I can’t believe this… it can’t be true. I swore—I promised. I’m done, I am not making another movie. I hate this industry, I hate people I want to live far, far away, maybe a small town in Japan making coffee and reading books all day. Why am I doing this then? Why can some people get through their entire lives without ever doing this? Why do I need to be more than that? Why?
I wake up, have a cup of coffee and try to keep my mind blank with cartoons and sports highlights. I want to control my thoughts—I want to be like everybody else. Then, it starts—the voice starts. It whispers to me “Help me”. Then, the image on TV is replaced by a scared girl running away. What is she running from? “Damn it” I tell myself. “I need to call the cable company, the channels are all mixed up.”
I finish my coffee and go in the shower. The running girl is back. She’s running, she’s covered in sweat, she’s scared, it’s late a night. “Help me,” she says. “Somebody please help me.” What’s chasing her? Why doesn’t she stay and fight? What can be so bad that she’s running so much? “Stop it!” I say to myself. “Forget it.”
I get out of the shower, I slowly get dressed and head outside. The morning air, will clear my head of any disturbing creativity. As I walk I listen to my iPod, reminding myself of all those meetings I had with TV and movie executives—reminding myself that these people are dumb, they can only work in show business—they’re not even fit to be rodeo clowns, I tell myself. Then, all of a sudden, it’s night—how did it become night?—in the distance I see woman—or is it a girl?—walking alone. She’s talking to herself—no wait, she’s talking to a teddy bear. What romantic and sad sight. I try to focus on her a bit more, I want to hear what she’s telling her bear—All of a sudden it is day again. The girl is gone. It’s happening again. I swore it would never happen again—I hate this. I need more coffee. Coffee can fix anything. I don’t even recognize the part of town I’m in, but I feel comforted because there is a Tim Horton’s—surely any place with a Timmy’s can’t be so evil. I wait in line for my large double, double and possible a Boston Cream donut, finest breakfast for a toonie. Standing in front of me I see a young woman with a backpack—just another tourist visiting our fair city. Then she looks at me and smiles, "I'm here to find my father."
Well, good for you.
“He's with the fireflies.” She says to me, then turns back to place her order. Man, I ought to lay off the caffeine.
I sit on the subway, trying to figure out how to be like everybody else, when I see the woman with her teddy bear again. She appears to be in full conversation with the bear, but I cannot understand a word they are saying. “What a strange woman,” I think to myself. I turn to look away and sitting behind me I see a a big haired guy with a sketch book almost as big as he is busy at work drawing. He's drawing me. He smiles and gives me a thumbs up.
I get off the subway, trying to understand what in the hell is going on today. When I pass by another girl, who sits quietly on the subway steps, she smokes a cigarette. Everything becomes slow motion as I walk by her, she has this grin on her face, I am not sure if she's smiling or if she is in pain. "I've got a gift for him," she says. "Something that will change everything."
I really gotta stop leaving my house.
Later that night as I fall asleep I begin to think of the people that I encountered over the day. The woman on the subway steps, the scared running girl and the woman with her teddy, the guy with the sketch book. In some strange way they all seem familiar to me. They’re all connected in some way. Can it be that simple…
As I fall asleep, the answer comes, maybe I don’t make movies—maybe the movies make me.
I wake up, have a cup of coffee and try to keep my mind blank with cartoons and sports highlights. I want to control my thoughts—I want to be like everybody else. Then, it starts—the voice starts. It whispers to me “Help me”. Then, the image on TV is replaced by a scared girl running away. What is she running from? “Damn it” I tell myself. “I need to call the cable company, the channels are all mixed up.”
I finish my coffee and go in the shower. The running girl is back. She’s running, she’s covered in sweat, she’s scared, it’s late a night. “Help me,” she says. “Somebody please help me.” What’s chasing her? Why doesn’t she stay and fight? What can be so bad that she’s running so much? “Stop it!” I say to myself. “Forget it.”
I get out of the shower, I slowly get dressed and head outside. The morning air, will clear my head of any disturbing creativity. As I walk I listen to my iPod, reminding myself of all those meetings I had with TV and movie executives—reminding myself that these people are dumb, they can only work in show business—they’re not even fit to be rodeo clowns, I tell myself. Then, all of a sudden, it’s night—how did it become night?—in the distance I see woman—or is it a girl?—walking alone. She’s talking to herself—no wait, she’s talking to a teddy bear. What romantic and sad sight. I try to focus on her a bit more, I want to hear what she’s telling her bear—All of a sudden it is day again. The girl is gone. It’s happening again. I swore it would never happen again—I hate this. I need more coffee. Coffee can fix anything. I don’t even recognize the part of town I’m in, but I feel comforted because there is a Tim Horton’s—surely any place with a Timmy’s can’t be so evil. I wait in line for my large double, double and possible a Boston Cream donut, finest breakfast for a toonie. Standing in front of me I see a young woman with a backpack—just another tourist visiting our fair city. Then she looks at me and smiles, "I'm here to find my father."
Well, good for you.
“He's with the fireflies.” She says to me, then turns back to place her order. Man, I ought to lay off the caffeine.
I sit on the subway, trying to figure out how to be like everybody else, when I see the woman with her teddy bear again. She appears to be in full conversation with the bear, but I cannot understand a word they are saying. “What a strange woman,” I think to myself. I turn to look away and sitting behind me I see a a big haired guy with a sketch book almost as big as he is busy at work drawing. He's drawing me. He smiles and gives me a thumbs up.
I get off the subway, trying to understand what in the hell is going on today. When I pass by another girl, who sits quietly on the subway steps, she smokes a cigarette. Everything becomes slow motion as I walk by her, she has this grin on her face, I am not sure if she's smiling or if she is in pain. "I've got a gift for him," she says. "Something that will change everything."
I really gotta stop leaving my house.
Later that night as I fall asleep I begin to think of the people that I encountered over the day. The woman on the subway steps, the scared running girl and the woman with her teddy, the guy with the sketch book. In some strange way they all seem familiar to me. They’re all connected in some way. Can it be that simple…
As I fall asleep, the answer comes, maybe I don’t make movies—maybe the movies make me.
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