Truth, Prelude

truthWhat is truth?

I have to remind myself that I am writing and dreaming up fantasies — I have to remind myself that they don’t exist. Sometimes my creative alter ego wants to take over and completely wipe out my reality.

It makes me dizzy and anxious and I feel like I’m losing my mind when this happens because I really believe that I am going crazy. I forget that its not real.

Can you ever have a positive outcome when you separate the soul from the body? How can you separate two complements without producing a fatal consequence? If the artist continues on a journey to define the absurdity of life then he will assuredly cause his own psycholgical death.  To rip the body from the spirit is to deprive the mind of a compass. The artist must change course and rather seek out the renaissance of life.

We have been created with two complementing parts: the spirit, which let’s us fly, and the body, which grounds us before we get swept away.

The fire of the renaissance and the age of enlightenment has been  suffocated by the cold breath that is the age of mechanization, where the spirit has been neglected and trodden over while the body is championed above all.

There is no joi de vie. The soul is starved for inspiration. The soul’s natural reaction is to fight the body for survival, but in the process it is hastening the demise.

You so callously disregarded the warnings that had been laid out for you throughout the centuries — you wanted to create your own reality. Well, now you have it. Now live in it!

Are we merely duplicating machines regurgetating decomposing ideas?

I challenge you artist, take up your task. Tear to shreds this absurd philosophy. Inspire your audience, move them to action.

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The worst thing you can do is fall in love… You should avoid falling in love at all costs.

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Memory, Part 1


The individual can forget quicker,

All of the things that we throw away,

And think only of what’s to come…

So to, as we cast away lost days, the world casts away her lessons, long learned, until we are forced to relearn, forced to reevaluate, rebirth,  redeath, and everything in between.

We hold on to things to remind us of where we’ve been, but these same things can keep us from evolving our personalities.

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Awareness – LSD


It is what we become, how we define ourselves, by our awareness. After our hopes leave — one after the other — we panic as we near our psychological death.

Our capitalist, secularist, society leaves no room for spiritual growth, and as we progress through life and near our psychological death, having not acquired what we desired, we have no safety net to fall back on… After all, we are the centers of our own universes, so we have nobody available.

That line was from a PBS documentary on LSD research. LSD was used therapeutically to successfuly treat depression and anxiety. The LSD opened up the user mentally and allowed him or her to become aware of alternative emotions — the shift in perception was the vehicle that allowed the user to transcend the psychological barrier between hope and despair. This research was done in a highly relaxing and controlled environment, very different and far removed from the sensory overload acids tests of the hippies or CIA.

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iceIf you know something you have to let others know.

How do you do that?

We are not illegal — by trying to make us illegal they are depriving us of the inherent right of due process. When they claim that we are illegal they conclude that we have no rights, no claims to stand on — but we are not illegal. I am here, I exist, look at me.

The war of words is waged by the learned against the unsophisticated. For what reason? To legitimize a false authority, a false supremacy; to instill fear as a means of control. Propaganda is an engine of war, and all engines have weaknesses.

How do you hinder and halt the effects of propaganda?





If I am made to believe that I am illegal, then regardless of any fact otherwise, I will make myself illegal; I will assume the posture of illegal; I will assume the character of illegal; outcast; hunted. If I make myself illegal I must be on guard. I cannot exercise my god-given right to enjoy life: the daylight, the weekends, the nights, my family, my neighbors, my state.

The influence of being categorized illegal attaches to my person a unique set of rules that I must follow. Because of these restrictions attached to me I am at a disadvantage when compared to my free neighbors: from education as a child, to creating and managing relationships in adolescence, and to caste-status in adulthood, there is a perpetuity that ensues if the propaganda is not thwarted quickly and forcefully.

Propaganda lives, metamorphoses, multiplies; like a virus it changes to confuse its attackers. Propaganda changes, it takes on any form and appearance to serve its end.

We have been given a system into which we should assimilate. However, we are given the lower rungs to fight for — we are at the whims of budget cuts, at the whims of inadequate teachers and professors. We have been given a faulty system to follow, to fail. If we follow the system that our masters give us we will never succeed, except to mimic the master in some miniscule manner.

We must create our own system, our own opportunities. We must write our own histories, and our own futures. We must.

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What is truth?

I just finished the first draft of a new script and its been the most fun I’ve had in a while. I wanted to finish it by New Years, but 4-months vs. 3-months ain’t so bad.

Writing a comedy is much easier and less exhausting than an introspective, transcendental journey into the nether regions of my psyche. I mean that stuff is like taking a jack hammer to my mind, making a mess, and seeing what I have left at the end.

Whatever reason I had to wander the aisles of bookstores as an adolescent boy, I happened by chance one night upon a book by a writer, Antonin Artaud, whom I had never heard of before. However, as a young boy with the fire of revolution burning inside, I was quickly taken to the volatile literature contained within. As I read longer and saw what this man was doing, I decided, I was determined, that no French man would know more about the human soul than me. 

But in challenging the mad French man I would come to develop the same debilitating disease which would be his end.

I have removed the boundaries between the physical and spiritual worlds, and done it so often, and traveled so freely between the light of the world and the dark alleys of my mind, that I no longer know what is real.

I have to remind myself that I am writing and dreaming up fantasies — I have to remind myself that they don’t exist. Sometimes my creative alter ego wants to take over and completely wipe out my reality.

It makes me dizzy and anxious and I feel like I’m losing my mind when this happens because I really believe that I am going crazy. I forget that its not real, or is it?

I’ll just stick to comedies from now on. Ben Stiller looks like a happy person 😉

P.S. Final draft will be up soon, and there’s a part for everyone, as long as you work for free 😀

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On Getting Sick and Playing the Guitar

Its never fun getting sick, but even worse than getting sick is getting a weak sick, a kind of soft annoyance that isn’t a full blown sickness, like what I have.



Inferno Pictures, Images and Photos

Dante’s Inferno


At least when I’ve got a full blown flu or cold I have no desire to do anything because I’d rather be dead — but this kind of sick I’ve got, it’s got to be some cruel joke that God is playing on me, a kind of “fuck you Ben for trying to sell your soul.” See, I got no headache, no fever, no body aches, only a stuffed nose, and when I blow my mocos out, that’s the worst, because then my ears get plugged, then I’m screwed, cus there’s nothing I can do at that point — I mean, my ears are plugged, I can’t hear anything — oh, its a truly miserable thing. Its not like anything in Dante’s Inferno, but it should be (see: the circle for those that made a deal with the Devil and then rescinded the offer).


Casbah Cafe


So the sickness came on slowly, after we returned from Vegas for New Years… It was Saturday night and I had gone to the Casbah Cafe — I hadn’t been there in a few years and I wanted to see how the place was doing.



Well, the Casbah is doing great, and it hasn’t changed, which is also great. I started off writing in Los Feliz around 2000, and I did have some good times there, met some colorful characters, and created some colorful characters of my own. But Los Feliz slowly started becoming too trendy, and it lost its Bohemian spirit.



So I moved to the Casbah Cafe, and the spirit there was just what I needed. I was a regular there for about a year, and then for some reason I don’t remember, I stopped going.



Well I showed up at the Casbah again this past Saturday and was able to finish 10-pages rather effortlessly (I guess it is good to have a change of atmosphere). On my way home I did start to feel the sickness coming on — just a scratch in my throat.


xanadu your neon lights will shine Pictures, Images and Photos

Pan Pacific Park Amphitheater where I practice


By Sunday morning I woke up with a terrible sore throat. I left for Pan Pacific Park to practice my guitar for a couple of hours, but it got too cold to play as the sun went down (my fingers were actually freezing and I couldn’t hold down the strings anymore). But the practice session was a success, and I’m one step closer to playing the Crossroads at midnight — then we’ll see who gets who sick!!!


Dota-Lucifer Pictures, Images and Photos


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