Editors Note:


EDITOR'S NOTE: Fresh off a three year managerial stint, your friendly neighborhood lenslinger is back on the street and under heavy deadline. As the numbing effects of his self-imposed containment wear off, vexing reflections and pithy epistles are sure to follow...

Friday, October 15, 2010

Dreaming Under Deadline...


We were seconds away from our live shot when the drugs kicked in -- but, really, THAT'S a story for another post. What I want to talk to you about tonight are dreams. I have 'em all the time: irrational passion plays, nonsensical operas, psychedelic slide shows. Out of nowhere they catch my mind's eye and before I know it I'm scaling the drapery in some vexing quest that can never be fully explained to a spouse who has to be awake in a couple of hours. I blame my job - as most every scenario I end up wrestling the ottoman over starts off with me and my gear traipsing over some twisted news-scape. Look - those trees are holding a press conference! And if I'm not mistaken, the ribbon those aardvarks are cutting is made of frozen gravy! Good thing I can transmit it all back to the mother ship with this handy neon egg-beater suddenly growing out of my forehead! How else would I make it through that long plastic hallway in time enough to stitch all those eyeballs and diaries together?

Don't answer that. Just know that when I do turn in, the deadlines keep coming. Why else would I wander through dreamland with a hundred pounds of the finest recording equipment 1974 ever chose to forget? I mean, it's pathetic enough trudging through this realm with a viewfinder in my face. Must I do so from the sanctity of my thirty year old Shazam(!) pajamas? (Don't ask.) Better yet, get the hell out of my dream! Must I share everything with you people? Can't a fella craft paragraphs that go nowhere withOUT insisting tens of citizens waste their time trying to decipher what are merely finger exercises? Again, your input is far from needed, as I'm obviously just choosing which delusion I'll use to scare the therapist I'm not seeing. Otherwise, how's a guy like me supposed to sleep? You know how many times I've slept-walked from crack-house to palace with faraway eyes - only to end up in some edit bay haze with only a panicky page from a producer down the hall to me distort my sordid torp ----

ZZZZZZ.... (Thanks to Rad for the disturbing photo!)

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Hey! I recognize that picture. Maybe YOU can explain it to me. Freaked me out when I saw those guys.

Rad

turdpolisher said...

dude, you need to lay off the coffee.