I wrote this during an English class in eleventh grade. Just going through old CD-Rs tonight and found this and a bunch of old poems, which I’ll post next. The idea with Contract With The Real was that Julian and I were going to perform it. Going through all this old stuff tonight—old writing—I’m seeing from tonight’s chair how early my mind has been active, and how active it has been. And my dreams from then (from high school and my two quarters at OU and the first few years of my working life) are the same as they have been since: writing and programming, and tangentially making movies. Notes from that period have shreds of what has become Camp Lake…that’s a story I’ve been trying to write for a long time.
I guess this is part of growing older: it’s odd…to think of myself, then and now, as in many ways a coherent piece…the feeling that I have about what I want to do…I think some parts of that feeling are consistent between then and now. Of course my knowledge of the world has changed—increased. And that colors my dreams, so that my dreams, now, while they’re still the same intention as I could manage earlier in my life…those dreams are more realistic, framed more by the parameters of reality as I have learned them. I want to maintain touch with my increasing awareness of what the world is…but I want also to maintain touch with the pure feeling of dream…that part of me that I read so much more clearly in my writing from high school, that me who thought that whatever I wanted to do, I could do, that part of me who, when deciding what to create, didn’t temper that to fit the world.
We dream big. Then we talk to other people. And their dimness rubs off on us.
I think it’s appropriate for each of us to actively fight against this.
Stay in touch with :: the pure feeling of dream. =)
More old stuff I posted tonight:
I have this recurring dream
The Myth of Real News
I hate literary critics
There is no God.
It’s not that I don’t like thinking,
Lightness was walking up the street with that look on her face again.
eyes of April
when i came upon the valley
Indelible Dick Tracy