Chasing the Clone of Myself


Great Leap Forward

When I was a kid, we had a game where we imagined a killer virus that swept the earth like an invisible pyroclastic cloud - felling every living thing in its wake. The object of the game was to stay ahead of it, no matter what.

Little did I know back then...

I've made a number of changes in the last weeks to prepare. I'm in a very different situation compared to six months ago, and even a month prior. I've left my job. After two years there it was time to move on, and it's the safer choice. Recent trials have also led me to take stock and scale back my plans, and focus just on family. But with the lockdown on the horizon, it's a fantastic opportunity to re-structure everything.

That's the plan. That's what I'm doing now. Re-structuring everything.



Neon City

Take a deep breath, it may be your last. Welcome to the year 2053.

It's cheap. But then, some of the best things in life are cheap. Apart from the awesome title sequence, what I love about this movie is that it's not a nihilistic post-apocalypse road movie. The badlands are brutal and unforgiving, but it won't poison your soul with rancour.

It's everything TV movies should be.


Sarah Connor 2: Medication Day

The rot is pungent and terminal, and I'm pretty much done with cinema. Nevertheless, discovering the creeping-death in an old favourite of my childhood can still sting!

This is from the revised final shooting script. In Dyson's kitchen...

You're judging me on thing's I haven't even done yet. Jesus. How were we supposed to know?

[Sarah speaks from the shadows behind them. Dyson turns to find her looking right at him.]

Yeah. Right. How were you supposed to know? Fucking men... all you know how to do is thrust into the world with your... fucking ideas and your weapons. Did you know that every gun in the world is named after a man? Colt, Browning, Smith, Thompson, Kalashnikov... all men. Men built the hydrogen bomb, not women... men like you thought it up. You're so creative. You don't know what it's like to really create something... to create a life. To feel it growing inside you. All you know how to create is death... you fucking bastards.

Mom, Mom, we need to be more constructive here. I don't see this as a gender-related issue.

It's Clown World, all the way down.


A Quest for Competency

I won't be sharing most of this, because I'm bad at poetry. I don't have a clue what I'm doing. But I'm writing some once a week.

My priority is improving clarity, and I wish to understand better how to draw emotions from the reader, and practice the proper selection of words. I'll outline and then draft a poem. Then I'll edit for a short while. But rather than spiral with rewrites, the goal's to complete quickly and move on to the next, and the simplicity of this process is what's appealing.

If a few poems turn up on this page, I haven't lost my mind. Don't be alarmed. My focus is still very much upon the monsters and thunder, and the women's lamentations. I'm just mumbling the motto 'fail faster', and with poetry in particular, the speed's amazing.


The Castle and The Sea

I, The Castle, ward the coast,
Above The Sea's hidden wrack,
And she laments my ruin wrought,
When her waves roll back.

She carries the pitch-dark ships,
And fed the timber forts long lost;
"You stand alone," she says,
Beneath you, I bear your cost."

I spot a long-lying vessel,
Thwarted in her sand's wet whelm,
Beside Time-locked armies;
- Heldfast swords and helm.

"Sea of tides,
Why parade the ages?"
"To share sight of man's past," she says,
And of all war that he wages."

I grieve for her sodden keepsakes;
- she raises them, her battle-flag;
And for my need of my walls,
As when her waves roll back.