Bier de Stone ( wrote,
Bier de Stone

The lookout

That scene in which Chris is struck with a fit of anger when he finds himself in the kitchen, nerves on end, as he attempts to open a can. He doesn't have much such success locating the can opener and soon realizes that the garlic press, vaguely resembling a hand held can opener, doesn't work. The rage overwhelms any capability he had to continue searching the kitchen for an instrument to rip the lid off the can, and he throws can and garlic press across the room while clearing off the kitchen counter in a manner not wanting any more to do with it.

I felt that way just now, when I open the fridge for a sip to quench my thirst and see the milk carton behind a container of semolina. These containers I'm describing have a suction mechanism to keep things fresh, but I guess if they're kept too long without suctioning air back out, the lid doesn't stay fastened to the container. I knew that already, but I seem to feel that I have giant hands like Kareem Abdul-Jabaar and try lifting it with one hand. Half the flower mixture spills, and I still have in my head that ol` Mexican proverb my parents chanted all too frequently "God gets mad when you throw food away."

As I watch the container slip from my hand in slow motion, I'm saying "my life is hell" and I just can't get over how depressed I am from throwing out all this perfectly good grain/flower. I'm just like Chris from the movie Lookout and I want to throw a book against the wall so hard that it makes a hole thru the other side. It's this anger and sadness of "spilling milk" that brings me to realize what my life is totally fucked. I mean, look at it. I spend all my time in some fantasy world that I can't even bring myself to ask a question like "Hey, you're a celebrity, aren't you?" because starting a conversation with a stranger turns me off.

I mean, Ana Garcia could walk in and I would hesitate saying a single word to her trying to weigh the pros & cons. If I do, then it will be a bummer to realize that she really isn't somebody I knew back in high school, but she might be single and open minded and who knows… If I don't, I'll be safe and not have to feel so emotional over a total stranger, if she really is a stranger at that. Flashes of blood and nooses flicker behind my mind. As if.

I couldn't bring myself to regain my composure for one hour. Half an hour zombying out, five minutes playing red hands with the cat. The fucker always wins. Then I grab my laptop and decide to proof read one of my recent dialog entries. So here I am. It's 11:30, usually my bed time. I haven't proofed anything, but I've forgotten about the silly semolina. Damn!



OK, so I accomplished a quick proof read, composed a new entry, still have about 100 pages left to read in my book, and tomorrow/today I just have to find where the last edited copy of the 50 pages of work I've done so far is located: the studio, the PC, or disk. Zzzzz
Tags: movies

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