25 February 2001
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raven -|-
solace -|-
musings of señor prod. -|-
only what fits in the car.
Clinton's last day at the Revolution was Friday.
Of course, I'm unhappy to see him leave. However, in the larger sense, it is better
that he go, and I wish him the best. Certainly, I'll be maintaining contact, but there will no longer be the
common lunch over which we debate (more precisely, I try to debate and he merely pummels) philosophy
or just what it means day-to-day to be a person. Polymath, Renaissance Man, Storyteller, Clinton turned
me on my head. If you read through the archive, you'll come across some of the stories. In many ways,
he was the Demian to my Sinclair. I don't know what I could've (or have) taught him, perhaps nothing.
I'm just glad that Redline's Fall instrumental will often find a way into his soundtracks. Somehow,
despite all my foolish pseudo-intellectualizing, I think that wordless song of vast emotion made a
point that sticks.
isn't it amazing?
Tonight I went with some of the crew (Stacey, Michelle, Joe, Florence, JD, Stan, and Robin) to go see Pollock. It was a very good movie, but my mind, with
that cruel gravity it has, kept connecting to each scene. So now, while I listen to the lovely
rain outside and periodically pause to watch droplets slide down my window (don't worry, you won't
notice the difference), I'll just ramble a little bit about what I saw, how I felt, what I was thinking.
The whole time I was there, I was wondering about the nature of such genius; some call it touched
by fire. Herman Hesse describes madness as flying and soaring, but out of control, lost to the skies.
The most innovative people have often been touched by something which haunts them, which contorts
their souls. I found myself sitting there and half-wishing for madness to inhabit me, if only to
help me make something beautiful. It's true, I'm not deeply disturbed, just aware of what I miss.
That ache isn't the consuming flame of insanity, merely the terrible awareness that I know what I'm
missing out on.
Lee Krasner believed in Jackson Pollock, she saw his genius and loved it, and loved him. I'm finding
that I have someone who believes in me; not that I'm a genius, not that I have any secrets or inside
information to bestow, but just quietly believes in me. It doesn't make sense to me, I never much
believed in myself... but she does. That I can change, that I can teach, that I can do things right,
that I'm a good person (though I think the jury's out on that last one). I find solace, feel at home,
feel accepted. And still it doesn't make sense to me, but I'm learning, and I'm changing. I'm working
on doing things right, and hoping I can be a good person. I think I missed a lot of the movie, having
spent a couple hours inside my head as much as there in the second row (too damn close!) watching
the screen. My friends all followed the movie with plans for dinner, but I felt I needed to come home
to find solace, to feel accepted and loved. Well, I'll see what happens.
musings of señor prod.
Busy as hell at The Revolution.
It's a good busy, but the Raven's flown the coop... The tally so far: Directors of Production: 1,
Senior Producers: 1, Producers: 1 (I thought there were going to be 2 this week... perhaps next week?),
Associate Producers: 1.
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