GEORGE EADS
TV Guide Magazine, March 27th, 2009.
Need I say more?
(source*)
* edited with APs-CS4. Auto-tone. Crosshatch Filter, SL4/Sh4/St1.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The Boy In Blue
Friday, December 25, 2009
Ghost of Christmas Past
I look up at the clock and realize, Oh, it's already 12:13AM.
My first thought is Jesus, I need to get my ass to bed.
And then, with a nonchalant, matter-of-fact tone, Oh, it's Christmas.
To think, around this time, some odd years ago I would've given anything for the energy to be able to make it to midnight just so I can experience the fortune of being able to open a beautifully-wrapped gift I had already picked out beforehand and purchased under my strict direction by my mother or father.
Nevertheless, being granted the privilege to unwrap that present and call it my own on the beginnings of Christmas Day held such joy in my younger years— something not found all too often in my later years.
The surprise, the novelty— it's all worn off since I earned the capability of being able to buy my own luxuries and treat myself to my own gifts.
My world-weary attitude of having seen it all and done it all before has left little opportunity for surprises, let alone diminish my ability to find the novel quality of life's precious but all-too-overlooked experiences.
I miss being that little boy sometimes.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
VII – The Chariot
"This key signifies victory for the triumphant king who has conquered on all planes, particularly those of the mind, science, and growth. The chariot stands for the human personality, which can be a vehicle for the expression of the Self.
If his powers of observation are faulty, superficial, or fearful, the resulting sequence of subconscious reactions is bound to be destructive.
Key 7 means rest and victory, self-discipline and stability. The conqueror may not yet have conquered himself. Here we find both will and knowledge, but there is more desire to attain than proven power for real attainment.
Some occultists divide the Tarot Keys into three groups of seven cards each. In this case the number 7 indicates the Fool has reached an outer triumph and is ready to learn further lessons in the next seven cards.
Divinatory Meaning: Triumph, success, control over the forces of nature–thus triumph over ill health as well as money difficulties or enemies of any sort, including one's own lower animal passions. This is a card of those who achieve greatness. It may also indicate travel in comfort. Mental and physical powers should lead to fulfillment.
Reversed: Decadent desires, possibility of ill health, restlessness and desire for change, an unethical victory."*
After a long period of spiritual distance and neglect, I decided to break out the Tarot cards once again to help me figure out where I'm going to go with my life now, what's next in my journey after finally putting an end to the latest chapter of my book.
I managed to pick up the entirety of the deck of cards from the black box that my (late) Chanel sunglasses came in, save one.
After setting down the cards I had grabbed, I picked up the remaining card left behind in the box.
When I turned it over, I involuntarily gasped—it was like being shocked by electricity.
Shocked by the hand of Fate.
- - -
I'm scared.
Now that it's over and done with, what now?
What's next?
I thought I knew what I was doing. I thought I had a plan.
I thought I had something for sure, something so solid in its certainty that nothing could have shaken me out of my resolute determination.
Call it cold feet, but now it feels as if the cracks I've managed to overlook thus far in the foundations of my strategies have gradually spiderwebbed to a point too far past the limits of denial.
What the hell do I do now?
* Gray, Eden. A Complete Guide to the Tarot. New York: Bantam, 1972. Print.
Friday, December 11, 2009
So Tell Me When You Hear My Heart Stop
Lykke Li // Possibility
This song has been haunting me for the past few days.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
L.I.F.E.: 120503/102503
OVER BLACK.
L. (V.O.)
I love you.
CUT TO:
INT. A.'S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – DAY
A. (24, dark features, ruggedly handsome) sits on his bed, a half-packed suitcase beside him. He is absolutely dumbfounded.
L. (16, young, but an old soul) looks back at him expectantly after having released a heavy burden from his shoulders.
A LONG, AWKWARD SILENCE fills the room.
A CLOCK TICKS AWAY in the background. Six, seven, eight . . .
L.
Well? Say something.
A. struggles to find the words, STAMMERING.
A.
I-I-I don't . . .
(beat, incredulous)
What?
L.
I said I love you.
A. looks as if he's reeling in shock, still SILENT. His gaze is unfocused, jaw slightly open as he tries to digest this.
L. looks back at him, pained at A.'s lack of expression, the lack of returned sentiment.
L. (CONT'D)
Jesus, A.!
He brings a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes. He begins to pace.
L. (CONT'D)
You know what? Forget I said
anything. I'm . . .
(heads for the door)
I gotta go. I gotta get outta
here. Forget I said anything.
A. finally gathers his bearings. He immediately bolts up and goes after L.
A.
No, L., wait!
He catches him at the door, puts himself between it and L. to keep him from leaving.
A. (CONT'D)
Wait, okay? Wait a sec. Let's . . .
Let's talk about this.
L. looks away, embarrassed.
L.
Just forget I said anything.
A.
I can't- I can't just do that, L.
Not after you drop a bomb like that!
L. looks back at him in disbelief.
L.
(hurt)
"A bomb like that?"
A.
You know what I mean. You gotta
admit, that came pretty far out of
left field.
L.
You know I don't understand your
sports analogies.
A.
It was just . . . pretty unexpected,
is all. Can you blame a guy for
being caught off guard?
L.
(offended, incredulous)
"Pretty unexpected?" Have the last
few weeks meant NOTHING to you?!
A. looks back at him in shock, not realizing till now what the last few weeks meant to L. He sinks back onto the bed, stunned.
A.
L., look. We were just . . .
He STAMMERS for an answer.
L.
We were just what?
A.
Just . . . fooling around.
Not the answer L. was looking for. He looks as if he's just been slapped in the face AND punched in the gut, ready to crumple with one more hit.
L.
(wry)
Deeper, A.
A.
What?
L.
Twist the knife deeper, why don't you.
Now A.'s shock turns into a shade of frustration. He leaps out of bed and starts pacing the room frantically.
A.
What did you expect, L.? You're . . .
You're my best friend's ex-boyfriend!
L.
What does that have to do with
anything?
A.
Don't you get it, L.? It's wrong.
L.
Yeah, yeah. I got it. You've only
been saying it was wrong every time
YOU called ME up in the middle of
the night, every time YOU brought
ME to your bedroom, every time YOU
slept with ME --
A.
Don't you dare victimize yourself
here, L.! It takes two to tango.
L.
But YOU were the one saying it was
wrong even though YOU were the one
initiating it all, so that makes YOU
the hypocrite, A.
A. sinks back onto the edge of the bed, defeated.
A.
L., we can't -- We can't just . . .
We can't just do this.
(beat)
We can't.
He looks up at L. with pleading eyes, which L. meets with a cold stare.
L.
So, what? It was fine for us to hang
out together without anyone knowing,
fine for us to be alone together in
the middle of the night, fine for us
to just keep seeing each other and
sleeping with each other as long
as we kept believing it was just
"fooling around" and nothing more?
Because, God forbid, one of us might
actually care about the other one
as more than just a fuck buddy and
might actually have real feelings?
A. looks at his feet, caught.
A.
(muttering)
Something like that.
L.
I don't believe you!
He kneels before A., letting his desperation show as he grabs for A.'s hands to hold in his own.
L. (CONT'D)
A., I love you.
A. wrestles his hand away.
A.
L., don't.
He leaps to his feet. Searching for a distraction, he continues packing, grabbing anything in sight and tossing it into the suitcase on the bed.
L.
So, that's it?
(A. ignores him;
on the verge of tears)
A., please!
A. stops packing long enough to give him a reproachful glance before redirecting his gaze to his hands.
A.
I can't –- I can't do this right
now, L. I'm sorry. I just can't.
L. looks at him, defeated. A. continues to pack in silence; L. doesn't stop him.
CUT TO:
INT. A.'S BEDROOM – EVENING (TWO MONTHS AGO)
A. sits on the edge of the bed in the dark room, naked. He looks over his shoulder at L., sleeping soundly beside him.
A somber look flashes across his face.
AFTER A MOMENT, A. gets up and heads into his bathroom.
CUT TO:
INT. A.'S BATHROOM – CONTINUING
A. stands over the sink, splashing his face with cold water.
HE AVOIDS MEETING HIS EYES IN THE MIRROR.
CUT TO:
INT. A.'S BEDROOM – CONTINUING
A. sits back down onto the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands.
L. stirs awake.
L.
Hey.
A. barely GRUMBLES a reply. L. sits up, concerned.
L. (CONT'D)
Everything okay?
He reaches out to touch A.'s shoulder, who only brushes it off.
L. (CONT'D)
(confused)
Hey --
A.
Let's get you back home.
He rises off the bed and gets dressed, AVOIDING L.'s EYES.
CUT TO:
INT. A.'S CAR – NIGHT (LATER)
A. and L. sit in the car in silence outside L.'s apartment complex.
L. shoots A. a glance out of the corner of his eye.
L.
Are you okay? You haven't said
a thing since we . . .
(beat)
Are you okay?
A.
(doesn't want to talk)
Yep. Fine as rain.
L.
Fine as pie?
A.
You know what I meant.
(beat)
Are you okay?
L.
Yeah. I'm fine. It's you I'm
worried about.
A.
(through gritted teeth)
I told you I'm fine.
L. struggles to accept this.
L.
Right. Okay.
(beat)
Well, then I guess I'll . . .
see ya around.
He starts to exit the car when A. SPEAKS UP.
A.
We shouldn't have done that.
L. looks back at him, confused and a little hurt.
L.
What?
A.
What we did . . . We shouldn't
have done that.
L.
Why?
(beat, small)
Was it bad?
A.
No. No, L., it was . . . Good.
Great, even. But . . . It was
wrong. We shouldn't have . . .
L.
Fucked?
The word stings A. a little.
A.
Yeah.
I can't bring myself to finish this, because:
1) it hurts too much to try and relive, and
2) it's already faded from memory.
This is all I'm gonna leave with for now.
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