The past is dead, and I'm not looking back.

The future's in your head.
It's a fantasy, Jack.
The now penguin in here,
And he's flapping his wings,
And although he can't fly,
He does wonderful things.

He likes to go for a walk,
Knows it's good to be outside,
And when he gets sad,
He's not afraid to cry.

He's been licking my wounds,
'Cause he knows that they'll heal.
He's been making me fall,
So I'll know that I'm real.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LuqPbNu5_1c

I'm in love with that song.

You guys wanna make me happy?
Listen to that song.

You wanna make me really happy?
Watch Flashbacks of a Fool.
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=45356667

Gone are the days of not feeling it.

I'll let you know if my heart turns.

Last month I had two script ideas vying for my attention. The older, more developed one took the cake and I've been working on it since, pushing the other one to the back of my mind.
But there are some tricky elements to the one I'm working on, and by that I mean there's something I don't really know about and something I don't want to write about, and those happen to be the same thing. And it's early on in the script so in order to make progress I have to move past it.
The closer I get to it, the harder it is to feel motivated to write and I'm wondering if it's less that I don't want to and more that I'm scared to, because I haven't got a clue what I'm doing.
To make matters worse, I came up with a new script idea today and I can't stop thinking about that one. It's probably because I don't want to work on the old one, but hey, maybe I'm more creative in my desperation.
They could both be interesting, but I know the one I'm writing now would be more likely to sell, so I guess I should keep on truckin'. Maybe if I think, "The sooner I get this one done, the sooner I can start the next one," I'll finish faster.

It's weird, but I think I sometimes relate better to characters than I do to real people, but maybe most people do.
Random Movie Quote Alert:
"Everyone knows books are better than life, that's why they're books!"
I can write a story and through the behavior of a character, not through description, not through their words, with behavior alone, I can make someone's motivation clear...but I can't for the life of me understand the motivations of some of the real people in my life.

My mom coddles me one minute and cuts me the next, but at least she always has and I understand why.
It's mostly friends I don't understand.
So many of them act like I'm the coolest thing since sliced bread to the point of kissing my ass, and then without warning disappear off the radar for awhile only to come back and kiss my ass again.
I don't understand it.
The only conclusions I can come to:
A) The ass kissing is their way of coddling me and that because I'm a self-bashing cynic, people around me assume I'm in need of coddling when in reality I'm content to be a self-bashing cynic.
B) When they disappear off the radar, they've tired of me, yet they feel guilty, so when they do see me, I become the coolest thing since sliced bread again.

If it's the latter, I say, let me know if your heart turns, as I would let you know the state of mine.
I understand that people are mercurial because in many ways, I am, but I also understand that in other regards I'm unchangeable. I am loyal to a fault and so 'my heart is always on the line.' But it's a risk I'm willing to take, so I wish they'd all be honest with me.

"If man is made in God's image, what does that say about God?"

"Yeah...yeah, that sounds like a good one!"

For a person who was raised by two Catholics, one who was forced to go to church every day in his youth and forced into Catholic school and therefore never went back in adulthood, and one who criticizes or embraces religion depending on the situation, I have a pretty independent outlook on religion.
I was made to go to church about five times on Easter Sunday, but I only remember going once or twice. When I was six years old and my brother and I told my parents we didn't want to go. They didn't make us. Instead, they discussed the importance of the day with us, a tradition we did not continue.
Still, some things stuck with both of us in our formative years, but with my brother, who is in many ways far more impressionable, these things were fleeting. After getting engaged to an agnostic, he became one. Although he still calls himself one, I think he's an atheist now.
As for me, I still pray every night, but it seems more like a habit or a tick. As one of the nervous, obsessive compulsive habits that came with the anxiety of starting middle school was praying more often, which bizarrely enough is common among OCD sufferers.
Now I only pray once, but can't go to sleep until I do.

Yet, as my health continues to deteriorate with each passing day (and no one is able to figure out how to help me or even what's causing it) and on the career front, I'm finding it harder and harder to laugh while my dreams come apart at the seams, I'm becoming the kind of person who does not embrace faith in times of trouble, but shies away from it. Deism intrigues me most. What was good enough for our founding fathers is good enough for me.
As even scientists will tell you of the rare probability of our existence without some higher power, it makes a great deal of sense to me that God created us then went on vacation. It makes it easier to explain life's great tragedies if God turned his face away long ago. The great wars, the holocaust... It seems wrong to think that God would not have intervened unless of course you believe that the holocaust happened because God knew the Jews could withstand it and in some way would be made stronger because of it, because they are the chosen people. I suppose it's possible, but I'd like to throw it out there...whether God's around or not, the Jews are the chosen people. I'd love to be Jewish.

Even though I'm having a crisis of faith at the moment, I still love reading about religions, particularly Judaism. Many other religions, including Christianity, were born of Judaism and studying the roots of something is always fascinating to me.
But more than anything else in Judaism, I like reading about two ideas.
I like the idea that man was not made in God's image and the tendency of the younger sibling to surpass the older sibling in greatness.

In Judaism, God is not to be compared to anything.
Random Movie Quote Alert:
"Because He's not like anything. Not only can you not see Him or hear Him, you can't even...think about Him? What's the difference between that and Him not existing?"
"There's no difference."
"I mean, Christianity's silly but at least there's something to believe...or not believe. In Judaism there's nothing."
"Nothing but nothingness. Judaism's not really about belief. It's about doing things. You light candles, say prayers, keep the Sabbath, visit the sick..."
"And belief follows?"
"Nothing follows. You don't do it because it's smart, and you don't do it because you get saved because there's no one to save you. You do it because the Torah tells you to and you submit to the Torah."
"That is fucked."
"Don't swear in front of it."
"The book's closed."

If God is infallible then man was not made in his image. Man is the very essence of fallibility. Man sucks and if man was made in his image, God would suck too, which is highly unlikely because of the perfectly mechanized way in which everything he made works. My theory is that man selfishly made God in his image in an attempt to boost his own self-esteem.
God is man in a robe with a big white beard?
I think not.

"And Abraham said to God, 'Oh that Ishmael might live before You!' But God said, 'No, but Sarah your wife will bear you a son, and you shall call his name Isaac; and I will establish My covenant with him for an everlasting covenant for his descendants after him. As for Ishmael, I have heard you; behold, I will bless him, and will make him fruitful and will multiply him exceedingly. He shall become the father of twelve princes, and I will make him a great nation. But My covenant I will establish with Isaac, whom Sarah will bear to you at this season next year.'"

As the youngest of two children and undeniably engaged in a heated sibling rivalry, I also love the idea of the younger sibling surpassing the older in "Quality" and "Greatness." Of course, genetically, it's been shown that younger siblings get the leftover genes. They're not supposed to be as attractive or as intelligent.
In many cases a younger sibling might copy an older sibling and try to do what the older sibling has done, only better. My brother and I seem to unknowingly copy each other in an attempt to outdo.
He went to Port Huron High School and was on the Quiz Bowl team.
I went to Port Huron High School, got a higher GPA, and was captain of the Quiz Bowl team.
He graduated from The University of Michigan.
I graduated from The University of Michigan...with a higher GPA.
When I was in 10th grade I announced that I wanted to be a writer.
He changed his major because he wanted to be a writer too.
I finished my first screenplay.
He finished his first novel.
I finished another screenplay.
He finished another novel.
I'm writing a third screenplay.

A vicious circle.
According to the old testament, I win.
But in competition we are more alike than we realize and in sharing a rivalry and sometimes sharing a brain, we are the same.
For what is envy if not a kind of love?

"Take your son, your only son..."
"Not his only son."
"It's the only one he loves."

What's with stupid people and being obsessed with Garden State?

Okay, this really burns my toast.
I waited for Garden State to come out for about three years. I saw it change from Zach Braff's Untitled Natalie Portman Project to Large's Ark (Large's Ark was a much better title by the way) and when it came out, I did love it. Of course, the more I watch it now, the more fault I find in it because Andrew is a terrible character, but I digress.
It seems like everyone saw it and because everyone saw it, inevitably, stupid people saw it too and they love it without knowing why they love it, some reading into things that don't mean anything and totally misunderstanding a completely understandable, straightforward film.

But here's what gets me...here's what sparks a fury in my soul.
Why now are people incapable of watching a coming of age story or a movie about coming home without comparing it to Goddamn Garden State?

I watched two movies which were new to me in two days. All the Real Girls and Fireflies in the Garden and on the IMDB messages boards for both, people were comparing them to Garden State.

First of all, All the Real Girls, all things considered is probably a better movie than Garden State. Fireflies in the Garden probably not as good, but still a pretty darn good movie.

All the Real Girls is about a manwhore changing his ways when he meets the right girl. Largeman can't feel and changes his ways when he meets the right girl...so what? The conflict is entirely different. Stories are made by conflict and conflict is about the problem and sometimes the cause, not the solution. And anyway, maybe Largeman felt something because he stopped taking the damn anti-depressants, maybe if he'd been off them for a year, he wouldn't have been so overwhelmed by Natalie Portman's sudden burst of awesomeness. When I was watching it, Garden State never once came to mind, not once, and yet on IMDB some dumbass says, "This is just like Garden State and Garden State is better. Go watch that."
And my first thought was, "No it's not and no it isn't, and don't tell me what to do fuckwit."

Fireflies in the Garden, a writer comes home for his mom's graduation, she dies. People say "He came home because his mom died just like Largeman."
Wrong!
"He needs to fix his relationship with his father which is the same conflict as Garden State."
WRONG!
The relationship with the father in Garden State is a subplot. The fact that he's too doped up to feel anything is the main conflict.

I should never read those message boards because 60% of the people on them have the IQ of Forrest Gump, 30% are artfags who probably don't watch half the films they claim are their favorites, and only 10% are people like me who actually give a damn about things they watch and give things a chance to be something all their own before comparing them to something else.

GRRRR!

Ask me somethin'

Anything...
http://www.formspring.me/AshTheMovieGeek

And learn more about me by reading my responses.

Ash needs to stop listening to grunge...

So, I formed a new band.
It's called Ashley Dionne and a Boy Named Boo.
I also liked 'Sounds from Jupiter,' but thinking of naming the album that.

One new song up on myspace, but for some reason it sounds shottier up there than as a regular mp3.
Still getting the hang of things, so for some reason it's grungy, not anything like the folky stuff I've been listening to and really want to create. Plus, as much as I like grunge, I think I sound silly singing it (I sound silly singing everything I guess), so it's not the best song in the world but it's a start and it's nice to have musical accompaniment for a change.
Guitars and drums...yay.

I still want a keyboard.
I fully intend to learn piano for this project.

The Golden Globes and My Not So Golden Self-esteem.

I predicted most of the winners, but like always the winners I predicted and those I thought deserving weren't always the same.
Very glad Glee won.
Not only is it enjoyable, it's the freshest thing on TV in quite some time and Ryan Murphy is pretty much the God of TV.

Sandra Bullock winning over Emily Blunt was predictable, but it made me angry, not only because I love Emily Blunt and she was brilliant, but because people are way too prone to eating up the true stories, no matter how trite and predictable they are.

And even though I'm glad The Hurt Locker was nominated, it was such an amazing film and it sticks with you to such an unnerving degree that I'm really upset it didn't win best picture (although the best film of the year, Brothers should have been nominated and should've won).

Also, so glad Streep won for Julie & Julia and not It's Complicated.

Then, just to ruin my night, before going to bed, my mom, who's not said one supportive thing since finding out I signed with a talent agency has to say, "Do you know how hard it is to become an actress?
Your chances are like...one and a million. There are tons of girls out there trying to do just that.
You really think anything is going to come of this?
Maybe if you get a job in production, you can get a small part later."

I felt like saying, "And maybe I can't get a job in production. Maybe I've already been applying for production jobs without success for months. Maybe I never wanted to have a job in production anyway and you just wiped your feet on my dreams. I already know that I'm not tall, skinny, and beautiful. I know that I don't stand out and that I'm going to fail, but if I'm not going to try I may as well just kill myself because I don't want to live as some nothing person who solidified her nothingness all on her own by never trying anything."

I should never wonder why I have low self-esteem, when my mother makes it abundantly clear as often as she can that she hates me more than anyone else on the entire planet because she had me, gave up work and did nothing with her life and somehow her making a decision becomes my fault.

You say 'believe in yourself, that's all you need,' but it's not easy when the people you care most about can't muster the tiniest bit of encouragement and you have to wonder why there's not a single person who cares about you.

And I, being poor, have only my dreams.
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet.
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

You shelter me. I lie in your shade,

There's a tree in my back yard.
I call it "The Africa Tree" or more accurately, "My Africa Tree."
We owned the lot before we moved here and I never saw it.
I'm sure it existed, but I never saw it.
But when we moved here, it became mine. It suddenly existed for me.
It sits at the bottom of a hill on the river's edge and in the summer it is full and green, and lovely. In the winter it is cold, dark, twisted, but in a strange way still beautiful and always mine.
Although I know it exists and I see its beauty, I've never touched it. I only admire it from the balcony, from a distance. This wondrous thing I've never touched and yet it is mine.


You too are beautiful and distant and before I knew you existed, I did not need you, but knowing that you're there, however far away, you're a part of me.
And when you acknowledge me, I am full and alive, and when you don't, it is I who become cold, dark, twisted...alone.
Sometimes I think we're that tree. That by nature, we've grown together and sometimes it isn't pretty, but it's ours.

But things don't really change...

I sent a message to an actor who I knew recently worked on a film in Michigan asking for advice on getting started. He was nice enough to respond and told me that even more than acting, writing is about who you know, but after paying me an undeserved compliment, he encouraged me to give acting a try. He gave me the name of a new Michigan agency that his friend was considering working with.
I wrote to them, name dropped, and they wrote back to me. Then they sent me a W9 and an Agency Agreement.
I signed with them.

I don't know what will come of pursuing acting, maybe nothing, but as it was secretly always my top aspiration, I think it's better to try and fail than not try at all.
And I'm grateful for the help I received as you don't always here stories of kindness coming from the 'Hollywood Types.'

Still, the cloud of uncertainty and negativity that so often plagues me descends. They could drop me at any time and I keep thinking they'll just change their minds when they meet me in person, or even before that.
And I get nervous. Usually I perform anyway, but I keep thinking I'm going to clam up when it counts.
That's why I haven't told anyone.
With me, things always seem to fall through.
I've never given anyone a reason to have faith in me, which is probably why no one does.

My mind turns to people who seemed to in the past, shooting stars in the infinite void that is my self-esteem. And now, when I need them most, I feel them slipping away, leaving me to the void, the negative thoughts which will make me fail if I don't all on my own.

Is anybody reading these?

Maybe it's better if it's just mine.
No one likes my songs.

Something Else

The imperfections on my skin
Make it hard to stare too long
And the way I hold my mouth
Makes everything sound wrong
The bags under my eyes
Distract so they can't shine
Would you spend some time with me
If your face looked more like mine

I've heard it said that you can't love
Until you learn to love yourself
But I've learned that that's just shit
People say to help themselves
And I know I can't hate you
No matter how I hate myself
I know I can't hate you
Although you wish for someone else

The body that I have
Voids all personality
Nothing I could be is worth it
That's the harsh reality
And if I reached out to touch you
You would struggle not to gag
At my crooked jaw and the way this eyelid sags

I've heard it said that you can't love
Until you learn to love yourself
But I've learned that that's just shit
People say to help themselves
And I know I can't hate you
No matter how I hate myself
I know I can't hate you
Although you wish for someone else

But if you squint your eyes real tight
Or you look at me in low light
I'll look as beautiful as you
I'll look as beautiful as you

I've heard it said that you can't love
Until you learn to love yourself
But I've learned that that's just shit
People say to help themselves
And I've learned that I can hate you
As much as I hate myself
I've learned that I can hate you
Just for wanting something else

And the words fell apart in my mouth like moldering mushrooms.

I'm having some trouble with my new script.
I had a title and then I thought I had a better one...suddenly I forget the better one and was left with the first, so the lost title seems infinitely better simply because it was lost.
And it transitions from a state of loneliness, to one of bliss, and finally to utter despair...but I'm struggling with writing or even conceptualizing the middle stage because the causes of the protagonist's happiness...I have not experienced.

Although I can see much of this one, I have other ideas and I'm considering abandoning this until I'm better able to write what I know...because I've actually lived through it.
Not sure where to go from here.

Now please allow me to tell you what's important.
This is important.
You should want to see it.
Check it out:
http://sundance.bside.com/2010/films/hesher_sundance2010

Spells that get weaker the longer they take...but I wait.

It doesn't hurt anymore, love that is stubborn and becomes a part of who you are.

Sometimes I think there are two kinds of people in the world: People who can't stand to be examined by others, to be put under a microscope, and those who like it.
I'm the latter, not because I care what people think, but because whether I'm being criticized or praised, it's nice to get attention every once in a while.

Someone was discussing me with me last night...well, not really discussing. They were talking and I was listening. This is someone I've known all my life who was citing me as an example that people do change over time.
My hotheadedness, the way I seemed to elude others intentionally, seemed to be translated into an opposing force in a strangely reasonable way. In tiring of my own stubbornness, anger, and loneliness, I now give gifts without an occasion to merit them. I am overly generous not just in this regard, but with myself. I am overprotective of what is mine, both material and animate.
This excess of attention placed on those I care about causes paranoia when it is not returned. Normal amounts of consideration seem insincere and obligatory.

Just one person's opinion, but still an opinion I could be hurt by if I allowed myself to be.
Instead, I chose to embrace it and find beauty in truth.

It explains much about me:
Why not hearing from certain people for only a day or two is painful, and why I'm ashamed of this neediness and hide it, perhaps causing myself more pain in the end.
Why anyone who I find interesting who pays me even the smallest amount of attention is deified and missed greatly whenever I'm alone.
And because I'm still a bit stubborn, these feelings, these people, become harder to let go.
Why I love them more than myself and more than some I see every day and why I sometimes feel alone in the presence of others.

Sometimes I miss the old Ash, the one who'd sock you before she'd hug you, because for me, this change, this "improvement" in myself came too late. Perceptions of people don't often change and being this overly sensitive person does me no good now. In being insensitive and even vicious, at least I was able to pretend I was content.

"But sadly, it's true, that bang-ups and hang-ups can happen to you."

Unemployment.
Perpetual boredom.
Resentful looks.
Waiting.
Not an ideal way to celebrate the would-be, new found independence which is supposed to accompany graduation.
A trip to Florida.
Not a realistic and fair way to spend unemployment.
Hear it's cold there lately and I'd rather not go.

But, I have other problems.
I'm fallin' apart.
I thought I was dying last night.
I rarely cry from physical pain, but I was overcome.
I wonder how many people my age have to put up with what I have to put up with.
Probably a lot.
I shouldn't complain.

Might need my gallbladder out...it might be food allergies. My brother just found out he's allergic to milk, yeast, and apparently, everything outside. Food allergies can affect your stomach, even your brain.
Maybe that's my problem.
I avoided drinking coffee today, avoided the tomato based soup my mom had made the night before that seemed to destroy me, causing a fever in my belly, a burning from the belly button up into my sternum.

I have a really bad headache because my two front teeth on the bottom never used to line up with the ones on top and now they do...I think I dislocated my jaw in my sleep...again.

C'est la vie.