I’ve been out sick for the last week. Every time I cough, the iris closes in, everything fades to black. The apartment is giving me cabin fever. It’s made me sentimental. I’ve been digging through old memo pads, sifting through the ghosts of stories past. Continue reading A Rock and A Hard Place
Halloween is upon us and that means it’s time to curl up with some scary movies. Now before you go and reach for the usual thrillers and slashers, might I make a few suggestions from left field? This ongoing series will showcase what I like to watch in the days leading to Halloween. Some are underrated, some are waiting to be discovered, some aren’t really movies at all. I won’t promise high art, but I will promise a few good jump scares. Check them out. Continue reading Drew’s Scary Movie Picks: Part 1
Inspiration smiles on me
Beckons me to her end of the bar
Then her smile turns into a frown
Inspiration keeps shooting me down
Speaks through balled fists
She never repeats herself
She wants me to know what she’s thinking Continue reading Inspiration
When Johannes Gutenberg invented the printing press scholars feared people would loose their memory. They had spent decades erecting memory palaces to house all of their knowledge. Imagining columns and arches, linking them to their life experience. They feared these mnemonic memory devices would fall out of fashion. They were right. Many a memory palace crumbled when the responsibility of preserving knowledge was differed to the printed word.
The same thing happened when William Seward Burroughs invented the calculating machine. The slide ruler was put out to pasture. Professors feared that the formulas they had their students commit to memory would disappear. They were right. The responsibility had been differed to something else. Continue reading Deferred Memory
The ash tray sat in my bed. There were cherry holes in the blanket. My cat stunk of smoke. Colds lasted the entirety of the winter. The metric I used to measure distance was not miles. It was American Spirits. It took two to get to work. The cigarette smoking man on The X Files, the one who smoked through his tracheotomy, was my trigger. The cigarette between my fingers would remind me how much I wanted the next.
Smoking was part of my identity. Every one of my MySpace profile pics featured a filter screwed into my mouth. Smoking was my social in. It was my outlet when I felt put out to pasture. I smoked a pack and a half a day. My nicotine tolerance put yours to shame. Other smokers would point and say, “Well at least I’m not that bad.” Continue reading The Nicotine Always Wins
You find yourself pressed between the dueling kick drums of neighboring apartments. Off tempo rhythms compete for dominance. Giant blacksmiths hammer anvils as big as houses. Dinosaurs march down the street. Subwoofers fart. Every so often, you make out the digital squeal of auto-tuned vocals. The rapid fire pulse of an arpeggiating synth.
This was found on the first page of my notebook for the screenplay Savior Complex (my second attempt at a feature film back in 2008). I think I wrote this montra to motivate myself to write from a place of honesty. This last line kills me every time.
Dig: A Writer’s Oath
Show us your temperament
Your teenage oath Continue reading Dig: A Writer’s Oath
In this poem “one voice” is used to describe the shared experience of living in Minneapolis. It’s about coming of age with the same peers. Living in the same city, going to the same house parties, living out of the same coffee shops and bars. It’s about the regional accent that extends beyond words. One voice, is how we walk, how we dress, where we go and what we do. But it’s not about uniformity. It’s about isolation. It’s about the effect that people and places can have on your identity.
The meta tag for the file says it’s from 2005. That would make me 24 when I wrote it.
We speak in one voice
One accent swapping vowels
Our “I”s become “E”s
We say “Melk”, we say “Pellow”
We are the ventriloquist dummies
That the city speaks through
We call carbonated beverages “Soda”
We call romantic interests “Prospects” Continue reading One Voice
Artists make attractive protagonists because they’re driven. They pursue their passions despite the odds, odds that are rife with conflict. The chips are stacked against them. You can’t paint your student loan checks away. You can’t sing your credit score higher. You can’t pay your electric bill with a poem, believe me I’ve tried. Artists are society’s underdogs. We love to root for the losers. The dreamers who just don’t want to wake up.
The hero with the artistic temperament, doesn’t always change at the end of the story. Sometimes they change our expectations instead. Continue reading An Artist Statement About Artist Statements
This is another one from the archives. The meta tag says it’s circa 2006. It’s the one optimistic document in a folder full of pessimism. I figure it deserves its day in the sun.
This Is What We Do
We’ll set the industrial strength fan in the hallway
Prop all the doors on the way to the exit
Make a funnel to suck out
All the thought clouds in the air
All the questionable motives
All the sneaking suspicions
All the secret agendas
All the breathing hazards
We’ll fumigate your mind Continue reading This Is What We Do