I was sitting this evening, on a patio of a house that is not mine, and I stared at the high moon. The moon had a face, a woman's face, tilted to her left with slightly angled chin; she was singing. I sat there with my Savinelli and a beer. I watched her sing despite the lack of song in my ears. It did not matter. I puffed at my tobacco and I engaged in acts of reflection and new science.
As I mention from time to time, there are many obstacles in the path to individual success, that is, success as it is relative to the individual. I mention these things not only as storyteller, but also to offer awareness. These are the things I see as they happen.
The recent drive for film festival success has brought old notions, ideas and images to the front-and-center of my mind. I place a great deal of my energy into this fest and the ideals behind it. I am passionate! When I see passion, it inspires me and I absorb it...in my own, special way. I am misunderstood, and I always will be. Am I focused? As Kenobi said, it all depends on your point of view!
I am willing to take this walk down memories past with you...will you join me?
In 2001, I was divorced, and thankfully so. My marriage was becoming a burden and I did not know or care to end it, although I was beginning to see that "the end" could only be delayed. The ending was a burden for the betrayer, and I soon, thereafter, entered a Renaissance of myself. The misfortune that would accompany me, however, was investing too much heart and time into useless people that either fell into my path or my bed. This was a lesson I did not learn until sometime had passed as did more than a few women. I hate the thought of what little was gained from this experience, and how much time was wasted on people of their caliber. In fact, it is a pain to my current sensibilities, as it is to my dignity, to think that I wrapped so much of myself around these people at that time. I missed valuable time with friends that were worth my time and friendship.
So later that year, I began to enter the surrounding art scene in Tulsa, only to find that what little art exists in this lost city is little more than prestige and status symbolism painted in pleasing colors so that it pleased the polished eye. I entered the Gypsy Coffeehouse and found a friend for life, friends for the moment and a new soul with low mileage. I entered my thoughts on paper screens and projected a voice I thought never existed. I would learn how to stand up, and then I would learn to stand no matter what. I criticized myself, and then I let myself...be!
I was passionate about this, so I supported and encouraged others. Eventually, the friend of a lifetime would take on a different journey. He left the Gypsy behind and headed toward mountain sculptures and poetic inner-corridors. I continued to support. Then came the human drama. I left, and then I came back. I supported and worked on two projects; I quit the one because the negative feel of the place and the setting was wrong; it should not be there...it should never be there! I focused on the other, the Gypsy, and I left when another tried his hand at the spotlight when I always tried to remain in the shadow of the performers - it was their spotlight. I was asked back when it fell through.
A new direction...I was excited again and I had support. Support? What is that? I designed and constructed, forged an idea, tried to create something new...and it worked for a while. I brought amazing people and gave them the chance to be amazing. It worked...for a little while.
I felt the need to leave when the amazing became a secondary notion to cell phone conversations about "Bobby fucking Sally" and the quest for a party with alcohol. There was nothing there any more to motivate me. I felt it unnecessary to waste the artist's time.
I put in my time with very little support. I was expected to run a ship, as they kept punching holes in the hull, and if repairs were needed they ignored them, knowing I would take care of them.
I heard that the owner and members of the staff were angry with me for "slipping away". I find that amusing since I was not paid for the amount of work I did, and the only thing that they offered for my work was a cup of coffee.
And now I put my limited resources into another festival, a festival that I designed for the people. I think of the festival of 2003. I think of Open Mic Night and how many rushed evenings I spent, leaving work and barely eating so that I could give of myself and spend very little time for myself. I think of how many people used my good will. I fed, drove and I even clothed and blanketed people! This all floods into my mind, and I think, "what if I channeled all of that energy into my art, my films?" I don't mind the giving. I will always give, but humanity is always in need. They will take anything you give them, until nothing is left!
I still give, although I give selectively. I sleep now, too. I almost never slept. I can have dreams again, besides the dreams I carry into my day.
And now I sit here, with a beer....beer and nothingness...and a pipe in my hand and a cool night's airy kiss. I just sit and blow smoke at the moon, while she is singing.