Time Out Of Mind

I sometimes get dreams of the future. Not very exciting dreams I must admit. They are of me brushing my teeth or sitting on a train. These invariably come true, nothing new in that. There are people far more attuned to that sort of thing than me, unless of course we are all dreaming it up, but I think not.

Some guy painted 9/11 before it happened.

But anyway, when it happens to me it is just slightly advanced De JaVu (How on earth do you spell that?) Until one day when the incident of cleaning my teeth happened.

I remembered the exact movements that I had seen myself perform in the dream some time ago, when I looked in the mirror, when I spat etc.

This time, instead of just doing what I was to do, I deliberately made movements that had not occured in the dream. The weirdest thing happened, my memory of the dream changed to what I actually did. Now I understand that the brain is a funny thing, you can see things that don't happen, remember false memories etc. This does not prove anything, however, here is a conjecture of what it would mean for time, if my mind was not playing tricks on me, and I actually experienced what I believe I experienced.

First: Time is predestined.

Secondly: This predestiny can be changed.

However, we can only claim predestination if we know what the future is, what path we are set to follow, what path we can move to. Also by its very definition, predestination cannot be changed.

The way I explain this is as follows:

A future exists, whatever happens, there is a future. There is also a past. Whatever happens, the past will always exist.

If we had the ability to view the past, we could go back to a major event, WW2 say. However, WW2 is an event that has already occured, short of actually interfering in the event, it would play out exactly as the history books say it does. Japan would attack America, Germany would attack Russia. No matter that if we could see these events as they play out, we would see Hitler and Hirohito making these decisions as if they were fresh.

Therefore is it not possible to concieve that time for us has already happened. That we are playing out the events of our life as they happen, each decision fresh and of ourselves, yet at the same time we are in the history books of a future civilisation, or that the universe has already ended.

There are people who claim to know the future, I am not one of them but I know that I have dreamt things which have later happened.

We must remove ourselves from the idea of time being a dimension. Of it stretching like length or height. It may occur or have occured all at the same time, and how would we know?

Only once you are aware of what is going to happen, can you change what actually happens.

If this is possible, is it not then possible to understand psychic activity, having a previous life under hypnosis may just be connecting with someone who is living out their life in the same instant that all time occurs in, as you are. Ghosts become rational, people who see the future may simply connect with themselves in a future viewpoint.

Time might simply be a form of energy released in the big bang or it might be something else entirely.

People say they don't believe in God because there is no evidence of him, yet what actual evidence is there for time. The clocks tick, the earth goes around the sun, rocks weather, people grow old and die, yet these are physical, chemical and biological processes. We can slow them down or speed them up with advanced scientific principles. They simply occur and continue occuring until the mechanism or the parts involved get worn down to the point of stopping.

If we travel faster than light we can 'travel back in time' by moving to somewhere faster than we can see what is happening in that place, yet when we arrive at that place, we would see what is happening at that point in time, not the past.

In such a viewpoint, does time even exist?
Is it simply that our brains are able to delineate between this time and that time, sure, the usage of the idea of time as a dimension is a useful concept. We work on weekdays and have the weekends off. Dinner is at 12 o clock. WW2 began in 1939 and ended in 1945.

Take this for what you will.
I have stopped believing in time. If it ever existed at all, it has already occured. My life is already over and everything I will do is already completed, while at the same time, I must make decisions that will alter the future. It is simply that the future is already in place, has already happened. It does not mean that my decisions and actions are not fresh.

The Right Foot Of Stephen Jones

Jones has had three scoring chances so far. (20 mins in) of which he has made none. But Wales are in front 5 - 3. Which is fantastic.

Jones is a good player, not Neil Jenkins but he is good. Now just made his first score.

As a sports player you are either decent, good or fantastic depending on how much work you put in, you can have good days and bad days, and in a team hopefully enough players have good days. Jason Robinson and Matt Dawson are currently the only people stopping England being demolished. Stephen Jones is having an off day, but the team is still doing well.

There is no such thing as a bad artist. You don't have good or bad days. You are either a brilliant artist or you are in the wrong profession.

The photo shoot was a shambles. No one's fault really. I didn't realise the mill would be closed on saturday. Aron was tired, in a bad mood and unable to show anything really. I couldn't think of anything to motivate him until after the shoot. The light was awful and Haley isn't the most experienced with portraits. No brilliant shots that I saw, but we'll see on Monday. Otherwise we'll try again. Next time I'll know how to get Aron motivated. Hadn't thought about it, never done it before. It's all experience. But I wasn't happy. And then, to really piss me off, walking home there was absolutely beautiful sunset light glinting off the buildings. Where the sun moves beneath the clouds so all the light just reflects and reflects.

I may sound like I'm just whining about being single sometimes, but it's more than just that. I don't have anyone to tell me I'm doing well, to cheer me up, to tell me if what I'm doing is not very good, to give me confidence in myself, to make it worthwhile coming home at the end of the day. To support me on my off days.

I've never had that, never. And so I've developed an overriding sense of confidence in myself, a sense of belief, because no one else will give it to me. I know I'm a damn good artist, I stretch myself, I know exactly what I need to do as a director, I know what I need to achieve. I know the final piece will be great.

But what if it isn't. What if I'm nothing more than a mediocre artist. It's a subjective profession, so no one can tell me I'm useless except myself. Thus I have supreme self confidence and self doubt at the same time.

I have no one to believe in me. No one to balance my fears. That is why I hate being alone, I also have no one but myself to blame for this.

Today I failed as a director, I could not achieve what I wanted, and the failures will only increase as my life goes on. There will be successes but the failures will always be there, and this was a small one by comparison.

To be honest, I've never really failed in a way that mattered. This one just means that it will take more time to get something done. It's not terrible if we miss the deadline for this brochure.

But I feel like I should have thought of making Aron go through Ruth's monolgue as he posed, I shouldn't have made the mistake about the mill, I should have asked someone with a bit more experience that Haley to do the shoot, I should have realised that the sunset would have been great.

I have no one to warn me of these mistakes, I have no one to pick me up when I am down. No one to trim my excesses. No one to turn to.

It feels like hell.
And I can't see an end to it.

The game?
England 9
Wales 11

At 77 mins Wales were 8 - 9 down with a penalty. Stephen Jones walked away and let Gavin Henson, Silverboots, take the kick.
Henson was man of the match, gave the best performance on a rugby field I have seen in years, is now the latest Welsh Rugby God, saviour of Welsh Rugby, and the man who beat England for the first time in six years.

But credit also to Stephen Jones, who had a bit of an off day as far as kicking was concerned but didn't allow his pride to create a fall. The team came through.

I've never had anyone but myself, never let myself trust in someone else, until Natalie. And then had my heart broken and a breakdown. Not Nat's fault.

I make mistakes from time to time but everyone does.
I'm old, lonely and bitter, but bloody hell I refuse to be a mediocre artist.

Sitting here in the dark, as my light has gone.

If Wishes Were Horses

I never shot a man down in cold blood
for taking what I had
but I wanted to.

I could see him in my mind
clutching at his chest
and falling to the ground
as I walked away

If wishes were horses
Beggars would ride
If I did what I wanted
I'd be locked up inside

I never shot a man down in cold blood
for taking what I had
but I wanted to

I never quit my job
packed a single bag
and left this nowhere town
but I wanted to

Standing by the roadside
my thumb is in the air
and I'm out of here

If wishes were wheels
Beggars would ride
Lincolns and Buicks
with leather inside

I never quit my job
packed a single bag
and left this nowhere town
but I wanted to

Oh Mary
What has happened to your son
Nothing in this world
ever seems to go the way
that he wants it to

I never met a woman
who could love me like she did
but I wanted to

She's in some other town
in some other state
with some other man
and a child or two

If wishes were horses
this beggar would ride
across all that distance
to be by her side

I never met a woman
who could love me like she did
but I wanted to

I never met a woman
who could love me like she did
but I wanted to

Bruce Henderson

Wales For The Slam

Never went to speakeasy. But neither did Haley so that's ok. Ended up with Sabs. Of course her and Lindsey's fight was just drunkeness, Linz's paranoia makes everything worse than it is. They've made up anyways.

So spent the vening with Sabs and me and her went out, just us, for the first time ever.

The Wheel was more crowded than I've ever seen.
Housemates were in, as were the Geordies, Mal and Carl have agreed to do the filming for Hamlet which is great. Debbie and Russel, Mike, Rory, Dave, Scott, Andy, Ed, Phil, people I don't seem to know but who seem to know me, plus a whole load of Sabs' exes, and Dan, whom she currently fancies and is desperately trying not to fancy, plus the usual jackasses who spend the whole night simply trying to get off with her. Even when I am making blatantly obvious signs that she is not available.

Gav was in. Hadn't seen or heard from him in five months. He'd been dumped and returned to Scotland, now on the verge of running his own video shop. He is just one of the lovliest blokes I know, so completely personable. I barely know him all that well, we just met a few times in the wheel, yet we were hugging like old friends. That's the thing with him, you feel like you've known him your whole life. Just really an incredible guy and a pleasure to know him. Got the feeling he may do a QT later in life.

Got talking to the girl from the guild, Amanda, she is on musical theatre, gorgeous voice and very pretty. I say talking, I kind of shouted, having strained my voice in the club, and I doubt I made a good impression, that can be corrected. At the very least why not try.

Me and Sabs had a great time, I told Linz I loved her but was not in love with her. Because I'm in love with Haley, which is true. I know Sabs doesn't and never will see me as anything more than a friend, and I'm happy with that. But I wonder if it might not be possible we could end up together. There are very few men that don't see her simply as a sex object, and to be honest, both of us could end up in ten years still being alone.

She lets me spend the night with her sometimes, when I'm feeling lonely, and need someone to hold. I'm gonna ask her if I can stop sunday, wanted to last night but left it too late.

Went to see House Of Flying Daggers with Deb and Russ. Somewhere in the film was a fantastic storyline and most of the visuals were gorgeous, but then got spoiled by the CG graphics, and then the director let dramatics kind of get in the way, the emotional weather I could handle, even the cliche of the dead woman (Zhanf Ziyi, fantastic actress!!!) summoning up the strength to talk when held by lover etc. But then she repeated this little trick about five times. It literally took her 25 minutes from recieving her fatal wound, to actually dying. 10 minutes into this, Debbie dissolved into laughter and I followed not long after. A director working on fantasy should never allow his imagination to overreach the project. It spoilt what could have been a brilliant film.

Am rather worried about Dan. He's said he can do one day a week Hamlet rehearsals. Even with three months, thats only twelve rehearsals, and Claudius needs more work than that, don't think he realises how big the role is, he hasn't yet read the script or even watched a film version. It's a pity, if I can't get more out of him, I will have to drop him, but there is no one else I know that I can see in that role. I could maybe get Richard to come down from Scotland, but he looks younger than Aron and I could not put him and Ruth in the same production after hearing what I heard last night. Dave maybe, Leo would be the same problem as Dan, Pauley already pulled out of playing Rosencrantz, a far smaller role, Mark Chris and Martin aren't really right for the part, Bob, possibly but he has a tendency to ignore direction, it might work for Addy, other than that I could ask Glen to come back or bring up Dave P, though I'd have to sort board and lodging for him.

Photoshoot at 4 for the first touch of publicity.

Must pop in see Phil, get his CD.

Then Wales vs England at half five.
If we win I will be happy for the rest of the month. I will also torment Tim at least until the end of the year.

If we lose, which we won't, well, I won't even go there.

Now, promised myself the Nicol Williamson version of Hamlet, and Explosions In The Sky's second album, never mind that I can't afford them.

Fight The Battle Of Who Could Care Less

Three hours sleep.
Spent the morning on a sugar high, ran round with manic glee.

Lecture with Gwyn. Poor her, she's a lecturer, we're Performing Arts students.

Stevo took a tantrum at her, one of the funniest things.

"Why the hell are we having to waste time with this fucking piece of shit crap when we could be on with doing stuff thats actually relevant to us and to our careers."

Kind of summed up the mood of everyone in the room.

To be fair to Gwyn she did take it all on board and work something out for us. She is a teacher and she does care about us. It's not her fault we have to do the module.

However she doesn't help herself when she uses sentences such as "I shall endeavor to assist you on the work involved in this module." Anyone else in the world would simply have used the words. "I'll be around to help if you need it."

She's too highly educated and organised and rational. A manager's dream. On a dry literature course she'd have been great. We ain't dry, we certainly ain't literature. We are action people, and unfortunately Gwyn's lectures bore us stupid.

Imagine an out of control nursery class, only with kids who are old enough to know that they can get away with not caring. Pauley drew a picture, Ed fell asleep, Tim started playing a music video on his phone, Eric Prydz of all things and just sat there gawping while the music blared.

It's not that they disrespect Gwyn, it's that they simply couldn't give a sweet goddamn.

I'm used to jumping through hoops, it doesn't really bother me any more. Fortunately it does them.

Did some Hamlet stuff, came home, resisted temptation to buy. Sugar high coming and going.

Losing the light.

Must go see Sabs and Linz. See if I can't sort things out. To be honest, probably can't. but gotta try.

Chainging

Regrets

Not a good day, or at least it was a good day until about an hour ago when one of my best friend's started getting it together with my ex.

My only ex.

Not that I mind in particular, it's coming up about 11 months since me and Lucy split up and I'm rather glad that it is Aron with her and not some random bloke. Aron will take care of her.

Me and Lucy never really clicked when we were together, in fact we didn't click at all. When she broke up with me there was no feeling of anything except disappointment, and also the fact that I'd just bought her a pair of £50 earrings from Harrods, that I've never seen her wear. But that was it, I never really knew her and she certainly didn't have a clue about me. I've got to know her a lot better since, living in the same house has helped. But there was never anything there. Aron and Lucy make a lovely couple and I hope it works out for them. They both needed someone. I'm glad they've found each other.

Of course, it doesn't stop me feeling like crap.

It's not Lucy per se, it's missed opportunities. I can't say I haven't had my fair share of them, and I've passed over or screwed up every single one.

Anya, Ginger Jen's friend was eyeing me up tonight. She's a lovely person but I've focused in on one particular girl and being with almost anyone else would be a lie, certainly someone I don't really know, so I passed up yet another opportunity.

Can't help feeling I'm gonna be on the shelf all my life.

Speakeasy

Just realised I need some poems for the speakeasy on wednesday, I've just been reading from other poets. I have lost several of my notebooks and the old poems I have, I look back now and think are just very immature, important to me at the time, but all just teenage angst that I had.

And I can't do Sapphire again. I've done it several times. It is a damn good poem, the best I will ever write, period, and Haley hasn't heard it yet, she will be there on wednesday, which is a good enough reason to make an impression. Roberto (seemingly the most ridiculously talented young poet in Britain) will blow everyone else away as usual, but I am talented enough to at least put up a decent fight.

Mission: Beat writers block, write two incredibly great poems for Wednesday.

GK Chesterton yearned to be forgotten, that he might be rediscovered.

Sapphire

She's sitting there
Just sitting there
Staring out at the sea
The everliving, everdying sea
She looks at me, and looks away
Waters of sapphire grey
Reflected in her eyes
And I run towards her
Losing my breath in the salt spray mist
To the place where she had been
I look out at the sea
And those waters of sapphire grey
And I realise
I realise at last
That she just
Ebbed away.

Free Iraq?

Iraqi polling stations have just closed.

A few bombs, several million votes, 30 dead, resounding success.

And so there might be democracy in Iraq, but freedom?

I know I'll be accused of taking my freedoms for granted, but I understand Hamlet when he talks about Denmark being a prison, Rosencrantz replies Then is the world one. Hamlet's stark answer, a goodly one.

Living where I live is great. I have freedom of speech, freedom of movement, freedom to work and earn a good wage. Many freedoms. But I am not a free man.

The ancient Greeks defined a Free Man as a political entity. A man who participated in the ongoing social and philosophical debate and had a say in the decisions taken by the political body.

This I resolutely do not have. I have no say on what my government does or does not do. I can protest, but they will not listen, I could partake in local democracy but that has nothing to do with larger issues, such as Fox Hunting, ID Cards, Immigration, Terror Laws, Policing, etc etc. We may have democracy in this country, but as the Greeks would see it, we are all slaves to the government's wishes. This is why, in Britain, very few people ever bother to vote any more.

I envy Iraqi's. They have been given a great freedom that has been denied them for many years, the freedom to vote for their government. They have shown the will and strength to excercise that freedom. They have come out of a period of darkness, not in the most graceful manner, but they have progressed nonetheless, let us hope that a fledgling democracy will not kowtow to America, will not conciously exclude any Iraqi from the decisions of their own government, will not be destroyed by fundamentalist Islamism, that it will take a long long time before their democracy becomes as cynical as Britain's or America's. They truly, at this moment in time, have a greater freedom than anyone here in the West

It must be nice to be able to have such faith in the political process. But bile must be reserved for another time. All Good Luck to the Iraqis, who today started out on an uncertain road, but at least it is a road as opposed to the desert they have just left.

I personally, will put my faith in Lord Byron, again I take from The Assassin's Cloak.

I have simplified my politics into an utter detestastion of all existing governments; and, as it is the shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable, the first moment of a universal republic would convert me into an advocate for single and uncontradicted despotism. The fact is, riches are power, and poverty is slavery all over the earth, and one sort of establishment is no better, no worse, for a people than another.
1814

Alright, Byron never saw Stalin, Hitler, Pol Pot, Hussein, US Imperialism, Islamism, Apartheid or any of the really brutal regimes. But I understand and sympathise with the sentiment.

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream.

Finally finished the script of Hamlet, and what's more it's under sixty pages. Which means its more or less the correct time as well.
That is the worst part of this project out of the way, everything else will be a doddle compared to slaving over a keyboard. Original material is fine, copying is hard work. Especially as my shift button is sticking.

Act 2 scene 2, ridiculously long even with the cuts. I put The Thin Red Line on while I wrote. A truly brilliant movie and one that I don't need to watch. Just listened to the dialog and the music. Runs at three hours. Took me the entire film to get that scene copied down, by the end I was just throwing out huge chunks of dialog.

But anyway, now at least the script is in a state that can be understood, in large print and with plenty of space for rehearsal notes.

I'm not worried about the rehearsals, they are all good competent actors and we have three months. Which is why I'm being positively lazy about this. The actors keep coming to me asking when we are getting started, it's good to keep them waiting a short while. I trust my own experience now, this is my third production, second directing credit. I know exactly what I'm doing now, that may sound arrogant, but I do. Charlotte's worrying me, haven't heard from her in ages, must get in touch with her, costumes very important.

Kez told me that she is using A Play in her essay on Holy Theatre (Peter Brook) am rather stunned. My first writing and directing credit, only two months down and someone is critically analysing it, that has revived my confidence. After watching the other pieces from our year I was seriously surprised at how incredibly good they were, compared with previous years rather half arsed efforts really. I knew that we were talented, didn't realise just how talented, and I watched my fantastic piece slowly get pushed down the list of other even more incredibly fantastic pieces, so to find that it is being looked at in the way I wanted it to be looked at is great. Soon as the minor early bits and pieces of Hamlet are sorted I'm gonna finish my second piece. I'm pretty certain I can get it to full length. It's a tad Shavian or Satrean but I don't care.

It's not for here, Once I have some decent pieces I'm going to bombard places with them. I know I'm good. I honestly can't decide whether to concentrate on writing, acting or directing. Hopefully I can tread between them all. But I tend to ignore my writing whenever other things crop up.

Tolstoy's diary entry:
It is a note worth remembering that Thackeray prepared for thirty years for his first novel, while Dumas turns out two a week.

Took it from The Assassin's cloak, great diary anthology. I love Tolstoy's entries, brief and to the point, such as:

I have fallen in love, or at least imagine I have, lost my head at a party. Bought a horse for which I have no use at all.

Or:

quarreled with Turganev. Wench in my room.

I am currently working my way through February.

Remake

Another critic, this time in the Guardian, bemoaning Hollywood's splurge on remakes. The remake of Assault on Precint 13 is nowhere near as good as the original etc etc. Well I've not seen the original but I went to see the remake yesterday with my friends, and damn, it was pretty good. Not brilliant, I agree, but as a popcorn muncher with beautiful visuals and no compromises, it worked for me, plus the little tribute to The Matrix, which I loved.

The critic argued that no one would ever try to repaint the Mona Lisa, or rewrite Hamlet. On the contrary, I myself am doing just that (rewriting Hamlet, not repainting the Mona Lisa, or at least putting it off until this evening). In fact Hamlet by Shakespeare was about the seventh version of the story to appear. Every time hamlet gets staged, it is reconsidered, re edited, reworked, restaged, relit, recast. The Hamlet's of today probably bear absolutely no resemblance to Shakespeare's original vision. Certainly the version I'm directing won't.

How many new plays get produced in the West End or Regional Theatres each year? 10? 20? 50? 100? And how many revivals of Shakespeare, Ibsen, Checkov, Shaw, Miller, Brecht etc. Obviously, Theatre is a finite art which is the justification for the renewal of great plays. However, who on earth can say that Film is not. The cinema is only around 120 years old. The average working life of a (Good) Hollywood director is 30 years, for a (Good) actor, ten to twenty years, for a long lived megastar (Connery, Eastwood, Hackman etc) as long as they live. But basically we are into the fourth or fifth generation of Hollywood. That remakes are now so common is a sign of maturity of the art.

Great Art will always inspire Great Art. Because Great Art can always be reinterpreted. Take Assault as an example. Rio Bravo (John Wayne, Good Guys V Bad Guys) was a response to High Noon (Gary Cooper, Abandoned by "Good Americans"). Rio Bravo became Assault on Precinct 13, updating the story from Old West to Modern America and blurred the line between good guys and bad guys with cops being forced to work with criminals for survival.
Now the third remake brings it right up to modern times. The Bad Guys are now bent cops, Good Guys suddenly turn into Bad Guys, Bad Guys, however Bad, are now Good. A perfect metaphor for the confused post 9/11 world we now live in. You can now read it as an allegory against George Bush and the White House.

Movie's reflect the time in which they were made and so remaking/updating them is not a bad thing. It does not denigrate the original, it allows new artists to bring their own take to an old tale. It might not always work, but I have seen some crap Shakespeare in my time as well.
Despite people crying about these remakes betraying the memories of the original, a good tale always benefits from the retelling, it is how stories evolve.

Whatever people say about the monetarial reasons for these remakes, I think it shows that Hollywood has reached a staging post in it's development, it has become self referential, such a critical mass of stories has built up that whatever original crap gets churned out (cf Pearl Harbour, Titanic, Alexander, Troy, Shark Tale: All very expensive yet singularly original pieces of trash) There is always something from the Golden Age that can be brought back to prominance. It is not that remakes in themselves are particularly bad, it is simply that none so far have yet outshone the original (Save Oceans 11). Give it time. Hollywood is not out of talent.

Someone should remake High Noon. Oh wait, what's that little series Kiefer Sutherland has at the moment; 24 is it?