Something about typing here makes me want to scream. I write but it doesn't feel real. A few days ago, I watched a restored 35mm print of the film Medium Cool. What struck me the most was the intricate cinematography. Each frame was deliberate. Impactful. Dripping with personality and finesse. The writing was minimalist, but it didn't feel underbaked. A movie that weaves fiction and nonfiction. Where the mundanity of the characters' lives meet the chaos and casual brutality of the very real riots and police beatings in 1968 Chicago. It felt absurd. Verna Bloom wandering through protests and peace circles in an Easter yellow dress. Maybe Haskell—the director, writer, and cinematographer—was deliberately tempting fate. Maybe the scene where a crew member yells, "Look out, Haskell, it's real!" when a tear gas cannister lands near their feet and spews out war crime vapors was exactly what Haskell was hoping for. An auteur willing to put the entire cast and crew in danger for the perfect shot. Should I dismiss the art that was created out of hand?
If I put myself in the shoes of those working for him, would I want him to be ridiculed to this day for the fucked up things he put me through? Would I hate him? Would I love him for his audacity? Maybe I would feel purpose. I can't stop thinking about this movie. I loved it and I know I'll never create anything like it. Should I be ashamed? I've been wondering what I have to show for this life of mine. What will I ever have to show for it?
I write. Sometimes. I finished a short story yesterday. The last one I wrote got rejected. Did it get rejected because it was the wrong place, wrong time, or because it's a garbage story? I wonder. I know this blog is bad. It's more of an online journal. Word vomit fossilized in pixel. I think I'm a bad person. Worse, I'm a boring person. Worse still, I am losing my ability to care. Who would I be if I had the ambition of Haskell Wexler? Would I actually become more important? Would I become an even worse person? Perhaps it's worth the trade.
Will enough self-pity in the form of "blogging my thoughts" turn me into a real writer? Find out on the next episode of Dragon Ball Z.