Tuesday, 24 February 2015
Wednesday, 18 February 2015
Wednesday, 11 February 2015
How to acted accordingly when your booze has run out
you have just got to understand the arts.
always imagine the thing you're drawing, dont just be like "Omg im going to impress people with my drawings". INstead you have to understand youre drawing and see it. Stop looking from the same angle, just make something in the angle you imagine it in your head, not waht you've sorn earlier.
Do a drawing now, and understand what you're drawing, dont worry about what it looks like to others
Just engage in the conversation in a different way. Look at what you are going to say before you say it. Think "What are they going to think when i say this?"
Fingers on keyboard are heavy, like there is a gravity that can pull it down.
always imagine the thing you're drawing, dont just be like "Omg im going to impress people with my drawings". INstead you have to understand youre drawing and see it. Stop looking from the same angle, just make something in the angle you imagine it in your head, not waht you've sorn earlier.
Do a drawing now, and understand what you're drawing, dont worry about what it looks like to others
Just engage in the conversation in a different way. Look at what you are going to say before you say it. Think "What are they going to think when i say this?"
Fingers on keyboard are heavy, like there is a gravity that can pull it down.
Wednesday, 4 February 2015
The short story, Tommy, has undergone a massive amount of
changes since the first draft. When I started to write Tommy, I wanted it to
reflect on the unseen hatred between a parent and their child. Obviously, to
make a story out of it I made an extreme scenario and had the development to it
make the finale seem obvious. In short, the ending wasn't as shocking as I
wanted it to be. I had relied on the gruesome details, rather than the actual
idea. I completely rewrote the story, only keeping small metaphors and ideologies
which relate to the attitude against disability like. An example of this is the fathers opinion of Thomas the Tank Engine, it was indirectly hinting towards the attitude some people have towards down syndrome people (The disability that Tommy is visably effected by) When writing, I set out the
scenes like that of an avant-garde movie, using obvious binary oppositions like
the emotion of the father and the colours of Tommy’s room to create an irony
between them. I decided that I needed to mark the passage of time with a simple statement of the age. This way it seemed more like a crime report.Each ‘scene’ (Marked by Tommy’s age change) focuses on a different development in Tommy's brain, although it wasn't in an analog way. For example, the first stage is the obvious development stage in a child's life, not too abnormal. I needed to slowly wean the audience into seeing there was something wrong with Tommy without blatantly explaining "Tommy has down syndrome". To do this, I had the first scene have a slightly offset tone to it. It focused on developing the hatred the father bears (Something I make more and more intense as the story goes on) and showing the audience that something is wrong. This scene drew its main inspiration from Lionel Shriver's 'We Need To Talk About Kevin' scene where Kevin is ignoring his mothers pleas to throw her the ball back. I like the unexplained but obvious thought path Kevin's mother, Eva, has going on inside her brain. This helped quickly move Kevin into more interesting scenes. Creating the mother on the other hand, was something I struggled with. It seemed that in the first draft she influenced the story too much and drew attention away from the final scene. I had her become the conventional innocent female bystander as it would reinforce the despicable nature of the final act. By having her walk in on the apex of her husbands hatred, it made the scene more tragic as you are imagining a mother watch something bad happen to their child. When writing I tried to make her seem like a present parent. To do this I wrote her in as someone who just looks over what her child does and regrets previous decisions; an enabler. She is not seen in any of the scenes actually doing anything to combat Tommy's behavior, and is not even present for the last scene. She doesn't tell Tommy that hitting himself is wrong. By not having her only present in one scene I showed to the audience in the shortest and most indirect way possible that the father has to bear the brunt of Tommy's actions. It was a definite that this piece would take place in first person. I didn't use my normal writing style until the last scene because before hand it needed to be as mundane as possible. The fathers perception of the world is dulled and not very insightful "I pour the coffee into two plastic cups, red and blue" No art is in his description at all, he is exhausted. The final scene was set out like that of an old western movie. It's a standoff between Tommy and his father. At the pinnacle of the scene, time freezes, leaving a past tense, hindsight to it. By making it past tense I allow the audience to read it carefully because making it present tense would have forced the audience to read on.
"Close Encounters" Is an extract and the first chapter from a larger piece of writing I have been planning. My aim when writing was to set a abstract, yet believable, setting for the story to take place. I tried to make the encounters become more and more weird as the story progressed, representing the drugged up perception of the world this group of teenagers is experience. A technique I used when writing was refraining from explaining what resided outside of the little space the group occupied at a time. For example, when the main character, Pete, is walking around trying to find food, nothing is explained apart from the actual destination in question. I let the audience have there own view of the journey. By not describing the outside world, I create a very dreamy feel to the destinations, like set pieces on a stage without anything residing on the outside.
"Close Encounters" takes direct inspiration from the screenplay writing of Martin McDonagh, who uses awkward pauses and dry wit to form a multi layered conversation. The way Martin creates such masterful dialogues is by using ironic displays that directly take into account previous scenes. For example, the Burger Shack scene in my extract uses the irony of the place not selling burgers to make the undertone of the scene weird in itself. This layed the foundation for the exchange between Pete and "Fat ACDC man". Something I tried to achieve in the dialogue was tense pauses. I looked into how Martin Mcdonagh does this and added it into my writing style. If you see this exchange from "The Pillowman".
Tupolski: Mr Katurian. This is detective Ariel, i'm detective Tupolski... Who left that on you?
Katurian: What? (Tupolski takes the blindfold off)
Tupolski: Who left this on you?
He uses the obvious as as way differing from the norm.
I was inspired also by the incredibly weird looking people I see every time I walk through Bedminster. It was my aim to capture the way that it isn't like they are actively trying to be different, or doing anything that's out of the ordinary, but just that they don't have the common customs that a fully functioning person does.
I tried, over the course of the story, to create a disconnection between the group of "friends"
"Close Encounters" Is an extract and the first chapter from a larger piece of writing I have been planning. My aim when writing was to set a abstract, yet believable, setting for the story to take place. I tried to make the encounters become more and more weird as the story progressed, representing the drugged up perception of the world this group of teenagers is experience. A technique I used when writing was refraining from explaining what resided outside of the little space the group occupied at a time. For example, when the main character, Pete, is walking around trying to find food, nothing is explained apart from the actual destination in question. I let the audience have there own view of the journey. By not describing the outside world, I create a very dreamy feel to the destinations, like set pieces on a stage without anything residing on the outside.
"Close Encounters" takes direct inspiration from the screenplay writing of Martin McDonagh, who uses awkward pauses and dry wit to form a multi layered conversation. The way Martin creates such masterful dialogues is by using ironic displays that directly take into account previous scenes. For example, the Burger Shack scene in my extract uses the irony of the place not selling burgers to make the undertone of the scene weird in itself. This layed the foundation for the exchange between Pete and "Fat ACDC man". Something I tried to achieve in the dialogue was tense pauses. I looked into how Martin Mcdonagh does this and added it into my writing style. If you see this exchange from "The Pillowman".
Tupolski: Mr Katurian. This is detective Ariel, i'm detective Tupolski... Who left that on you?
Katurian: What? (Tupolski takes the blindfold off)
Tupolski: Who left this on you?
He uses the obvious as as way differing from the norm.
I was inspired also by the incredibly weird looking people I see every time I walk through Bedminster. It was my aim to capture the way that it isn't like they are actively trying to be different, or doing anything that's out of the ordinary, but just that they don't have the common customs that a fully functioning person does.
I tried, over the course of the story, to create a disconnection between the group of "friends"
Close Encounters (they are all friends)
A red Chevrolet traveling across the Colorado desert. Giant wrinkly rocks stacked on vomit coloured sand wiz past our heads. Two guys. Three sweaty gals, sequins on foreheads and glossy knickers gleaming from beneath denim skirts. A girls, Hetty, sits with her ass next to my head atop the car seat, her genitals warming the air with their stench. Car's going about 80 miles an hour, although It's hard to tell, the indicator gets stuck at 40. Doesn't matter, it's going fast enough to make the desert landscape look like one of those modern art pieces in a museum.
"How far?" says Serena with her legs propped up against the door and feet hanging out the window, letting the wind cleanse her toes.
"Bout' a mile. How's Jacky?!" I ask while forcing the gas pedal down, revving the engine and creating an aggressive purr. She's in a catatonic state last time I checked the back seat, not moving but with lots of unseen energy beneath the eye lids.
"Fine" mundanely states a dark haired man with shades pulled over his eyes and a drooping head: Ron, who sits in the front seat next to me, smoking a cigar we picked up from a gas station in San Francisco.
"No guys listen" shouts Serena from the backseat over the loud desert wind.. "She's wispering"
"What's she saying?"
No answer, I ask again, louder. Nothing. Am I actually making any noise? The wind seems to be getting more and more intense by the second. I screech the car to a halt on the dusty track beside the road and relish in the absence of noise. "What's she saying guys?" I shout angrily.
"For fuck sake Pete!" Reacts Jemma, shifting her position back upright in the seat "She just keeps saying she's sorry!"
I laugh "Right ok" and hit the gas.
We're about two hours away from Burning Man. We've been on the road since Austin, picking up hitchhikers and drifters. Our newest member is Hetty; we've had sex, twice.
"How's the sun?" asks Ron.
I ignore him, he's talking shit. My fingers grip the wheel like a hawk, i'm not crashing while we're this close.
"Do you think it'll be there?" says a girls voice from the back.
Hetty jumps up with excitement "Oh god Jacky, you're awake!" she exclaims.
I don't take my eyes off the road but I imagine Jacky looks like death incarnate, she threw up over herself about a half hour ago. It was horrible, we had to shake her limp carcass off like a rug. Then, to dry her off, we rolled her around in the sand. But instead of removing the sick from her clothes, the bile soaked up the sand into piles on her floral dress.
"Yes Jacky, why'd you think we've traveled this far?" This is our pilgrimage. You may have your Mecca, or your Jerusalem, we have Burning Man; the writhing centre for filth in america. The last supper for aristocratic youths. The only information we have of its inner workings comes from Ron, although you have to get him incredibly sober to have him part with it. I remember that Jacky is waiting for an answer.
"About half a mile" No one answers me. Truth is, not even I am confident with where we are, all I see in front of me is a long stretch of tarmac. I've always wondered, why do they bother with the road markings out here? Isn't it just too much effort to paint every single line in the middle of the road. I mean, people aren't exactly going to crash into each other, you can see a car coming even if it's an hour away.
Then I saw it. It started as a faint dot in the distance, didn't have a colour or anything, just a dot. I tried to see the bonfires, the tents, the party goers. But instead, all I saw was a dull blur. in the left corner of my eye.
"Can you see it guys?" I excitedly caw "Not far now"
It stayed a dot for about an hour before I could see a visable change in its size. As we got closer I saw it sparkling with movement. "We're nearly there guys" I scream. It gradually got closer and closer. I imagined all the amazing possibilities that would arise as soon as the car drew to a halt.
I park the car in the most secluded area possible, away from the main husk of tents, and start setting up.
"Excuse me sir, you can't park here" Says an arrogant voice out of no where. I look up and a 30 something latino stands surveying our Chevrolet. The desert sun bounces off the streaks of his pulled back hair, revealing stress creases along his giant forehead, so big you could seclude a whole pencil in them. You'd think that having a forehead like that, you would try and hide it with a fringe, but no.
"Anything you've got that I should know about, sir?" He sneers while keeping his eyes fixed on the trunk.
"Nothing that you need to know about, no"
He pauses, searching for something venomous "Well you can't park here, you need to be within the yellow tape". He points across the field to the main body of tents.
Before I can protest he grabs our camping equipment, Spoons, stove and steaks, and throws it atop the girls in the back.
"...Go on" He says with a hint of sarcasm.
We move next to a luxurious grey tent, complete with a plastic conservatory littered with what looks like yoga mats and playing cards.
"Now what is the fucking point of coming all the way out into the fucking desert to camp in something which resembles a fucking mansion?" Ron complains while slumping a industrial blue sheet of tarpaulin down on the dust.
"Tell me about it, fucking rich bitc-"
"Why hello there Neighbor" Over excitedly shouts a chunky looking lady wearing sweat pants pulled above her belly button, in an attempt to hide the ungodly amount of flubber hanging from her stomach. Globduals of fat sway from her calfs as she hops towards us. Her physique resembled that of a Tellytubby.
"What brings you rapscallions to our side of the village then?"
Rob sighs and turns back to pitching the tent. The tellytubby sees this and pauses with a sad look on her face, then forces the smile back on and turns to Jacky, strewn in the front of the car.
"Why goodness! What happened to you my darling" She loudly asks while skipping to the side of the car.
"I...." Stammers Jacky as she searches for an answer "I fell"
"What, You fell? Really?"
"God she is fucking annoying" Whispers Rob.
"Well how exactly did that happen?"
"I don't think she is going to go away man" Says Rob in an unnerved tone
"Where was it you fell?"
"I think she might be an undercover man" Panics Ron "She's trying to rattle us"
"Why not come into our tent for a cup and let us fix you up"
"She's trying to abduct Jacky man!" Squeals Rob.
"Calm- the fuck- down Rob, she's just a bit social inept"
Next thing I see is Jacky being escorted into the grey tent beneath the huge hairy bingo wings of Ms Tellytubby, her overly loud nattering disappearing into the distance.
"Anyone fancy some snacks?" I say before Ron starts to pursue
"Yeah, go on then"
I walk to the 'Burger Shack'. A long, patterned rug, swirling with colours, is suspended by long metal rods above a secretaries desk that looks like it was found in a junk yard. Dozens of cookers, throthing and steaming, are lined up behind it. The place didn't look stable but the only other food on option was our beef jerky in the glove box. I sit down on one of the mismatched tables outside the shack and pick up the menu.
Spaghetti- 6.00$
Pizza slice- 3.00$
Egg on toast- 7.00$
Curly fries- 2.00$
I have no idea whether I should wait to be served or not. I suspect they will come out and take my order. While looking around I realize something; every table has a different children toy placed in the center, mine's a train. I give up waiting and shift to the bar area under the rug. It feels colder sitting here, despite the thick sweat I can feel coming off of the large man hunched over next to me, grazing on a large plate of greasy fries. Two women, dressed in fur coats and gleaming white sneaker rush around behind the desk, holding frying pans and blenders that vibrate in their hands.
"Excuse me"
No answer, they just carry on pacing up and down the shack, grabbing mugs and moving pans off of hobs.
"Erm excuse me" I repeat
"Oh sorry dear" Says one of the women while spinning around. Her voice was slightly unhinged, as if something was pinching her while she spoke.
"Yeah, hi, I was just wondering if I could get a burger?"
"Oh we don't do burgers sorry"
I stare in dismay.
"If you'd like to check the menu" She whips out a laminated sheet from beneath her fur coat "Everything you can get is on there"
"Well alright then, I'll get the chips ple-" Before I can finish she snatches the menu from my clutches, sprints behind the cooker and squats. She emerges with a plate heaped with chips, making vibrating spaceship noises while mimicking the movements of a plane with her hands.
"Vvvvvvrrrrrr, here it comes!"
"T-thank you very much"
"No problem dear, need anything, just give we a shout"
"Well actually, yeah, could I get some ketchup?"
She doesn't reply, just nods to the large mountain like man sitting next to me.
His shoulders are so large they protrude around his face. A Greasy ACDC t-shirt is forced over his large mammoth body with stains running down the back. How do you manage to get stains back there? I shift my position so i'm almost leaning off the desk so I can see his face. A giant bushy beard leaks over his collar, streaks of unhealthy white hairs fizz and curl around its erratic structure. His mouth is no where to be seen, only the movements of his chewing is evidence that he actually has one. Usually you would be able to trace the starting point of someones beard hairs, not this one, there where strands of hair coming from all directions, forming a giant fuzz ball with no start or end.
"You know where I can get some ketchup mate?"
He stops chewing and looks me straight in the eyes. Ripples and folds sag around his squinting peepers. Warts and puss filled boils stick out from the ripply skin, some yellow, others stark white beneath a film of peach coloured flesh. His skin seems to be dried and flakey, apart from his nose, which was as smooth as a waxed car. It was as if his whole body had aged apart from it. I realize I am staring.
"I'm.... I'm looking for some ketchup" I stutter.
He reaches into his kakis and pulls out a bright pink pencil case, complete with hello kitty face and a speech mark 'I love you!'. Unzipping it I see it is heaped with ketchup sachets. He keeps eye contact and tilts the pencil case towards me, beckoning me to take some. I grab one and quickly walk back to the car .
"How far?" says Serena with her legs propped up against the door and feet hanging out the window, letting the wind cleanse her toes.
"Bout' a mile. How's Jacky?!" I ask while forcing the gas pedal down, revving the engine and creating an aggressive purr. She's in a catatonic state last time I checked the back seat, not moving but with lots of unseen energy beneath the eye lids.
"Fine" mundanely states a dark haired man with shades pulled over his eyes and a drooping head: Ron, who sits in the front seat next to me, smoking a cigar we picked up from a gas station in San Francisco.
"No guys listen" shouts Serena from the backseat over the loud desert wind.. "She's wispering"
"What's she saying?"
No answer, I ask again, louder. Nothing. Am I actually making any noise? The wind seems to be getting more and more intense by the second. I screech the car to a halt on the dusty track beside the road and relish in the absence of noise. "What's she saying guys?" I shout angrily.
"For fuck sake Pete!" Reacts Jemma, shifting her position back upright in the seat "She just keeps saying she's sorry!"
I laugh "Right ok" and hit the gas.
We're about two hours away from Burning Man. We've been on the road since Austin, picking up hitchhikers and drifters. Our newest member is Hetty; we've had sex, twice.
"How's the sun?" asks Ron.
I ignore him, he's talking shit. My fingers grip the wheel like a hawk, i'm not crashing while we're this close.
"Do you think it'll be there?" says a girls voice from the back.
Hetty jumps up with excitement "Oh god Jacky, you're awake!" she exclaims.
I don't take my eyes off the road but I imagine Jacky looks like death incarnate, she threw up over herself about a half hour ago. It was horrible, we had to shake her limp carcass off like a rug. Then, to dry her off, we rolled her around in the sand. But instead of removing the sick from her clothes, the bile soaked up the sand into piles on her floral dress.
"Yes Jacky, why'd you think we've traveled this far?" This is our pilgrimage. You may have your Mecca, or your Jerusalem, we have Burning Man; the writhing centre for filth in america. The last supper for aristocratic youths. The only information we have of its inner workings comes from Ron, although you have to get him incredibly sober to have him part with it. I remember that Jacky is waiting for an answer.
"About half a mile" No one answers me. Truth is, not even I am confident with where we are, all I see in front of me is a long stretch of tarmac. I've always wondered, why do they bother with the road markings out here? Isn't it just too much effort to paint every single line in the middle of the road. I mean, people aren't exactly going to crash into each other, you can see a car coming even if it's an hour away.
Then I saw it. It started as a faint dot in the distance, didn't have a colour or anything, just a dot. I tried to see the bonfires, the tents, the party goers. But instead, all I saw was a dull blur. in the left corner of my eye.
"Can you see it guys?" I excitedly caw "Not far now"
It stayed a dot for about an hour before I could see a visable change in its size. As we got closer I saw it sparkling with movement. "We're nearly there guys" I scream. It gradually got closer and closer. I imagined all the amazing possibilities that would arise as soon as the car drew to a halt.
I park the car in the most secluded area possible, away from the main husk of tents, and start setting up.
"Excuse me sir, you can't park here" Says an arrogant voice out of no where. I look up and a 30 something latino stands surveying our Chevrolet. The desert sun bounces off the streaks of his pulled back hair, revealing stress creases along his giant forehead, so big you could seclude a whole pencil in them. You'd think that having a forehead like that, you would try and hide it with a fringe, but no.
"Anything you've got that I should know about, sir?" He sneers while keeping his eyes fixed on the trunk.
"Nothing that you need to know about, no"
He pauses, searching for something venomous "Well you can't park here, you need to be within the yellow tape". He points across the field to the main body of tents.
Before I can protest he grabs our camping equipment, Spoons, stove and steaks, and throws it atop the girls in the back.
"...Go on" He says with a hint of sarcasm.
We move next to a luxurious grey tent, complete with a plastic conservatory littered with what looks like yoga mats and playing cards.
"Now what is the fucking point of coming all the way out into the fucking desert to camp in something which resembles a fucking mansion?" Ron complains while slumping a industrial blue sheet of tarpaulin down on the dust.
"Tell me about it, fucking rich bitc-"
"Why hello there Neighbor" Over excitedly shouts a chunky looking lady wearing sweat pants pulled above her belly button, in an attempt to hide the ungodly amount of flubber hanging from her stomach. Globduals of fat sway from her calfs as she hops towards us. Her physique resembled that of a Tellytubby.
"What brings you rapscallions to our side of the village then?"
Rob sighs and turns back to pitching the tent. The tellytubby sees this and pauses with a sad look on her face, then forces the smile back on and turns to Jacky, strewn in the front of the car.
"Why goodness! What happened to you my darling" She loudly asks while skipping to the side of the car.
"I...." Stammers Jacky as she searches for an answer "I fell"
"What, You fell? Really?"
"God she is fucking annoying" Whispers Rob.
"Well how exactly did that happen?"
"I don't think she is going to go away man" Says Rob in an unnerved tone
"Where was it you fell?"
"I think she might be an undercover man" Panics Ron "She's trying to rattle us"
"Why not come into our tent for a cup and let us fix you up"
"She's trying to abduct Jacky man!" Squeals Rob.
"Calm- the fuck- down Rob, she's just a bit social inept"
Next thing I see is Jacky being escorted into the grey tent beneath the huge hairy bingo wings of Ms Tellytubby, her overly loud nattering disappearing into the distance.
"Anyone fancy some snacks?" I say before Ron starts to pursue
"Yeah, go on then"
I walk to the 'Burger Shack'. A long, patterned rug, swirling with colours, is suspended by long metal rods above a secretaries desk that looks like it was found in a junk yard. Dozens of cookers, throthing and steaming, are lined up behind it. The place didn't look stable but the only other food on option was our beef jerky in the glove box. I sit down on one of the mismatched tables outside the shack and pick up the menu.
Spaghetti- 6.00$
Pizza slice- 3.00$
Egg on toast- 7.00$
Curly fries- 2.00$
I have no idea whether I should wait to be served or not. I suspect they will come out and take my order. While looking around I realize something; every table has a different children toy placed in the center, mine's a train. I give up waiting and shift to the bar area under the rug. It feels colder sitting here, despite the thick sweat I can feel coming off of the large man hunched over next to me, grazing on a large plate of greasy fries. Two women, dressed in fur coats and gleaming white sneaker rush around behind the desk, holding frying pans and blenders that vibrate in their hands.
"Excuse me"
No answer, they just carry on pacing up and down the shack, grabbing mugs and moving pans off of hobs.
"Erm excuse me" I repeat
"Oh sorry dear" Says one of the women while spinning around. Her voice was slightly unhinged, as if something was pinching her while she spoke.
"Yeah, hi, I was just wondering if I could get a burger?"
"Oh we don't do burgers sorry"
I stare in dismay.
"If you'd like to check the menu" She whips out a laminated sheet from beneath her fur coat "Everything you can get is on there"
"Well alright then, I'll get the chips ple-" Before I can finish she snatches the menu from my clutches, sprints behind the cooker and squats. She emerges with a plate heaped with chips, making vibrating spaceship noises while mimicking the movements of a plane with her hands.
"Vvvvvvrrrrrr, here it comes!"
"T-thank you very much"
"No problem dear, need anything, just give we a shout"
"Well actually, yeah, could I get some ketchup?"
She doesn't reply, just nods to the large mountain like man sitting next to me.
His shoulders are so large they protrude around his face. A Greasy ACDC t-shirt is forced over his large mammoth body with stains running down the back. How do you manage to get stains back there? I shift my position so i'm almost leaning off the desk so I can see his face. A giant bushy beard leaks over his collar, streaks of unhealthy white hairs fizz and curl around its erratic structure. His mouth is no where to be seen, only the movements of his chewing is evidence that he actually has one. Usually you would be able to trace the starting point of someones beard hairs, not this one, there where strands of hair coming from all directions, forming a giant fuzz ball with no start or end.
"You know where I can get some ketchup mate?"
He stops chewing and looks me straight in the eyes. Ripples and folds sag around his squinting peepers. Warts and puss filled boils stick out from the ripply skin, some yellow, others stark white beneath a film of peach coloured flesh. His skin seems to be dried and flakey, apart from his nose, which was as smooth as a waxed car. It was as if his whole body had aged apart from it. I realize I am staring.
"I'm.... I'm looking for some ketchup" I stutter.
He reaches into his kakis and pulls out a bright pink pencil case, complete with hello kitty face and a speech mark 'I love you!'. Unzipping it I see it is heaped with ketchup sachets. He keeps eye contact and tilts the pencil case towards me, beckoning me to take some. I grab one and quickly walk back to the car .
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