentioned has not gone away, not by any means, it has simply become a more effiecient machine. I'm no Nazi-Brain, though, not by a long shot, but I always have been organization-based and my creativity was always stubbornly impetuous, random and spontaneity-based. Therein lies an inherent conflict, and that conflict was what I thought being an artist was. Maybe it is, but I'm more concerned with being a filmmaker than I am with being an artist. I want to make great films whether or not art-society at large feels that they're great art. I don't want to Pollack or Bukowsi, Van Gogh or even Thomas Wolfe (the one who died in the thirties, not the Right Stuff guy)... and I know now more of who I want me to be, besides the obvious (2nd baseman for the Cubs, astronaut, Uke-masta Extraordinaire). It's so much shorter a list to say what I want to avoid, so I will include that: intellectual prude, ego-maniacal autocrat, shallow-boned liar, false-eyed hero, self-glorified menace, rock star, movie star, politican, dimplomatically-minded P.C.er, Government-hating radical, Satan-following lemming, imaginary, uselessly proud follower, sitting in the back seat of a small car, wolf-food, marrowless poet, easily recognized in the grocery store, povernly hopeless rich man, etc. etc. Yep, things have cleared up.
Wednesday, May 8, 2002
03:30 p.m.
by: adam douglas payne