Nothing But Now

One blog post per week is the bare minimum.

Film Pitch: BARE MINIMUM - Sex comedy in which a "dorky" teenager (glasses, likes books, etc) must see a certain number of exposed breasts in one day, or he'll be thrown out of his fraternity/damned for all eternity by Billy Bob Thornton's hilarious demon character. I'm happy for either approach. Or both.

Film Pitch: BEAR MINIMUM - A bear is shrunk down to microscopic size and injected into the bloodstream of, let's say, another bear.

Film Pitch: FRÈRE MINI-MUM - Some schlub discovers his brother is really just a small version of his mother. Driving a Mini.

Film Pitch: DAMNED FOR ALL FRATERNITY - Demon bear invited to kegger. The rest writes itself.

I've been distracted today. It's been fun.

(Hilarious fact - I accidentally typed "It's been bun" just then. Imagine! It's been "bun"! Instead of "fun"! Imagine all the fun I could have had with that slip! Remember Bunno?)

I haven't been able to think about anything, and so haven't been depressed. Now I see why stupid people are so happy. Thinking about things has brought me nothing but strife 'n' ulcers. I'm going to start killing braincells.

What's the best way to do it? I can't think. I can't afford to.

Alcohol is said to kill braincells, but I don't think it can. Unless you leave braincells in a shot of tequila overnight. They might dissolve.

I'm moving on from this topic. It is not productive.

The thing is, second-to-second living is fine. I'm very lucky. I'm not in tremendous pain, I'm not hungry or thirsty or cold. I'm in a comfortable seat. My ulcers are metaphorical.

Each second is fine. It's when they're strung together that's the problem. It's like bees. One bee on its own is a delight. But when they're all stuck together in a horizontal line, ploughing through pedestrians like a buzzing hyphen, they're difficult to handle.

If my life wasn't a continuum, I'd be fine. I need some kind of amnesia ray. I could use it every second, as long as I remembered to keep it charged. I'd have to leave notes for myself. It would be like that film Memento, but less Guy Pearcey.

Now is heaven. Then and later are hell.

I need psychological blinders. Horses wear physical ones, and they get on fine. It stops them looking at stuff by the side of the horse road, like advertisements.

I need them in my mind. I'm terrified by the future, so I need something to block my view. I'd rather not even know that the future was there. It's too big. I can't carry all that weight.

Have I written something similar to this in the past? I suspect that I have. I just searched 'blinders' and 'blinkers' but got nothing.

That's the trouble with blinders and blinkers. I blocked out the past as well as the future, and now I can't remember whether or not that's new information.

I'm looking through a pinhole, and all I can see is a flashing cursor.

In fact, my pinhole is so small that I can't even tell that it's flashing. I can see the line or nothing, but never both.

This idea is too abstract, even for me.

Film Pitch: BARE MINIMUM 2: BARE MAXIMUM - The dorky teenager can only see a certain number of breasts. If he exceeds that limit, he will be thrown out of his fraternity/the demon thing again. Not wanting to ration his sexual consumption, he pursues liaisons with women who have had mastectomies. The characters, the actor, the director, and the studio heads are all unsure whether they feel comfortable about this idea, but they've already printed the posters.

In other news, "mastectomy" is spelled with two 't's. Learning this has justified the whole enterprise.

I'm going to try to keep living in the immediate present for the rest of the day. Which means NO PROOFREADING.