Stephen Brighouse officially went into production today.

It's my first short film and I'm worried about stuffing it full of "themes". I think I run the risk of trying too hard to make it seem intelligent that it's just going to turn out studenty.

It's also time to put my photography skills to the test. Filming this one myself and I've planned it to be a very visual piece. No dialogue at all in fact!

Bout time we started putting out more content though, and this has put me into a very productive mood!

Why am I sitting around playing games? I have films to make!

Gomger is a salad lizard. He can only be found in the rarest of vegetable dishes around the Lincolnshire countrside.

It's no use searching for Gomger, he only appears in front of humans when lettuce supplies are critically low.

Legend has it, that if you catch Gomger and make him obedient, you will become the world's best salad tosser.

I think I know a few people that have come close.

Black Swan! Wow!

Inevitably going to be compared to The Wrestler, but for good reason. A film that draws you into an almost mundane tale of obsession sets up a climax almost overloaded with emotion. Realisations about the character you've been following dawn almost too late and make you want to reach into the screen and tell them not to do what they're about to. We're diving off the turnbuckle again, but this time in a tutu.

Halfway through the film I was feeling cheated. All that hype around the film, coupled with my own high expectations of the director were stinging sharply as I began to tire of family-centric drama and bitchy backstage loner story. There were shocks, some increasing abstraction and a few flourishes that hark back to Pi or Requiem, but for the most part I was felt I'd been presented with another award-friendly character piece.

So by the end, the sheer transformation of the character (literally) was so well placed against the backdrop of an almost everyday story (reflected by the shift in location from grotty apartments and basic dressing rooms to the crowded and brightly lit stage) that it was almost overwhelming.

Natalie Portman can't go without mention here. She plays a character so delicate and frail at the start that following her through her mental deterioration is difficult, especially when Portman takes us through that transformation very gradually and reflects our own fear while she's at it.

In places, the film does sag a bit. The odd line of dialogue bumps clumsily against top performances and as already mentioned, it can leave you wondering where it's all going at points around the second act. However, fans of Aronofsky's previous films will be thrilled to find themselves following a familiar structure steadily increasing frenzy. All those key themes seem to be in place too with obesession firmly in charge yet again. Even the old drugs make a quick appearance, although regrettably without much stylish editing.

All in all, it is not the perfection the titular Black Swan seeks for herself, but still ruffles more than a few emotional feathers. It leaves an impact I suspect will still be felt for weeks after watching.

I wonder whether Aronofsky attacks each film with as much vehemence as his characters chase their own desires.

Been in a foul mood since yesterday evening. I think I'm suffering from a bout of mental flu. You can come down with temporary physical illness so I guess temporary mental illness is fitting too.

I can't find any other explanation for a sudden shift in mood so overwhelmingly shitty. My temper just disintigrated! Normally, I'm quite thick skinned and very patient. Since last night though, I've been over-sensitve and quick to anger.

Usually I can pick myself out of a bad mood fairly sharpish (unless it's one of those low swings that come around once in a while) but at the minute I'm just angry. And there's no real reason to be angry!

I hope this shakes off soon, or someone invents a type of lemsip for it.

I'm behind!

Ok, couple of posts down this week- one out of sheer forgetfulness and others out of time constraints. I do have stuff to post for each day though so I'll sort it out tomorrow night.

On a related note, last night was really wierd. I came home from work quite tire, so decided to have a nap. Sometimes happens, nothing unusual. But then I couldn't force myself back out of bed! Had a half hour alarm set, switched it off then didn't wake up again till about 1am! So by then I thought "fuck it" and slept until morning.

So tomorrow I will post something for each missing day including an actual creative post for tonight.

Ev stared into the light. Metatron. Michael. After all this time, he'd been right in front of her. Now she could keep her promise, made years ago in the excitement of their flight from hall 85.

She lossened the buckle on her shoulder. The metal arm fell away, exposing the fleshy lump that remained of her own natural limb. She neared the glass of the great tank before her, blue light washing over her skin.

Her arm began to pulse. The pale cyan glow of Grace began creeping down her arm. Using her good hand, she raised the stump to the glass, pressing forward with what used to be her palm.

Grace move out from her arm. It seeped into the window, drawing a spider's web of glowing blue veins across the glass.

Ev took a breath. She knew what happeded next.

She became the angel.

Moving through the world in a carefully maintained shell. Paper thin, it constantly suffers cracks and holes. Ideas manage to seep through. Sticking on the outside and slowly transferring their damp corruption through the weakened barrier.

Communication is possible through specially constructed grazes in the surface of the shell, a translucent film still covering the gap.

In some places the shell thickens. It reacts to different stimuli and scenarios, sometimes become as think and hard as granite.

Rarely does the shell open completely.

People are spilling from every doorway, washing over the streets and adding to the wave of bodies pressing down on the bridge.

They're leaving. No hurry or panic, but calm exodus flowing through every soul. The city is being drained.

Eyes are locked on the horizon, they hardly blink. Step by step, they walk on.

But the spell is broken for one. Like a man drowning, he begins to panic. Head jerking wildly side to side, trying to get the attention of the passers by.

He turns.

One man facing the wrong way against a sea of many. They are unnerved. Unfocussed eyes swing on liquid hinges towards him. They stare as they flow past.

He calms down. He claims the gift of the few: rationality before mass confusion.

He walks forward. He fights the tide.

And then there were three...

Our little company is growing! Just as the decision was made to officially include our third member, he asked if he be considered as one of us anyway! Happy days!

So now, going ahead, we have a lot infront of us. Mirrorvael to finish. Justice Division to start. Shorts coming out of our ears and a regular workshop for budding film makers to establish.

I know what I want out of this: I want a career. I hope the other two want the same because I intend to bring them with me! I feel like I do the lion's share of the work sometimes but without them (and a lot of other people) I would just be another guy aimlessly chasing one pipe dream after another. These guys are my motivation, my spark and my social conduit. I hope I give them back as much as they give me.

Ain't that sweet?

Suffered a bout of Vegan rage today, not fun. Finding it increasingly difficult not to scream at people "Wake up! What the hell are you doing?!" Whenever they come out of burger king or start picking apart the entire carcass of a quail right in front of me.

How can it be right at all? One second admiring the beauty of animals in a zoo, moments later devouring something dead in a bun.

Sure its natural, we evolved eating meat yah yah yah... but we didn't evolve eating meat that was pre-packaged and processed to oblivion, or kept in a cage for the duration of its short life and killed effortlessly and without remorse as and when demanded. It's all so wrong and very few of us care.

I realise that in places this is a very personal attack on individuals I spent the weekend with, but that's not how I mean it to be. It's just the creeping realisation that people I like are just as thoughtless on this subject as all the others.

In my defense, most people I know have attacked me in some way for my choice. Not all of them I have to say, but a lot. Whether it's teasing me, mocking my weight, boasting about how much they love meat or just carelessly alienating me, I feel like I put up with a lot. But I have NEVER retaliated. Until now I have always gone by the rule that I'm happy with my choice and they can do what they want.

From now on that changes. I can cope with the careful skirting round the subject of some or the unintentional offenses of others, but if anyone teases me directly I am standing my ground. A lot of people are fine with it and live by the same rule I try to anyway. But anyone who tries to put me down or belittle me for what I'm doing can simply expect a strong defense.

To summarise, the next person that wafts a burger at me laughing heartlessly and babbling something completelty idiotic like "mmmm.... dead cow" had better quickly figure out why we're friends. This isn't going to make me popular at all, but I'm drawing a line.

I'm going to try being on the offensive for a change.

At least I have some fucking morals.

Take my hand and I'll lead you to our future. We'll run together through brilliant lights, time whipping through our hair.

Stay with me, never let go.

Sometimes I'll need you to take the lead and direct us through the journey. Other times I'll guide you.

We'll come out at the other end of the tunnel, old and wise. We'll turn to each and say, "We lived. We truely lived."

I am not well today!

I would greatly appreciate it if someone could please fix my nose. It begins to get runny, then POW! Sneezing uncontrollably for days on end. No other symptoms than that, but it's extremely tiring and I end up feeling crappy as well as gross and snotty.

The doctors gave me a spray that fixed it right up, but when I ran out and went back, they said I didn't need it anymore. They were wrong.

Now, with each sneeze seeming to increase in intensity (one of them momentarily lifted me off my feet in the metro station) I can only be a matter of days away from suffering a fatal explosion.

The only suggesstion I can make is to wear good, strong, water-proof clothing when you're around me, and please bring a bucket to reclaim as much of me as you can for the funeral.

Thanks!

His boots thundered across the rooftops, sending puddles spraying back upwards into the down pour. Across the city, he could see it happening; Ev was a bright pin prick in the sky, a brilliant new star set againast the oppressive grey clouds.

Roland came to a stop at the edge of the roof. From this distance, she appeared to be flying in slow motion, trailing sluggish lightning in comet-tail streak. Roland slipped the book from its harness and opened it to the centre. He held it in front of himself, comparing the image to the unfolding tableau. A grin crept across his face.

"It's happening! This is it!"

Roland turned, sensing the familiar presence behind him. Arch Angel was walking slowly towards him, those metal wings already detached from his back and in hand, sharp as moonlight.

Saw this girl on the metro. She was pretty. Really pretty.

Being in a state of seemingly terminal single-ness, this sort of thought occupies most of my day all year round. But this girl... wasn't different as such (as long as you can happily discount dreadlocks and a very individual dress sense from "different"), but more holistically attractive if that makes sense.

Pretty was definitely the word to describe her. Borderline beautiful, but more grounded in the real world than that classical kind of beauty you get.

Anyway, I felt like a complete creep. Still do writing this now! I was standing fairly close to her and I just couldn't take my eyes off her. Cliched as hell! I kept telling myself "just one more glance then I'll stare at the adverts as usual", but then she caught my eye and smiled. There should be laws against a smile like that.

Nothing came of it, in the typical fashion of repressed romantics everywhere, but now I fixate on the possibility of bumping into her again.

By then, I will have built up an ideal personality for her which she will recklessly smash by talking about her love of fox hunting and leather couches. She probably even likes Will Ferrell.

Starting to think this was a bad idea.

I am spending an increasing amount of free time day-dreaming and thinking about what I can write about on here. Not so bad... encouraging creativity, the whole point in the exercise. Well....

Sadly enough, I find myself hilarious. More and more frequently now I am thinking of something I find funny, then laughing. Laughing out loud. In front of people. Whilst I'm on my own.

Is this how madness starts??

Look at a guy in the street laughing to himself. Mental right? But really he just amused himself enough to forget social rules.

Slowly, day by day that guy is going to start laughing more and more because it has become habit. Then maybe he starts telling himself these jokes out load. Quiet at first, just a mutter, but gradually getting louder. And angrier.

Not far around the corner must surely be underwear-on-the-head dribbling overly-vocal architecture critic territory, complete with a range of plastic bags from shops that don't exist anymore and a very idiosyncratic odour.

That made me laugh. Lol if you will.

Consider this a distant early warning.

I have a wavey, full length mirror in my room. I'm not an expert on the mirror crafting profession but this one in particular baffles me. How do they do that without cracking the glass? The mundane answer would be some sort of saw.

Personally, I have narrowed it down to three much more likely options:

1: Whilst the glass is still soft enough to mold, it is positioned carefully between two particularly flabby hippos. The uniformity of the wave is accounted for by special hippo/fat training in which the hippo is able to shift the interior structure of its bulk on command in return for rainbow drops (which hippos love).

2: The glass is used in the impish Olympics as sledging track. They generally last a few years before the curves become worn down too deep for the imps to safely manoeuvre a tiny sled down its banks. They then turn the glass over and use the other side for the next few years. The creates a productivity rate of 1 mirror every decade or so which I feel is justified since in my lifetime I have only seen 7, of which two have been in my possession. This makes me feel quite guilty about breaking the last one.

3: It is some sort of frozen river, stream or brook.

I realise that last post was a bit weak so here's a cheeky bonus:

There is a place in Jesmond dene, off the track and overgrown. Great slabs of rock fence in a rough clearing with logs placed as seating in the middle. They all face towards the same spot: a crack in the cliff face, overgrown with moss and vines and so dark that the blackness seems to spill out and creep up the walls.

It is a doorway. A doorway to anywhere, everywhere. No one knows how the destination is chosen. Preparing is impossible. The doorway can lead to the most glorious destination imaginable. It can lead directly into a sleeper's nightmare. It could lead to the bottom of the ocean or to the edge of space. It could lead to a cafe just down the road.

Enter at your own risk.

I bought a game today that is sure to waste a lot of time in the future. In fact it is already wasting time. I open it up, try to play, then it shows me a loading screen for ages. It is a very nice loading screen with different high res pics to look at, but a loading screen nonetheless. I would rather enjoying playing this game sometime.

ARGH! I have got to get focused. I have wasted another free day and done nothing to Mirrorvael or any other project for this year! If I want to make something out of all this, I need to really pull it out. I wish I could be single minded and shun all responsibilities, become an eccentric artist focused on an immaculate piece of work instead of being half arsed all the time and only nearly achieving something.


GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! @me

Script Idea:

"The Date"

After a string of unsuccessful dates, Mr Prog finally arranges one with the apparent girl of his dreams. The date itself is dull. Worst ever. Until something happens. The couple are thrown into a desperate bid for their lives/freedom/favourite sweetie. Over the course of 12 hours, they forge an everlasting friendship but decide friends is the limit. Mr Prog learns some moral lessons about himself and falls for an arbitrary character we introduced earlier.

Touching, unexpected action, fun

Dear Diary

I am very tired this evening. I have been carrying heavy things to Sunderland and back and playing the drums between journeys. My back is sore and so are my feet. It has left me not feeling very imaginative so I will tell you a real story with no real purpose or direction. More of a memory than a story. Or just a rough collection of words.

I went to France a few years ago with a frend from uni. We took backpacks and bummed a lift from my parents who were going on holiday somewhere in Britany. They dropped us off at the nearest campsite to the ferry port and we set off with the plan to at least reach Paris.

It wasn't the best planned journey ever and we didn't really get very far. We spent most of the trip in Rennes and holed up in a campsite there. We met a nice french girl who we played cards with and had some drinks. I fancied her a bit and to this day still think it'd be nice to meet her again. Can't remember her name.

Other highlights included getting lost and having no-where to stay in Le Mans until a stranger in a bakery overheard me asking for directions and offered us a lift to his friend's campsite. His friend turned out to be from Manchester so a long day had an easy ending. However, the next morning my friend put her shoes on and discovered (too late) that a slug had taken residence in one of them overnight.

The wierdest experience was in Versailles. When we arrived, I had learned my lesson from Le Mans and checked ahead to figure out where we could camp. The fates had also planned ahead though and made sure all the campsites were full. We had no where to stay at all! Whilst milling around outside one of the sites to see if anyone would leaver over the course of the day, we got chatting to some Italians. They planned to camp in the adjacent public park. We joined them. We spent the night in a tent, in the middle of a children's playground. Leaving the tent in the morning was a little disorientating.

We made it to Paris. I got excited about a bridge, but taking the backpacks was a mistake. It became a very militant visit, marching across the city from landmark to landmark to make sure we saw everything. The highlight of Paris was a shop we found that seemed to sell stuffed badgers in wigs. I have a photo somewhere.

This is all I can remember. I may add some fictional drama (other than me being grumpy occasionally) to give the story a.... well a story.

The End!

A helicopter is buzzing around outside my window like a distant fly searching perhaps for a dog poo on the lamb. It flits backwards and forwards without much sense of an organised flight path and at times the sound disappears completely. During this time it is probably alighting on one of the city's larger window sills to spend some time rubbing its runners together in that way that makes flies seem to suggest they are planning a large investment some time soon.

I sincerely hope that it does not begin to bang aimlessly against my window or become trapped in my room.

Stephan is a paper boy. The unluckiest paper boy in the world. He only has one delivery to make and some would consider that to be quite easy. His customer however, lives on a peak tucked away in the Alps.

Every morning, Stephan has to wrestle with his wiry old bicycle and pick up the days paper from Monsieur Picpoc at the base of Mont Blanc before his long and tiring journey up the mountain and beyond.

Stephan has never met the customer, he has always just pushed the paper through the door and left. The trip back down the mountains makes the journey worth it in Stephan's eyes. This is just as well because if Stephan ever discovered he had been delivering papers to an elderly and partially blind rabbit that had taken residence in the remote cabin some years ago, he would probably be very disappointed indeed.

The rabbit did enjoy the daily supply of fresh bedding.

Exercising restraint is an odd sort of thing.

The biggest problem today wasn't related to food, drink, sex or any other typical temptation. Today I had to resist the urge for Disco.

An explanation is in order...

I got my hands on the lighting rig at work. Management were rehearsing an open evening presentation. I had control of a grand total of four lights. Two were purple. Exciting stuff.

You know when you get an idea in your head that makes you laugh? Like, really laugh? The sort of idea that makes you smirk to yourself uncontrollably until you realise you look mental. Know the feeling? That happened.

I got away with it (I think) but I couldn't shake the idea.

How great would it be, in the middle of speeches about academic options and the gravity of course choices, to take everyone by surprise with a spontaneous disco??

Go mad on the lighting, hijack the PA and rock out, regardless of staff reaction. Mint.

The main problem, was that it was actually within my power to do it.

But willpower overcame one more. The world is safe from my dangerous disco. For now.

Jogging is fun if you're fit,
but for me it's a different story.
Running about, dodging the shit,
puffing and wheezing, losing my door key.

Zutt was a spaceman.

He flew around the galaxy in his little blue spaceship, visiting all the other worlds that are out there.

He went to big planets and small planets. Cold planets and hot planets. Round planets and square planets. Some of them were covered in hair and springy when he walked on them. Some had creatures on that Zutt would talk to. Some were made of cake. Those ones were Zutt's favourite.

Zutt was allowed to visit any planet he liked, except one.

"Don't you go near that planet now Zutt y'hear?" said the wise old space king, pointing to his galaxy map. "You go anywhere you like, but not there."

Zutt was a very well behaved spaceman and always did what the space king told him.

One day, on a planet where it was always tea-time, Zutt bumped into his friend, Geep.

"Hi Zutt!" said Geep, with a mouthful of scone, "Guess where I've been?"

Zutt tried to think, but couldn't guess. Geep looked about to make sure now one was listening, then pulled out a galaxy map.

"I've been to the forbidden planet!" said Geep, pointing to the same place on the map the King had told Zutt not to go to. "It's loads of fun! I think the King told us not to go so he could enjoy it all by himself!"

Zutt was shocked. Would the King really do something like that?

"You should go!" said Geep, finishing his scone, "The king will never find out anyway".

Geep waved to Zutt and climbed into his own spaceship. Geep's ship was red with a yellow stripe.

"Go see for yourself! Bye!"

Geep flew off into space. Zutt didn't know what to do.


To be continued....

I went to the cinema today, part of a resolution to go once a week, regardless of whatever's on. I nearly didn't go but willpower prevailed. Well. Maybe a little willpower. I think the excursion was largely fueled by a mix of putting off work and a need to get out of the house.

So I was doing the usual single loser act. Arrived way too early on a Saturday night while normal people were out getting drunk with other normal people. Got a coffee in the foyer and sat reading a Terry Pratchett novel until they were letting us in.

My seat was blissfully solitary in a good spot. At least three empty seats to either side of me. Then the film started and very suddenly couples closed in on me, a move which seemed quite aggressive on the part of some mocking higher power. They were all hand holdy, whispery, snack sharingly repulsive. I would join their ranks in an instant given the chance, but I'd like to think I'd at least spare a thought for the seasoned loner lodged between us and some other equally repellent couple.

I flirted with the idea of farting as quietly, yet offensively as possible as a form of petty rebellion but instead I opted for eating those straight pretzel things in a manner guarenteed to cause distraction. Crunching them loudly just as the guy in 127 Hours breaks his arm is something I now consider to be a social victory.

I am being tempted to drop everything and move around the world to work in a cafe. It's a strong temptation countered mainly by dull optimism. I am telling myself that I am achieving something. Not sure what it is but it's definitely worth achieving.

Part of the problem is living with these people. They have come from a all over the place to be here, they speak at least two languages each (most of them more) and have a lot of stories to tell. I... used to live in Leeds. And Lincoln.

This year is either going to hone my concentration to white hot professionalism, or break it completely and send me into the wind. I'd be happy either way, as long as a desicion is made quickly and without fuss.

A great percentage of the political nonsense he issued was tacked loosely together with recycled scraps of misinformation harvested at random from a diverse range of unqualified sources.

It was quite interesting to listen to as long as you had no opinions or actual knowledge on the subject. Participation was only accepted on the assumption that you were wrong, whatever your stance on the topic at hand.

Dad's hands are thick and heavy.

Cracked skin draws a map of past labours and the ponderous movement of the fingers betray a blunted practicality. There are nails, but only just. Hardened fragments slotted into fleshy gaps, an aesthetic necessity and nothing more.

These are the hands of a fixer.

I've not given up!!

I'm still here! I didn't fall behind already!

In fact, I wrote the old fashioned way, on paper. Now that I have some free time, here they are! Backdated and digitised.

So, Wednesday:


He doesn't always see them. Sometimes months can pass withoutcatching one. He can occasionally forget them completely or dare to believe he's seen his last.

But then he'll catch one completely by accident. His heart lurches, his blood flushes and his head spins. Sometimes the shock makes him sick.

Shapes. People? Alive.

Always a few steps behind him or standing over his shoulder. Impossible to look directly at.

Went on a date,
didn't stay late.

Couldn't eat the rice
but the company was nice.

Potential

It's in me. I have the chance to achieve something truely spectacular if I really want to. Still ensconced in a blanket of seasonal reflection, I realise that last year was pretty good.

If I can do it again, but really put some effort in, really buckle down, it's sure to be amazing!

Bring it on!

Challenging the obvious

It is strange to consider that out of my choices in life, it is not drinking alcohol that is most contested.

Every day I edge just a tiny bit closer to becoming a militant vegan, pressing my opinion firmly into the face of ignorance and shouting "Look! Look what you are doing! This isn't right!". But people don't seem to mind that too much.

No. Instead what they find most difficult to comprehend is not drinking. It seems to reach down to their core and ask questions they'd rather went un-asked. Why do we drink? Can I enjoy life without? Am I addicted?

Thinking about it, I use the argument of nature to defend my diet. They way we get our meat, our eggs or our milk is as far removed from nature as it can be. It is a factory process born of cruelty and a taboo subject to a lot of people. But a vegan diet in itself is not natural. Alcohol on the other hand, is synthetic by its nature. Alcohol does occur naturally, but not in the quantities we drink it. It slows thought, numbs senses and limits control. It is a posoin slowly killing a lot of people.

So it seems odd. Out of the two, not drinking seems the most obvious choice to make. But it remains the most confrontational lifestyle decision.

Jus' sayin.