Hey, it's me...Brian.

All Around Good Guy
I enjoy Writing, Making Films and Playing Games.
This is where I write just to write whatever may be on my mind.

Always proud to be a
Sigma Nu

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Thursday, November 09, 2006
Fever Dreams and Light Beams and Guns with Chainsaws attatched to them.

I've always been plagued with thoughts of what's wrong with me.
I have imperfections by the boatload, (and that might make me perfect?)
and I've always wondered what that list would look like
There are many things wrong with me or at least wrong about me.
And I just can't wait to tell you the stuff of my dreams. 
Assuming you'll listen and I make sense of some sort
You'll bear my confessions with your usual Grace, Poise and Great Fortitude.
I'm talking right now out of feverish thoughts letting this all spill out in some sort of
"Stream of Concisousnesss"  bullshit.
You'll think I'm creative and artsy as I just retell you my dreams of three days past.
I'll play it off as creativity that I can turn on or off at the flip of the switch
I'll do my best to impress but let me stress how unbearable I actually am.
Because I doubt you'll believe me in any short way.
I don't know if I have a chemical imbalance of the brain
that dilutes my thoughts and thusly those processes that change my moods
but I know that it runs in my family.
Also high blood pressure, heart problems and rage.
I know that the only link between great artists of any sort from one kind to another
was depression.
I will say again that I don't think I'm going to be a great artist.
But I hope to be a good enough of one to get by.
and I'd rather not get into my sex life right now
Now I just plagiarised myself in the hopes that it will sound good.
It happened not a moment ago, and I barely stopped myself from doing it
Even though it wasn't originial or for that matter great.
And I don't know what this is, but I don't think it's any of the above.
I'm afraid to get up and I'm afraid to stop because this feeling might go away.

If you ever sit around with fluids leaking out of your face in hopes that either inspiration will strike or that you feel that you are expressing yourself, does that make you an artitst?

I try to weave words into some poetic tapesty that you can wrap around yourself.
Lose yourself in it.  Tie these lines so tight around the body of my thoughts with the pins and needles that run across my scalp and skin and down my spine right now so that when you'll leave, everything I've thought of will smell of you.  And for a moment, it's all untrue.  It's just the pitiul piddling of a person who pretends and portrays the persona of a positive opitimist.  Then the winds change from south to north, and while things get colder they certainly don't heat up anymore. So tonight, I'll pick apart your pictures and I'll over-analyze your words.  Just because I'm educated doesn't mean I'm smart, and just because I graduated doesn't mean I'm pertinent or even mature for that matter.  All that shit doesn't stop me from trying like all hell though.  But don't worry about me and the fact that I think about things constantly.

I know I lose myself.
So where am I?

I just typed "I know I love myself" and I considered that a mistake.
What was the mistake?
Was Freud right?
Or was his only contribution to the psychological world his term of "Freudian"?

God, I know there's SO much that can be construed as good here, but I don't want to remove any of it, I'm so close to rejecting my self-editing tendancies outright.

If you ever try to create something of meaning and value while under the influences of influenza or the common cold or whatever, spending more time than you need to on a blog entry and trying to "see beyond the words"  like some sort of digital magic eye picture, does that make you an artist?


The fever's not gone, but now seems only present while I type.  What is that?

What the hell was this?

What you don't understand you can make mean anything...

Posted at 01:35 am by Psybabar
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Friday, November 03, 2006
For once I want to be the car crash, not always just a traffic jam.

For as long as I can remember, I've always bit my fingernails.  I've never been able to discern why exactly, and why especially I would keep up such an uncouth habit now that I've grown into such a fine, classy, good-looking guy. 

I think I know now though why I bit my nails.  Even though I don't especially like having bare fingers when my nails have grown into something presentalble, I still bite them.  I've recently discovered how symbolic the act of biting my nails really is.

I bite my nails when I'm feeling particularly vulnerable and insecure about something.  That's really it.  When I feel that I've left myself open to disappointment, my finger tips have been chewed off.  When I've thought of another reason as to why things wouldn't (and more likely shouldn't) be going as I would exactly want them to, I take another chunk out my fingernails.  When my soul is laid bare, so are my fingers.

It's an odd thing really, and something that I've never really put together before.  And I thought I would share it with you.

I'm looking forward to this weekend.  Not only does it mean that I have 3 consecutive days off from work, but it means that I'm going to be taking a road trip out to see Linda at IWU.  We don't especially know what's going to be occupying our time, but I figure a lot of visits to coffee shops or something will be on the line-up.  It'll be fun to re-connect.

I'm also hoping Sunday plays out the way it's supposed to...but for some reason I have my doubts....

I had one of my talent agency packets returned to me tonight, because there simply WAS no talent agency at the address listed.  I guess I need to get a better list of resources...

I chewed off most of my fingernails tonight.....

Currently listening to:
Like Vines
By The Hush Sound

Posted at 01:01 am by Psybabar
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Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Come the Rain and Come What May

Ever think about how you want something?  Ever think about that when you want something, you want it NOW...?  Or as soon as possible, (reasonably, humanly or otherwise).  Is that a by product of decades and generations of media and pop culture advertising instant gratification, or something more primal, ingrained in each person on earth?  I mean, I know that as people we have the ability to control our emotions and instincts and whims, but that still doesn't stem the tide of wants and needs that flood our minds on an hourly basis.

I suppose it's a stupid thing to ponder, but it's been on my mind lately.  Just exactly why is it that we always want something right now?

When I write in my journal (my actual one) I've always written with a pen.  I like writing with a pen, probably because there's that sense of permanence associated with it.  I KNOW that nothing can be erased and while entries can be crossed out and made illegible, you can never deny that there was an entry in the first place.  I can never change anything or go back and recreate things as much as they embarass me for having admitted them to some book.

I suppose that's my favorite part, or at least the moast meaningful to me.  Because I wrote with a pen, it means that I made the effort in the first place to write something down and I created.  While it's completely possible (and much more than likely) that my writing will absolutely suck some wing wang, I still made said writings.  I created and you can't say I didn't.

It's proof, I guess.  Proof that I existed in the first place and it's a small impression I left on the world.  It's proof that I took the happenings around me and the observations that I made and narratively interpreted that shit.

Honestly...I'm surprised that I'm not nearly as eloquent when I speak as I am when I write.  Most of this isn't premeditated, nor really corrected that much.  (only when I make my few and far between spelling mistakes)  Stream of consciousness is a great way to work, and somehow things still end up making sense to me.  I know, I know you're thinking "Yeah...to YOU"  But I flow when I write and still rarely take things back, as if I were speaking....one can't unsay things, as in writing.

Heh....but No...  I'm MUCH to afraid to take the risk of sounding actually stupid in public as opposed to FUNNY stupid which gets a quick laugh., and maybe I just can't function as well when people are looking at me.  And maybe I just get tongue tied for more reasons than I care to list.  I think I'm loosening my toungue though, little by little, while losing my grip ever more on my insecurities.

Anyway, perhaps I'll stop before this all turns into a stream of crap.  It's getting late.

I sent more headshots out today.

How many waiting games can one man play?

Posted at 02:30 am by Psybabar
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Thursday, October 26, 2006
Magnetic Attraction to Plastic

Last night, deep in the throes of the NEED to create something eloquent, I think I spent about an hour staring at my refridgerator door, mesmerized and imspired by my magnetic poety.

I enjoyed what I managed to come up with too.  It's a bit more than the haiku's and nonsensical things that my roomate and I previously had up there.  I don't think I destroyed TOO much of what they put up, though.  I think that there are still some vestiges of magnetic poetry that isn't mine left on my fridge door.

I've decided that I'm going to go to a Halloween party in Chicago on Friday and to hell with the fact that I work that night and then work a double the next morning. 
I'm excited to turn into a vampire again.  There's not much call these days for me to wear makeup, so I'm going to enjoy all the few chances I have.

When drinking me and Tip, he said
"Don't waste your time with politics," he said.
"Just chase skirts,
"And it's much too much,
When you're almost dead," he said.
"Because you've never really cared to show
Compassion to someone who's sure to know,
how it feels to have really bled"
"Instead, keep your self righteousness
and your high and mighty ideas of that social mess
all secured away
in your fragile head," he said.
"There are girls out there
who just beg to spend
a moment of thier time to meet
what you know is your best."
"So leave those antics to the dramatics
and just rise above"
"I'm telling you true
You'll know what to do"
But I think that what I wrote
is going over my head.
I'm stealing lines from myself.
And what I said....
Was never said.

Posted at 05:51 pm by Psybabar
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Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Bon Chic, Bon Genre

About time I start writing in this thing again.  Every other turn of the century or so I become inclined to create some sort of exposition on how things have been and what the hell I'm doing now.  Unfortunately, it has been the recent and long enduring trend that I apparently vanish off of the face of the blog world (Blorld?  Wog? Blogordzoid?) after writing something less than a fulfilling entry only to return after I have founded a futuristic civilization or something.  And for all YOU know, that COULD have happened...

I admit that I suffer from a lack of commitment to both myself and anyone out there who reads this obsolete thing anymore.  Such a basic principle for artists and actors and lovers alike.  One needs to commit!  So, as writing is one of the easiest and most viable creative outlets that I have readily available to me, I will start on and keep writing!  I will keep creating, even that creation is only limited to these words you read. 

Perhaps I'll start writing poetry again.  I loved poetry, and the spoken word.  Admittedly, some things probably won't be conveyed as well, but whatever.

I'm thinking about taking an acting class out in Chicago, simply to start out and perhaps get a foot in the door.  I'm already tired of simply waiting tables for a living.  I'm no longer waiting for things to happen, I need to MAKE them happen.

That said, I'm out to pick up more of my headshots to send out to many, many talent agents. 

Au Revoir, Cheres.

Currently listening to:
The Black Parade
By My Chemical Romance

Posted at 02:26 pm by Psybabar
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Saturday, December 24, 2005
On the subject of Balls...

Good call, I think I'll grow a pair.

Posted at 03:46 pm by Psybabar
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Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Exactly how you hear it, is exactly how it all went down...

Sometimes life is like a Jimmy Buffet song.  I think it should ALWAYS be that way.

Lately I've been laying awake at night, unable to go to sleep.  I lie awake thinking about the past and how I could have done things better had I had more courage and was less timid.  I lie awake thinking mostly about High School and people from that time.  I don't know why I harp so much on that area of my life, expcept for the fact that I feel as if I could have done so many things better had I known what I know now.

I then move on to what my life might be like today, had I made those different choices or had I been of different mind.  It consumes me, for some reason, and I want nothing more than to either right these wrongs or go back and make the better choice. 

I suppose that I have been doing so, to some extent.  Not going back in time, though THAT would be more than amazing.  It's more of a rectification process than anything else.  I obviously can't return to that time in which I made some choice or acted on something I shouldn't have.  And, hoenstly, more than anything, it's my inaction that has plagued me more than anything.  My refusal to do anything or make a decision has never done well by me and I suppose that's why I feel that I'm so intolerant of indecision and apathy today.

On that note, I've come to a few more conclusions that I really should just let go of a lot of my baggage. I've let go of a lot of things already.  All that junk mostly concerns who I was and not who I am today. Just as assuredly as I might need to do some spring cleaning in the future.

I regress though...

I regress to past characteristics when around people who remind me of my past.   This happens a lot when I see my Dad.  The only real time I have spent with him was extended summers when I was going through middle school and High School.  I notice when I visit that my speech pattern changes, I become quiet, a bit more subservient and less confident.

I really need to stop doing that.

On to my life: Movies!

The Chronicles of Narnia was unimpressive. 
It looked alright, though I thought it was too much like Lord of the Rings.  Susan was miscast.  The two boys were ineffectual, though Edmund was hateful at times, though I think for the wrong reasons.

Movies I want to see:
The Producers!!!
Memoirs of a Geisha!!
King Kong!
Aeon Flux (Guilty pleasure - Peter Chung's masterwork of an animated series was what got me into film and more importantly animation as a serious platform for express in the first place)


And of course, numerous others both good and bad-good, mostly in DVD form.

So yeah, to recap.

Life needs to be like Jimmy Buffet songs
Mental cleaning and de-cluttering
I need to be myself, ALL the time.

It's starting to feel good already.

Currently listening to:
By Herbie Hancock

Posted at 06:36 pm by Psybabar
Comments (1)  

Monday, November 21, 2005
A joke and a moment of your time.

Q: What do you tell an actress with two black eyes?

A: Nothing! Brian already told her twice!

Opening Night Could have gone better....

Posted at 11:29 pm by Psybabar
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Friday, November 18, 2005
I feel a chilling breeze, but we're not outside.

I'm not an especially high strung individual. Most would say that I'm fairly laid-back. "Takes things in stride" is something someone might say about me (among many other things as well)
However, it still doesn't take very much to rile me, if it is the right kind of riling performed on yours truly.

My show opens tomorrow. "Life is a Dream" Directed by Jose Zayas is looking to be a very strong show in which I have nothing to do but have FUN on stage. And I do. I have fun performing a suave, slimy, ass kissing, douchebag. There's nothing better than being able to play the bad guy. As Willem Dafoe states "Bad guys don't see themselves as bad guys, they see themselves as being good guys. They feel justified in how they act"

Anyway, in addition to performing on stage, I also have the added responsibility of being Fight Master. This overly dramatic title means that I'm charged with taking care of all weapons used in the show (and believe me there are a lot) and making sure that people don't kill themselves during our numerous fights onstage.

Now, I have no problem with being charged with the care of my cast and thier materials. I rather enjoy it. BUT (and here's a big one) I take MUCH offense at people of my cast thinking that they know more than me about running fight calls. It just pisses me off that somepeople try to take charge when they have no idea about running these things and then have the audacity to complain about how it was run afterwards.

Fuck them.

A silent resolve has been created. Little by Little, I become a bit harder and harsher inside.

I made my girlfriend cry tonight, when I was trying to avoid doing just that.

It's her birthday too. Happy Birthday Janelle.

Posted at 03:04 am by Psybabar
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Friday, October 28, 2005
All your dreams can concieve.

Last night, I began to disassociate from my body and spool out of our atmosphere. I heard a man screaming, as though from a great distance, crying in a loud voice "Oh no, oh no," and pitied him. I tried to remember the agonies of mortal existence, but then I was arrested by the sweet music stars make as they shiver together in their galactic symphony.

Some people wrestle with thier personal demons.  Last night, I stabbed mine in the back of head.  Granted, he had it coming, what with the slow claws dragging through and over my bowels and mind, respectively.  The thing is, I think I had an epiphany.  Yes, people who AREN'T alcoholics can have them too.

I will celebrate my continued life with cake this afternoon.  I may even consume TWO Red Bulls within a twenty-four hour period sometime this weekend.  That's right, I'm dangerous baby.  And the worst part is, I don't care who I hurt on my way to the bottom.

I'm still neck-deep in an obsession I've already BORED you with.  Hope I don't frustrate.

And Street Fighter 2's Guile is the epitome of everything discussed within The Art of War.

There's a truth in everything here.  Find it.

That is ALL.

One more for the road...

Posted at 10:52 am by Psybabar
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