SCRIPT IDEAS

A man is sitting at his keyboard waiting to write poetry. He is waiting, waiting, sitting patiently, like a rock, like a river, like a beehive alive with hum;  he hopes he will have an idea, his wrists hurt, his fingers are numb, the computer screen must be far away so he can see it—he is feeling lonely, he is feeling afraid there will be no words.

An evil sorcerer kidnaps a young maiden. Can’t you just imagine it—the horror, the titillating suspense of the whole thing—evil and virginity, riding on a big black horse, through a fire red night, billowing capes, lots of cleavage, goth and comedy in a truly sick mix … this is techno, this is crime, this is night and smoke and pinlights shooting through the haze. A story of cross and double cross—ancient family rivalries played out through the lives of innocent lovers. A tense crime drama that explores the age old question of honour versus self interest, drinking cups, double deals, double D cups, I give you a love story played in the ruins of decadence versus self interest … the … the … the …

Young family faces poverty, disease, bankruptcy, filth, lousy accommodations and bad logo design to break through to the realisation that love is enough, it is more than enough, in fact, if played right, after the fact, there is loose change. A heartwarming story of a tragic battle between love and the bottle, love and poverty, love and disentitlement, love and disembowelment (some sort of catch phrase to make it onto national television, which is, as we all know, where it really is at … )

Surf Wars!! Tough stud well waxed surfer bro’s fight it out with butch wet dripping black queens who want it all! Never seen before!! Great ocean shots of hot surfer guys riding the waves interspersed with senseless tragic truly gory beach battles of tough butch dykes having it out with deeply repressed wanna be bi surfer boys. Coming out to a theatre near you!!!!

All singing all dancing all the time, you know the routine, two three, kick!

A woman of mystery invades a small town and leaves well known. She is not as tall as she appears, a lot older than you think, everything about her is really fake, she thinks a lot of herself and proved herself tragically mistaken when she asked me out on a date.

If I want to make a movie is that so bad? Is it like a crime or something? To want to sit behind the camera for a while to know what it is like to be a SUPER FREAK!!!! I know it’s just got to be beautiful, I know it must be beautiful, I want to know what is beautiful, wouldn’t you, if you could, want to be beautiful too?

SONNETNONO—I DON’T KNOW WHICH #

the line reels in the poem
that is not yet poetic
the coloured blocks make a sentence
as the letters fall apart
the knitting of finger slips
and twines the tendon that hinges the bone
repeat the meaning twice
the motion with your hands says I told you so

I would not be so certain I lived before
except I have an exceptional number of
problems to work out—and it occurs to me
nothing happens without a reason—someone
must be doing this to me.

It’s not that I cannot make sense out of it, it’s just its expression
continues to confound my friends, aid my enemies, and makes
my mother cry. That she can make sense of what I am saying
only makes me worry she loves me too much—I’ve no message of love,
no poem, not even a song, more like a howl, a sob, a bad birth,
perhaps that’s why she understands. But she understands
it as if it happened, and I think it’s still happ’nin’; if I could only
convince you I am thinking about this right now.

I’m convinced I must keep expressing myself,
even if I cannot express myself.
Speaking, I bring my arguments to life,
my reason speechless, speeson reachless, season ‘r’ peechless.
The forms still exist, I resonate and explode the sonnet
The signs I erect are just that—erections, signs, fingers pointing,
you provide the landscape. It’s shared.
Struggling in the dark, I set the fuse,
imagine you listen, aflame.

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