The Wasteland-London notes

Bob Dylan said it best: everyone's either making love or else expecting rain.

Today was one of the gray day's reminiscent of a Thursday, a gloomy Sunday or a heartfelt autumn. I wore my favorite scarf - it's purple. I wore my bonnet, à la Farrell/Ledger. "Roll over and get fucked" ... that's the basis, the motto for my newly acquire student life here in South London.

An epiphany, I don't recall it, don't know how it happened, but it's engraved, tattooed and scarred in my thoughts... "Booze, burgers and oysters", my new screenplay, the new screenplay - the big one. In my 18 year existence, I've never been so sure about anything, except for this. It's fresh, different, and better than all the other bullshit coming out of Hollywood's proverbial ass. It also means I'm not sleeping - not that I was ever, really - but how can I waste time dreaming when I've got it? In front of me! Palpable, like the tension in a stare down, the humidity in autumn's fog. I can't do too many reveals for the moment, only it's about Julian or Poe - I haven't figured it out yet -, a 19 year old student, promising writer and poet, who bares vague resemblances with Rimbaud, Dylan and Doherty. And his friend, Constantine or Julian, the stereotypical drug-frenzied rock star bad-boy. Juliette, the French bourgeoise with a wild side and a gift for photography and painting, the love interest, so to speak. It's about their search to Arcadia by self-destruction and rerouting the senses, expanding your horizons - like the Doors. It's about life and the search for pleasure and happiness. It's liberation in the libertine sense of the term, creation, pushing your limits. It's about looking for a revolution, a cause to fight for when there's no May '68 or summers of '69... It's about life.

I'll be up all night writing, for what? I wish I knew. I don't like to, don't want, but I have to. It's engraved, and as long as it's not done, I can't move on. I dwell. So good luck to all of you in your materialistic words, taking sips of your poison, with lives planned ahead - the chimeric happiness, the beautiful lies. I'll be drinking till the Gin and inspiration kick in. A mere puppet for you to spend your 12 dollars, 10 pounds, 10 Swiss Francs, 80 pesos on a movie depicting the world seen through my eyes. And if you don't, don't worry, they'll always be a bastardized romantic comedy, or a cliche action flick with a car chase to get you going, won't there?