celebrity confessions


 All of the characters over the past four months whose writing you’ve read on this blog are in my upcoming film, Voices Carry Only So Far.  Each story that they’ve written gives you some background and insight into what makes them tick. My new movie will have a relatively small indie release this summer. It’s a labor love in the experimental tradition of Waking Life.  Voices Carry Only So Far is also done through rotoscoping but this time around its about a man who’s suffering from multiple personality disorder and he keeps “falling through” various identities, trying to figure out which is his real voice.

   Here’s a sneak peak…

 

Monologue for Keanu Reeves in Upcoming Linklater Movie

 

INT. GAB’S BAR – NIGHT  (Man is in corner talking to two friends, neither of whom would be listening but the man occasionally taps them on the shoulder or on the head to get their attention)

 

   What is it in our imaginations that we’re afraid of? You hear all the time that those doors of perception are wide open and all we have to do is step on through to the other side. So what’s holding us back? I was watching this movie six or seven or eight years ago and I’ll never forget how trippy it was. It was all about identity and the imagination. Waking Life, I think it was called. Yeah, I was watching Waking Life in the theater and then I suddenly got it. I was like, I can imagine anything. That’s the point of the movie so I imagined myself getting up from my seat, passing Jake and Susan – yeah I saw it with them – walking up the wall of the theater and then sitting down on the ceiling. I imagined every step along the way and while I was seated upside down I could feel my pony-tail hitting my head every time I turned. I even imagined the occasional pop-corn kernel falling onto the people below and some of them whispering pissed of things to me while others were telling them to shut up. Imagine that. People telling them to shut up.! Basically, I had my own movie going on inside my head. Then I was like, what’s the point of watching a movie upside down and I felt stupid for a bit but then I remembered this study I’d read about in a first year psych class where they put a helmet of mirrors on this guy’s head so he would see the world upside down. At first of course this guy was confused but after a couple of days, his brain readjusted the world so he could see right side up. His brain compensated. After the experiment was over and the helmet were taken off, the guy had trouble again for a while but then his brain once again came to the rescue.  So I thought, you know I’m going to flip this movie so that I can see it right side up. I’m going to go into my brain and consciously switch things around and I got to thinking – because I knew all this was simply a thought experiment – could somebody really switch their perspective of the world. Could I train myself to see the world upside down? This question stayed with me for weeks after the movie was over until I was finally like, okay I’m going to do it. I started by focusing on simple things like candles and you know after a couple of weeks of intense concentration I flipped the world. I could do it and then I put it right-side up again. I did this a whole bunch of times but then one day it got stuck. My brain got stuck seeing things upside down. That’s why I act blind a lot of the time so I don’t have to go into this lengthy explanation. People are afraid of the imagination because it’s a dangerous realm. It fucked me up for good and now I can’t go back to work. I’ve basically handicapped myself. Hey, Stan you gonna order another round or what?

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   And I’m fed up with shoveling out advice to people who are barely literate enough to put together a letter. I’ve been on a bender. It’s true. I’ve been holed up in this hotel room numbered 260 for the past three months and I have been drinking my face off. That’s why I’ve put up these past three months worth of stories and introductions and outlandish claims to being George Bush, a sled dog in Alaska and Osama Bin Laden. I’m drunk. I’m tired of giving advice about love or spoons or whatever garbage it is that I’ve been writing. The drinking works! I’m forgetting all those stupid letters. Booze forgets. You look into a bottle of JD and you’re looking straight into an ocean of forgetting. Booze works. There’s my frickin’ advice for all of you today. I’m Dear Abby and I’m drunk. Long live booze! 


Etiquette of the Heart and other Organs


    You live too tightly bound to the present, he thought as he struggled over his choice of cheeses. Either one will do. He put back the Havarti and placed the Edam into his green basket. 
   That evening she’s impressed by the dinner, the candles and the Bossa Nova. She’s particularly pleased that he served her Edam, the cheese which they’d nibbled on during their first date two years ago. She falls asleep with her lips moving through different stages of a smile.
    The next morning he throws up as usual. He barfs up some content from his night’s dream. Some small momento covered in dinner detritus that lays at the bottom of the bathroom sink. He turns on the hot water until steam rises from the bowl and then he turns on the cold. He picks it up and takes it into the shower.
   She joins him.
   “What’s that ?”
   “It’s a tire from a Hot-Wheels car that I had as a child.”
    “Wheely ?” she jokes but he hates all manner of baby-talk. He’s a different man in the morning, governed by knowledge of dislikes and irritations. He doesn’t want any kind of baby-talk in the relationship because this will push things in the direction of a baby. He supposes. 
   She squeezes liquid soap onto her scrunchie and rubs it down her arms.
   He wonders what the connection is between wheels and cheese until he remembers the lesson from the previous day.   
   He lets go of wondering and presses the tire into the belly of the bar of soap. It scratches a little as he rubs it up and down his arm. Then he rubs the bar down the side of her leg.
   She smiles.

  Yes, every so often I like to lift the veil between your world and mine and say a little hello and as this blogosphere thing has really taken off I thought I’d try my hand at it and I’ve been experimenting with different voices because when you know everything and you’re everywhere all at the same time and you exist simultaneously through eternity, well it’s kind of hard to find your voice.  All I really know is that I like long sentences.  I’m not complaining. I’m just telling it like it is.  
     Oh and one more thing to add to that list of my superlatives:  I also feel everything that’s happening all across the universe. Ladies I hope that doesn’t perve you out and guys I hope that doesn’t make you feel creepy. You know, sitting in front of your computer and reading that I can feel every part of you. I mean it doesn’t matter where you go, I’ll still be feeling everything everywhere all the time. I just thought I’d add that to the list of omnis: omnipresent, omnipotent and omnitoccare (all touching.) You know that’s not always listed. It’s nowhere in the Bible. Yeah, I know it’s a little creepy but its something else that the Lord Almighty Maker of Blah, Blah, Blah can do. I can do that with my eyes closed so you know if I make a typo now and again what of it ?  And the Earnest Canuck who took my silly George Bush story way too seriously, come on dude. Lighten up. I do count the number of times people laugh their way through their life you know.
    Christ my Only Son, I’d hate to fart in that guy’s presence.  (Oh yes I also smell everything all the time too. It’s not easy being God, let me tell you.) 
  Okay so here’s today’s story…

God Versus You

Art thou for something rare and profitable?
Wouldest thou see a truth within a fable?
– John Bunyan

     John Bunyan’s official biographer, who toured America to launch his six hundred-page magnum opus about Bunyan’s teenage years, found himself thirteen cities later exhausted and disillusioned with almost no beliefs left for God. “Apart from ‘Baby Bunyan- the first three years’ all my other biographies about John Bunyan have been through the roof best sellers,” he prayed to God at the foot of his hotel bed. “Why have my readers forsaken me, God  ?”  When he returned home to his wife and daughter back in the outskirts of Seattle, he was greeted with hugs and kisses. “Does God hug you like this ? Does he kiss you like this ?” his wife whispered to him in bed later that evening. The next day, as she packed and got ready for her book tour, she yawned and yawned. “Good luck,” he said begrudgingly in a muffled kiss on her cheek.  “Mommy, mommy don’t forget your book,” their four year-old hollered from the top of the stairs. She ran down the steps with the book over her head like it was weapon. “I was wondering where that copy was,” she said and looked her husband in the eye.  She knelt down to kiss her little angel. “You be a good girl for daddy while I’m gone.”  After three months, her book tour for “Atheism is Just Alright with Me”  was a resounding success. John Bunyan’s official biographer – for he had appointed himself as such – started on his next biography about John Bunyan’s ass. An instant bestseller, he was sure.


    I can’ t keep this bottled up any longer: I am in fact JK Rowling ! I decided a month ago to challenge myself with new writing styles. That is why I started this blog where I’ve been presenting prose under a different mask everyday. It definitely has been a challenge writing stories from the point of view of a bat with photophosphorescent acne, from the frenzied mind of Tom Cruise and also most challenging of all from the point of view of a realtor but I’ve done it. I’ve grown as a writer here before your very eyes. A kind of real world magic.
   Today I’d like to introduce the world to a new character that I’ve been working on recently. Certainly this is only a morsel but it should give you a taste of the direction my writing is going in.
   (Oh and I’d also like to add, for the record, that the following characters from my wildly successful Harry Potter series are gay: Bathsheba Babbling, Baruffio, Harry’s first wand, Charis Black, page 15 of the second book, Sirius Black, Caractacus Burke, Magenta Comstock, Edgar Clogg, all of book three, Harold Dingle (of course), Colonel Fubster, Glynnis Griffiths, Duncan Inglebeea and the entire McClivert clan.)


                                                Susan the Clairvoyant Kid



  It began with a tickle of a premonition first thing in the morning. Susan walked down the steep stairs into the kitchen where her mother was frying up breakfast. Susan’s father was hidden behind the dour pages of the morning paper. Usually, Susan would go to the fridge to take a gulp of juice directly from the bottle and then her mother would scold her and her father would ruffle the pages of the paper. On this morning, however, Susan decided to check the temperature outside. She turned a sharp left, trotted through the living room and opened the front door.
   “Please dear, don’t drink from the bottle,” her mother shouted automatically. Her father ruffled his morning paper as if he were shaking it to free of crumbs, dirt and all other detritus of the world.
   “A hundred apologies,” Susan shouted her rote response. It was cold outside and she’d definitely need her thick blue sweater. No, maybe she should wear the white one she received at Christmas. Oh bother, she thought to herself, perhaps she would merely fling them all on the bed, throw a pencil in the air and wear whichever one the pencil landed on. 
    Susan was about to shut the door when she noticed a plastic bag floating in the wind towards her. To all appearances, it seemed to be an ordinary rubbish bag but when Susan looked a little closer she noted something sublime in its undulations. It landed at her feet and suddenly she found herself thinking about their pet dog Franz who had passed two years ago. 
    This somewhat ordinary looking plastic bag is the reincarnation of Franz, an inner voice said to Susan. 
    Susan picked the plastic bag up and closed the front door.
    “A hundred apologies,” her mother was muttering to herself, please dear, don’t be so sarcastic.” 
    “I shall endeavor to do my utmost to never be sarcastic again,” Susan said as she took a swig of juice from the bottle.  This was also something that she said every morning; her mother, however, was one line ahead in their morning script.
    “Please dear, don’t put your feet up on the table.”  
     Susan hurried over towards the table, sat down and put her feet up next to her empty plate. “But these feet are an offering to the family. In dire times we shall perhaps be forced to feast upon them. I know its morbid to think of now but in the cold harshness of the future, they may be a welcomed sight. I’m simply trying to help us become accustomed to the cruel possibilities of the future.”
    “Please dear, don’t be weird,” her mother said as she portioned out the fry up onto Susan’s plate.
    Out of an old habit buried like a bone in the back of her mind, Susan took some of the bacon and dropped it into the plastic bag who was once after all her dog.
   “What on earth are you doing with that plastic bag ?” her mother shouted. “Susan Girvan, how much pleading does it take to get you to maintain a modicum of normality?”
   And that’s when Susan told them about the plastic bags previous life.
   And that’s when her father put down his paper and told her that enough was enough,  and that straightaway after breakfast she was going to be sent to the insane asylum  
   And he was as good as his word.

 

   I get so little time to text these stories together on my cell so this has got to be fast. I’m Britney Spears and I’ve been posting these oddball stories because I want the world to see that there’s another side of me, another side that’s free of cheese, MTV and even chart-topping music. Yes, my behavior has been erratic lately but that’s all part of the plan, Stan. I’m as daringly creative in my music as I am in my life.

   Starting today I’m cleaning up my act. No more blending my meds in with splashes of booze and ice-cream to make those dangerously delicious shakes. No more public head-shavings. No more craziness.

   I did all that because I could feel that I was on my way down and I thought, “You say nose-dive ? and I say “How low ?”

   Nose dive !!

   How low ?

   Nose dive !

   How low ?

   Whatever I do I’m gonna do 100% and so if I’m gonna crash it’s gonna be out of control. It’s gonna be mixed nuts. It’s gonna grab the headlines like a choke-hold. And now I’m gonna tell the lucky few that are reading this a little secret…

   I’m on a come back baby.

   My next music video is gonna chronicle the rise and fall and return of Britney. My next music video is gonna be a collage of what I’ve been going through. It’s gonna be silent because I want the music of the past to ring in people’s ears. It’s gonna rival John Cage. It’s gonna be the very first silent music video.

   I’m stepping into the avant-guard baby and here’s a story to prove my point.

 

 

Contact Lenses on the Inside

 

 

 

   Britney yawned and stared at her blotchy face in the the mirror that stretched out along the bathroom wall. She opened the tray of color coated contact lenses and looked over all the colors. One of her first birthday memories was of tearing open a 42 pack of Crayola crayons. She’d giggled at all the choices but when one of the kids at the party tried to color her eyes blue she started crying. That boy was never invited to her house again. She thought of that now as she stared blankly into the choice of color coated contact lenses. That was a story that she’d never told in any interview.

   She picked up one of the blue lenses and held it up to her face. It was so early, she thought to herself as she yawned. She opened her mouth so wide that she felt like a muppet. Once again a memory came to her. She yawned and stretched on her tippy-toes and then, forgetting about her contact lens, cupped her hand to her open mouth. When was the last time that she had time to herself ? Remembering her lens, she looked at her hand but it was gone. She looked down at the white tiles but there was no dot of blue.  There was nothing on the counter.

   I must have swallowed it, she thought to herself. She looked at her body and wondered where the lens could be. Was it already in her stomach ? Was it still on its way down ? She wondered about what was inside of her. She wondered a million things that she’d never thought before.

   In the core of her self floated a little shell of blue.

     Okay I’m not Tom Cruise. I was just having a bit of fun. Perhaps I was dragging my feet on what I’m supposed to be doing. My name is Alec Baldwin and I’ve been asked by my therapist to write out my “feelings” everyday. Dr Bernstein said that if I aired my worries about my daughter I’d come to a better understanding of our little conflict. I trust the man. You should see him golf.

      First of all let me clear one thing up. When I called Ireland a “thoughtless little pig,” I meant “carefree little oinker”. You see the problem with sound bites is that you can get something out of context. I sometimes refer to Ireland as an oinker as a cute little term of affection. I also confuse “thoughtless” with “carefree”. Yes I said all this in a harsh tone but I’d been rehearsing for a role and I guess some of that “acting-rage” spilled over into the message.

     So Dr Bernstein asked me to write a story where I try to understand life from my daughter’s point of view. The children of celebrities must go through an extra difficult adolescence and sometimes they lash out against their parents but their behavior isn’t as worrying as those who drove planes into the World Trade Center. When children start crashing planes into the pentagon then we should sit them down and have a grand jury talk to them. Until then we have to relax and talk to them calmly. I know that now.

     So here’s a story…

 

 

What We Talk About When We Talk About Parental Alienation

 

 

     She runs up the stairs and runs into her room. She slams the door and stands behind it with her arms crossed. She stares at the back of the door. There’s no sound in the house. She opens the door and slams it again. She wishes that she had her own personal maid who she could order to slam the door continuously. That would be putting her daddy’s paychecks to good use.

     The plump girl stares at the back of the door for a minute but then gets bored. She runs over to her bed and falls flat on her face. Her legs cross as she breathes into the sheets. She thinks about boys then she thinks about school then she thinks about her female friends and then she thinks about boys again. Then she thinks about the color pink.

    She rolls over to face the ceiling and she remembers the talk her dad gave her about boys. They’d been watching Planet Carnivore which her father had narrated in his powerful voice. After the lioness had been devoured by hyenas her father started talking to her about boys. “The male adolescent is a wily creature,” he’d said in his nature-narration voice.

   She remembers laughing at his little joke.

   She smiles.

   

    Okay my name is Tom Cruise ! Yes, the one and only Tom Cruise !!! I’m trying to dispel the notion that I have no sense of humor, that I’m arrogant and I wouldn’t do anything unless there were a huge amount of fanfare and money involved.  Most importantly I want you to see that all writers are a little crazy. Otherwise they wouldn’t be any good at what they do. (I’m typing this from a couch that I jump off of every couple of minutes because I’m so full of life ! That’s called carpe diem my friends !!  Have you ever watched a Beastie Boys concert ? That’s the energy I exude even behind closed doors !!!) For all the reasons I mentioned above I started this humble blog. 
    I know you’re asking your computer monitor right now, “Can I have an autograph Mr Cruise ?” And you’re laughing at yourself because it’s impossible. Why are you talking out loud to a blog ? But that automatic response is nature. My name has power and you’ve fallen under the spell of celebrity. We all do once in a while. (I just jumped from my couch !!!)
     As a people person, I find it very difficult to sit here and type in silence while I know there will be so many responses like the one above. I wish I could reach my arms through this monitor to give you an autograph right now. That’s my instinct. To reach out. But my other instinct is to try new challenges so that’s why I’m writing a story everyday on this blog. To let my inner writer have a voice.
   Hello, my name is Tom Cruise, pleased to meet you !
   Here’s a heroic epic in the form of a Greek myth.
   

Born on a Risky Interview with a Few Good Rain Men Maguires


    In the middle of the interview the Actor jumped off the couch because of a pain behind his eyes. He put his hands on his head and the whole world was amazed to see a creature burst forth from his brow. He wasn’t losin’ it at all but it was simply life that had sprung from his forehead on national television. Certainly it was strange for the world to see but all brilliance has a tinge of strangeness. The world kept reminding itself that. 
    “So where does that kind of without-limits brilliance come from ?” the interviewer-woman asked. She was a professional and was unfazed by miracles. After all, every smile that flashed off his face was a minor miracle, a communion of joy with millions.
    “Well as an actor I have to hold back a lot of myself in order to focus on certain roles. I suppose this is one aspect of me that just had to come to the fore. It needed to speak.”
    “Top Gun,” the little creature said. The audience swooned at the privilege of hearing the child’s first words, at the privilege of seeing all his very first right moves. The Actor rocked his child gently in his arms with his eyes wide open and then shut. The Actor was reaching deep inside himself to find a suitable name for the child.
    “Jerry Maguire ! How about I call him Jerry Maguire ?” The Actor stepped towards the audience with one hand cupping his ear. The audience shouted back, Yeah !! 
    “I can’t hear you.” the Actor shouted.
    “Jerry Maguire ! Jerry Maguire ! Jerry Maguire !”
    “Show me the diapers,” one larger woman in the back row shouted and everyone laughed.
     The Actor smiled and laughed.
    Mission Impossible. Done once again.