jonathan | intropsection | rambling | comics | dramatic music and slow motion explosions
twenty something made with equal parts zeal and sardonicism,
books, comic books, film noir, wit, outdated pieces of technology, John Mayer songs and Nick Hornby novels, Batman, The Jazz Age and Paris in the 20's, typewriters, Star Trek, and Woody Allen.
Blank paper. For 20 minutes I’ve been staring at blank paper. Fragile white rectangles waiting to get tattooed with ideas. But the only thing I’ve been doing is staring. Being cautious and unconfident. Being precious and picky. 21 minutes later and it’s an email I’m reading. A script attached and helped asked for. 25 more minutes and it’s a Facebook message with a “could really use some punch ups, anything off the top of your head doc?” as a PS. Then I remember. This is who I am. Doc. This is my value. This is my worth. This is what I do. They know this and I keep forgetting. Forgetting and staring when I should be making. So get the fuck up Jonathan and start writing on that blank paper.
I just attended the best passion of the Christ play. As they were “nailing” Jesus to the cross the entire thing broke. No one knew what to do and it got quiet. Finally one of the guards on stage said “You get out of it this time Jesus”
I CAN’T STOP FUCKING LAUGHING NOBODY LOOK AT ME
It’s getting cold again but my jacket is too tired. Worn out with holes in it, the mothers in my life always talk-talk-talking about it. But I’m stubborn. I get attached. This is MY jacket. That I paid and worked for. My jacket is patience and affection. I’m keeping it and I’m wearing it on sleeves. But it’s so thin. And I’m so cold. :-(