Useless Advice

Whilst frolicking through the wayward path towards enlightenment I tripped and fell, rolling down a steep hillside and ending up stuck in a particularly unpleasant pricker bush. I lay there for several hours, wondering how I could have ended up in this horrible predicament, and why I had foolishly thought I could travel unfettered in my quest towards ultimate knowledge. Greater men than I had become stuck in the rather elegantly symbolic pricker bush, as was evidenced by the fact that they lay even now beside me, flailing their helpless legs like frightened piglets, their overcoats flipped upside down to reveal their heart-patterned knickers.

"How did you come to be here?" I asked one of the great men, a philosopher of the highest degree whose studious desk I had passed on several occasions in the city library before I embarked on my fruitless journey.

"I came to be here..." he paused thoughtfully before giving me an eggshell full of useless advice that I would have spit back in his face were I not so starved for knowledge and uncomfortably squashed between a fat soothe-sayer and a restless young prodigy, who just so happened not to be wearing any knickers at all. "I came to be here...by going."

TV

I'm glad I know what I want to do.

We toured the BBC today with our British Comedy class, saw the news room, saw the studios, and I even won a free mug and a pen by winning a bullshit "weakest link" game at the end of the tour. And even though we didn't really get to see anything terribly exciting, and I didn't learn very much about the BBC or television in the least, I knew that I wanted to work there. I mean, not literally at the BBC, but in TV. It just feels like I fit there and I want to stay there. So it's good that that's what I'm going to be doing.

That combined with the fact that the best part of my day yesterday was watching two of my favorite TV shows leads me to believe that I really like it. So I'm gonna try to do it. Like, for a job. Because how sweet would it be to get paid for doing that? It'd be really sweet.

So that's what I've been thinking about today.

Reasoning

I'd rather say nothing than say something for no reason.

Vision

God came to me in a vision and he told me to meet him in Hyde Park at around 11:15 next Wednesday. I asked Him where and He said I wouldn't be able to miss Him because He looks exactly like how I would think God looked like, whatever that is. I asked Him how He knew what I thought He looked like and he said, "well, I'm God aren't I? I know everything."

Society

There is a great art to stifling yawns. One must purse their lips discreetly, force the eyes to remain open and focused, and concentrate hard on keeping the body tense yet lucid. It is a necessary skill to master should you ever find yourself in the company of boring or otherwise damnable sophisticates and still hope to be well regarded by them, as one must in order to accomplish anything in today's society.

Soup of the Day

The Soup of the Day today is roasted red pepper lobster bisque with a hint of lime, served chilled with a side vegetarian sandwich. We're sorry about the sandwich, we didn't have any roast beef left.

Reading Suggestions

My mission for this semester is to read approximately a book every two weeks. I'm just about on pace now but I've gone through most of interesting books that any of us actually own, so I'm taking suggestions for books I should read, and I'll probably be able to pick them up at some library or other. The floor is open...recommend me some good stuff, eh?

Other than that I've decided to avoid posting actual slice-of-life blogs as much as possible because they bore me (and Steve apparently) and they're probably lame for you to read and I don't really have that much interesting stuff to say anyway. So I'm going to try to stick to artistic renderings I've created, i.e. the last several posts, which I think are more fun for everyone, and (at least I hope) less self-obsessed.

I've also decided that since I'm writing a bunch of scripts that I actually want to hear them out loud, something I've never gotten a chance to hear (aside from inside my head) and that's how scripts are supposed to be interpreted so that's a new goal. Meaning if you are an actor friend of mine in London (you know who you are) I want to get some readings together and hear you guys say my words. It'll be fun for everyone, and if it ends up really sucking for everyone we'll go out for drinks afterwards. Win-win. Or lose-win, but either way eventually somebody's winning. So tell your friends, let's get some cool play-readings together, once I have enough plays for everyone to read.

Without further adieu, please enjoy more poetry, essays, dialogues, and philosophies in the days to come. This message has been made possible by McDonald's Free Wireless Internet, Google Blogs, my brain for coming up with what to say, and my fingers, for skillfully deciphering it.

Peace,

Adam

From The Archives

"Whistle," she said, and he didn't know what she meant. When asked to explain herself her lips disappeared and soon she was a featureless face floating in his memory, lacking individuality and, indeed, life.

Analogy

Writing is like taking a tremendous shit. It feels terrible while you're doing it but afterwards you feel so much fuckin better.

Lost in Wonder

I am endlessly fascinated by your nose.

I'm not sure what that means

but I think it's a good thing

that it occupies many hours of my day.

Aaah

Drinking tea is like drunkenness in reverse.

My mind is as clear as my belly is full.

Speedy Haiku

Damn you library,

Closing at 5 on Friday.

No time for poems.

Release

It took me three days to realize I was still waiting for you to come back. I mean I ate breakfast and while I was eating I would just picture you coming in and I’d hope that I looked alright and I’d be ready to open the door and let you in. It was three breakfasts until I realized that nothing else was on my mind except you. And you never came back. So after the last breakfast I just stopped hoping, and that was probably the saddest I’ve ever been in my life. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I stood up and looked at the empty dishes and I just—I was alone, you understand. It hit me that you weren’t coming back and I was alone and—three days! That’s what had kept me going, somehow I thought that any second you’d be marching in with a suitcase and a new haircut and…and then after the third breakfast I lost the image and I knew you were far away and probably dead for all I could tell and my phone hadn’t rung once and I didn’t know what to do. I hope you’re okay, wherever you are. You probably are. You’re probably very happy. This is the last I’m going to think about you because the second I get you out of my head you’ll be back. As soon as it leaves my mind and I’m not expecting it there you’ll be. So until then, I’m afraid I can’t think about you anymore. By the way I do love you. I’m sorry I didn't—forget it. I’ll tell you when I see you.

Revolution

Two guards stand attentive outside Lady Coverly's bedchamber as the church bell tolls twelve times. Is't midnight already? Asks one in a biting tone. I'd've thought our duty had just begun, so fascinating has this night been thus far. Bored are you? Asks the other. Then I have some news to tell you, in hopes it may entertain your underused brain. Not two nights from now shall there be a revolt upon the king, a usurpation of the highest degree, a part in which eight of our fellow sentrymen shall play. Usurpation? Asks the other stupidly, and the second guard nods gravely. Tis true, he replies. Will you not take part in our scheme to rid our kingdom of its most unjust ruler in nearly a century? Ay no, says the other hastily. If this be a test I stand firm in my loyalty to the king our majesty, and thus have passed. Tis not a test, spits the second guard. And if you be not with us you be against us. We will not see the uprising fail. What mean you to do? Cries the first, a worried tremble running through his coarse voice. Are we not friends? Shall we fight each other when the fateful day arrives? Not then says the second. There shall be no fight, comrade, as I have just now decided to end your life this moment, lest news of the revolution spill from between your cowardly lips. And with that the second guard spears the first through the heart, just as Lady Coverly screams from the depths of her bedchamber, that instant waking from a horrible nightmare.

Oh, Tuesday

Everything bad happens on Tuesday. If you've heard otherwise they are lying to you. I maintain we establish a revolution. Yes, friend, against Tuesday. Not that this Tuesday has been particularly disappointing--in fact I've quite enjoyed this one. But think of the terrors that next Tuesday could bring if it isn't stopped. Oh yes, my soul quakes at the mere mention of the horrible atrocities that this day is capable of. So remember, though every Tuesday may not hold bad happenings, everything bad happens on Tuesday.*



*The views of this blogpost do not necessarily reflect the feelings of the author. He might actually quite enjoy Tuesday for all you know.

As Promised

It was a good weekend--hung out around Shakespeare's hometown, saw a ridiculous production of Midsummer Night's Dream, spent a night in a Bed & Breakfast, hit up Oxford for a couple hours, and then went to the Thames Festival last night, which was crazy even though we got there fairly late.

But who the fuck cares about what I did? Anyway, as promised, this is something I wrote with a pen I bought in the church where Shakespeare is buried, in the pub where C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien used to have philosophical conversations and get drunk all the time when they were at Oxford. If only I had written it on paper manufactured in the place where J.D. Salinger shed his first tear I'd be set. Next time, I guess.

Chapter 1

It wasn’t like him to sit alone in a pub. He typically enjoyed quietly eavesdropping on his friends as they chatted exuberantly amongst each other, occasionally tossing in a lackluster joke or adding a few words of encouragement to a particularly impressive story. But he was sick of it. So, cooped up in a darkly lit quiet corner he sat alone, notebook open, pint a quarter gone, dreaming as he liked about the most notable difference between English and Scottish dragons, or how quickly one would have to travel through space to be able to move the earth backwards through time. He deduced it would have to happen quite quickly indeed, the traveler would have to enjoy the most immaculate weather conditions, and would probably employ the use of a pair of magic shoes to be able to pull off the stunt successfully. All of this has little bearing on the story, other than that the reader may have been curious to know the types of ideas flowing through our hero’s brain, or at least might enjoy reading an excerpt of the curious paragraphs he was leisurely jotting down in his notebook in between sips of bitter ale.

New, Amazing Things

The idea of London was to open myself up to a new world of endless possibilities (I made that up just now, but it seems like it would be a good idea for what London should be). Well, I have just experienced something I never could have dreamed up (I probably could have but I don't have dreams like that)...you've probably already guessed it but: I ate a strawberry vanilla chewy granola bar! WHAT? I KNOW! I had never even HEARD of those before. They're very good, I recommend it.

Other than that, I'm having a difficult time laying down the foundations of some new work and I feel like I've lost sight of the core of why I want to write anything in the first place. It's a phase I (and writers everywhere) go through every other week, but it's still a disgruntling feeling when it happens. So I'm going back to the basics: telling a story and entertaining. I hope to post a couple dumb short stories here soon and see how they go. My goal is for them to be about very little, and to leave an impression on you the reader for the  rest of your life.

We're taking a weekend trip to Stratford early tomorrow morning, so no blogs until probably Sunday--plenty of time to write something worth reading. In the meantime I'll be kickin' it with Shakespeare and a few of my bros (and broettes) gettin' crunk and reciting beautiful sonnets. If anyone going on the trip is reading this...bring along a sonnet you've memorized so that we can recite them when we get crunk there. That's what I'll be doing.

Enthusiastically,

Adam

What's The Point?

The title is not meant to be depressing...just posing a question. I don't really have anything to say, but since this is the only time I get on the Internet today I decided I might as well say something, because the dullest thing that I say is likely equivalent to the most fascinating thing that most people ever come up with in their entire lives.

How interesting was that? Pretty interesting I bet. For you, not for me. I live with my thoughts all the time, so I'm pretty used to them by now.

That's all I got for you today, peeps. Having just woken up I'm finding it difficult to shake the cobwebs off of my brain and hit you with some philosophical shit. Soon though, I promise. And if not, don't worry because there are plenty of better, more trained philosophers whose published shit you can read for free at the library. So...no harm done. What's the point of writing again? Let me think about that today.

Ponderingly,

Adam

Impromptu Haiku During TK's Class

Jo's writing haikus

So I thought I'd write one too.

This is my haiku.

...And A Tidbit Of Wisdom From London

Anything will taste good if you put enough butter and olive oil on it. Trust me.

Tidbits Of Wisdom From This Summer #2

"I have the voice of an angel and the heart of a lion. Literally."

-Devin

Reality

Even when you're in the middle of trying to figure yourself out, you still have to do stuff.

I'm Playing My Cool Card

Well, I've betrayed myself already by titling my post what I've titled it.

A few things...first of all, I had a wonderful video chat with Steve (hey Steve) in the library yesterday, which I decided not to mention until now because first of all I was pissed because he got me in trouble with the scary British librarian for laughing too loud in public (can't do that in London...er, I mean libraries) and second of all I was pissed because he hadn't read the screenplay I sent him.

But then he did today so we'll call it even.

Now to the real point of today: I've gotta maintain my cool. What else do I have going for me? I mean besides my looks but those will fade with time (although several sages have told me that I am ageless). All I know is I'm definitely not going to whip out my neurotic, unsure, frightened, desperate, lame side that has been so prevalent in all the terrible shit I've been writing lately. I'm too old for that anyway. Besides, this year is about being an adult (among many other things) so that's the direction I'm gonna take me. And in my opinion being an adult means being cool. Well, being me as an adult means being cool. So that's that.

Am I talking about something specifically? Yes. But I've decided I'm going to be cool for the rest of my life so I suppose it's applicable to everything else too. Just to be clear, I don't mean "cool" as in wearing leather jackets and making the juke box play by jabbing it with my elbow (The Fonz is still considered cool right?), I don't mean I want to be the popular kid and know all the little hole-in-the-wall places and always say the perfect thing all the time. I just mean I'm gonna skim under the surface and not let shitty stuff get to me and take things as they come and roll with it.

And that, kids, is how to play your cool card. That's what all the cool kids are calling it these days.

Cooly, maybe too cooly,

Adam

Oh, hey

Clearly, living without Internet has been a hindrance to updating the blog. But seriously, fuck blogs*. That is most definitely a good thing though because I'm reading more (increasing my already enormous amount of wisdom) and writing more. I've already finished two screenplays since I've been here so I'm feeling good about it. If you are interested in reading them and have some amount of power in the industry please let me know. Otherwise please don't bother me.

On Thursday I went to an American sports bar to watch the first football game of the season. I ate chicken wings and drank beer and yelled with other Americans. It was a great feeling, even if it made me a little homesick. Then I walked outside and remembered I was still in London and that London is way cooler than America and felt much better about myself.

I wish I could write more but the library is closing (damn you, restricting hours) so I am off. I wish I could think of something else of wit and humour (that's right, with a U...get used to it) but it's 5 pm and I'm already dead drunk so I'll have to let it slide for now. Ah, to be young and in love. With England.

Until I remember to bring my computer to the London Center, adieu.

Cordially,

Adam

*See first blog post

After Midnight Haiku

Three AM night bus
obediently travels
where I need to go

Since when do blogs need titles?

It's just another clever thing I'd have to think up, and as long as I'm not writing a literary essay, short story, movie, or poem I say they are unnecessary.

I've always said that blogs are like assholes, they all suck. Wait, everybody is one. Yeah. And I'm not one to shamelessly plug anyone's work besides my own (PS read my other blog posts!) but there is a particularly entertaining blog I've had the pleasure of reading the last couple of days. It probably won't be entertaining to you (since you don't know them, unless you know them, then it'll be entertaining! Confused?) but I think it's hilarious, and if you are reading my blog in hopes of understanding what life is like for me in London this will give you a better idea. Because God knows I'd rather write about anything other than what's really happening to me.

Anyway, check out Jo Ro's blog at http://joroinlondon.blogspot.com/ for an idea of what livin' the life is really like. If nothing else other than for the fact that I am actually hanging out with this person, and that I am mentioned several times throughout the first two posts (the main reason I read it). Don't worry, it's Adam approved.

Approvingly,

Adam

The Harder They Come, The Harder They Fall

Can you really complain if God has been miraculously, inexplicably feeding you manna in the desert for 40 years and then decides to stop one day out of the blue and leave you to fend for yourself in the cruel, bitter world? Can you get mad at him and complain that you are entitled to it, and get angry when he tells you to fuck off and deal with it because he's been helping you out this long and he thought by now you'd figure out how to find food for your fucking self?

No.

Sadly this is what I believe to be a perfect metaphor for our Internet connection at the flat, which we have been stealing from "the bloke upstairs who would never know what was going on", according to the landlord. Well, I don't know what happened but it didn't work all day yesterday and I'm starting to think we may have to accept our sad, sad fate. I am to be regulated by London Center and library and Internet cafe hours until December. Is there anything worse in the world? Yes. But this still sucks. So now we're wandering lost in the desert and have nothing to eat and have to wait until the local desert gas station opens at specific hours during the day so that we can buy candy bars and frozen pizzas. This metaphor has gotten worse as it continues, but what can I say, I'm hungry. I mean, I have no Internet at my home. Yeah, that's what I mean.

But also the title of my post is really clever because The Harder They Come is the name of a musical we saw last night. So basically this has been a wonderfully crafted if horrifically tragic and strangely religious blog post.

Somberly,

Adam