Hanatō's Cat Haikus, Pt. 4

Today, more astounding verse by the Haiku master Hanatō Fukui (1650 - 1730), from the new translation by Trini Savitch.

Three days, no shaving.
White cat rubs my drunken hulk.
When I wake - white beard!

---

Moonlight fills my room,
I dream of Kyoto girls.
Hot breath. Claws. Hungry cat!

---

Lithe cat chases light,
Tries to catch pond reflections.
Koi oblivious.

← Hanatō's Cat Haikus, Pt. 3 | Hanatō's Cat Haikus, Pt. 5 →

RabbitCrow #1

This is the RabbitCrow logo.

Whenever you see the RabbitCrow you may feel compelled to do the following:

get to work
figure it out
lie down
let it feel good
check it out
ignore it
eat it
run from it
leave
stay
fly
dig

James Goldman on Screenwriting

I joked about mistaking William Goldman for his brother James in a post about the Screenwriting Expo, but I do adore James Goldman's two medieval movies, "The Lion In Winter" (1968) and "Robin and Marian" (1976) and, although it is harder to fail when you don't work as much, I think elements of both are superior to Brother William's screenwriting work.

I like period movies too, particularly those that execute medieval settings well. I've studied "The Lion In Winter" (1968) for years, but I went back to it, and to "Robin and Marian" (1976) also, when I was writing "Fortune and the Devil". Both scripts are breathtaking - "The Lion In Winter" for its staggering dialog, "Robin and Marian" for its romance and heroism.

Because his more famous brother has shone more brightly, we don't often hear James Goldman's take on the screenwriting life. So I thought I'd offer up an excerpt from his introduction to the published version of "Robin and Marian":

"The screenwriter is anonymous and why this is so is worth talking about. There are, it seems to me, two basic reasons why, one of them historical and the other dumb-headed.

Historically, movies don't seem to have had writers at all. I'm speaking, of course, of the silents. Someone, obviously, had to write the captions, just as someone has to pen the instructions that come with your dishwasher. But it's as difficult to give some writer praise or credit for "Intolerance" as it is to think of the creator of a Christmas pantomime as a playwright. Writing, we are prone to think, is words.

Not so. Aristotle, who is a permanent hero of mine, took the position that the elements of a play, in order of importance, were: plot, character, thought and then - and only then - diction. Now, movies are a branch of drama and a screenplay is a kind of play and on the screen you don't need words to tell a meaningful story about fully realized people. "City Lights" works without its captions. Though wordless, someone wrote it. But the point is, watching it, we feel that no one did. Movie writing came in through the back door. And it stayed there.

Why it stayed there also has to do with words. I've got to confess that I was in my early teens before it occurred to me that Someon actually wrote a movie. Tom Mix was a real man and he rode up on a real hore to a real corral. And when Tom spoke, it seemed like he was speaking for himself too. Nobody wrote that 'Howdy'. He just up and said it.

If he sang it, we'd know different. For while singing is a natural thing, the invention of melody is not something most of us can do. But inventing sentences?? We're all like Moliere's 'Gentilhomme': we've made the staggering discovery that everybody speaks in dialogue.

Or, put it this way. Improvising at the piano seems slightly miraculous. How does the fellow do it? But improvising dialogue occurs every time one opens one's trap. The inevitable result is that most of the conversation we hear in movies sounds to everyone - except the writer - as if nobody wrote it...

We also know the words aren't improvised when the dialogue sounds, in one way or another, composed. I have in mind not only Bible epics - no one ever talked like that - but writing that is noticeably witty, stylish or complicated. 'Notorious' seems 'written', 'Bullitt' does not: Steve McQueen seems to say whatever comes into his head, but Cary Grant is working from a script.

So by and large, the film writer is unknown because his work seems unwritten..."

Or should seem unwritten, if he is doing his job.

- "Robin and Marian" script at Amazon.com -

Stalingrad

Winter is almost here.

Who can say why, but I'm thinking about Stalingrad.

Marshall Vandruff - Draftsmanship

I spent yesterday in Marshall Vandruff's enjoyable and challenging "Crash Course In Draftsmanship".

I now understand many things now that I did not understand before. Unfortunately one of things I understand is how little I understand. This will make me a more effective artist, but - at least in the short run - a less cheerful human being. But that's how it goes.

Forms...

Yesterday's News

We all know what you ate yesterday. But what did you watch?

Me?

"Monarch of the Glen: Series 1" (2000)
"The Dark Crystal" (1982)

Thanks Giving

2005 has been very generous to me, and I am thankful.

To name a very few of the causes for thankfulness:

1.) Have almost completed Year 1 of marriage - and am enjoying the hell out of it
2.) The family computer croaked - which lead to the purchase of a brand new, tears-in-the-eyes-beautiful iMac
3.) Finally got my web presence up & running
4.) Completed a screenplay that's getting good buzz
5.) Got to attend the Oscars again
6.) My brother emerged from the New Orleans disaster safe & sound
7.) Have not substantially harmed myself or others
8.) Have had food and shelter available every single day
9.) Did not lose a limb or eye or head in an unexpected explosion
10.) Haven't had to try to extinguish white phosphorus with water from a drainage ditch


"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."

- Anne Frank, writer

Holiday Sale

All T-shirts - as well as non-T items- at the RABBIT + CROW SHOP have been viciously slashed!

Their prices, that is, have been brutally hacked. Once towering costs have been cut down to size in a ruthless and cold-blooded cutting-down manner. Wherefore? Fore-cause it's the Holiday Season and we want you to buy stuff, lots of stuff. We want you to have it. We'd give it to you for free if we could. But we can't. Because we are greedy. But we are giving you a big discount, so stop complaining. We have to eat too. Just like the coyotes.

The NEW DESIGN will be available, as usual, on the first of the month, but that too will be available at fir tree-chopping low, low holiday prices.

My great dream at film school was to be an editor.

Go to the RABBIT + CROW SHOP now and spend less than you would have spent yesterday! Remember, the more you spend, the less you'll be spending!

Equation

I just had a birthday, and so I find myself reevaluating my life. I think it's a natural part of the aging process - or as I prefer to call it, the "olding process".

One thing I've noticed lately is the older I've grown, the louder my farts have become.

Have you noticed this as well?

I'm sure there must be a practical scientific explanation for this annual decibel rise, but so far it remains to me a mystery - strange and unfathomable and slightly supernatural. But what with Madame Curie being one of my heroes and all, I have attempted an equation to describe the phenomenon:

L = aF²

In this equation - called Romanek's Gas-Volume Assertion - the Loudness (L) of the fart is equal to the person's/my Age (a) times the square of Huffing's Fart Constant* (F).

I believe the equation describes the mechanics of the increasing loudness exquisitely. But still I wonder why.

WHY??


*for more on Huffing's Fart Constant, read "Denny Huffing: Father of the Bold" by Shirl Birdwing, also "The Pressure Constant and other Observations" by Denny Huffing.

Hot Soak, Dead Hog

My wife gave me my belated birthday present - a long weekend in Desert Hot Springs.

All this time in Los Angeles and I had never been to Palm Springs, or the nearby Desert Hot Springs, or the slightly nearby Joshua Tree National Park. Now I have done these things. These things have been done by me.

You can do lots of soaking at Desert Hot Springs. We did soaking. We soaked in boiling water. We soaked in 98.6 degree water (37 celsius). We soaked in room temperature water. We soaked and soaked. We soaked well. We were happy to soak. We soaked at night, with a spotlight gibbous moon overhead, and cool desert air on our faces. We soaked with the soaking plaza all to ourselves...

...except for the Black Widow spider taking an evening constitutional around the edge of our soaking pool.

We shouted. We threatened. We splashed.

And the Black Widow slunk back into its crevice to bide its time till a less canny pair of victims came along. We were too strong, too mighty. We fled to the next pool.

One evening we drove through Joshua Tree National Park, where you can see many Joshua Trees, as well as rock formations that are - literally - older than your grandmother. I think I saw Bono lurking in a dry river bed. As night fell, we pulled to the side of the road and we stood staring up into a sky gray with stars, surrounded by deafening desert silence.

As we drove out of the park, a Kangaroo Rat hopped out of the desert and into our headlights.

(thuppa-thump)

My wife shrieked. She insisted we go back to see if we had killed it.

We went back. We saw. We had killed it.

We confessed our crime to the Park Ranger at the gate. We apologized. She said, "Well, the coyotes have gotta eat too." - which made us feel better.

That night I dozed off watching my favorite tv show. In this episode, young Kumiko Kobayashi, the only Japanese woman to have been admitted to a certain famous French culinary school (the name of which I've forgotten) challenged Iron Chef French, Hiroyuki Sakai. The ingredient was Mishima Beef. Kobayashi lost, 3 to 1.

We departed Desert Hot Springs, rested, cheerful, groggy, happy, dry-lipped, me with a belly full of pork products injested at the hotel's breakfast buffet.

As we headed up a supernaturally straight stretch of barren road, my wife proudly proclaimed her sighting of a dead hog.

She insisted we go back, so I could see it. We went back. I saw it.

Big hog. White hog. Dead hog. Many many flies. No evidence of blood.

Had the hog been left as a sign by one of San Bernardino County's many bizarre religious cults? Or had it leaped from a passing truck in an eleventh-hour attempt to escape the carniceria? Or were one of the local white supremacist terrorist organizations interrupted while preparing for a midnight trip to the local mosque?

We would never know.

We decided to agree that seeing a dead white hog in the desert was a sign of good luck. And I added an amendment that the amount of good luck increased, somehow or other, with the number of flies that could be counted on the corpse. We would be very lucky indeed!

A luxurious drive back to L.A., via Joshua Tree, me gawking at gigantic nature and veering dangerously, while my wife read aloud interesting passages from a book about the geologies and ecologies of the park.

Arriving home, we were shunned by resentful cats.

Kevyn Knox's Top 10 Project

Check out TheCinematheque.com. Not the American Cinematheque and not La Cinematheque Francaise, it is a cineaste site by Kevyn Knox - one of the better sites of its kind I've seen lately.

The site features solid film reviews and a real real good compilation of Top 10 Film Lists and Top 10 Directors Lists. Submit your own Top Ten (or more) Lists, and Kevyn will crunch the data using many sophisticated and arcane statistical formulariae, to add your votes to his mighty - and, of course, definitive - Top Ten Project.

Submissions of lists are made via email, which adds a personal touch and also, I have a feeling, sorts out the idiot passerby votes from the legitimate movie fan votes.

My submission:

The Top Ten List

I attempted a balance in my selections, trying to include the "Great" (influential, models of perfection) with personal favorites, as well as selections which excel in their genres though they may not reach the top of most "Great" lists:

Films (in alphabetical order)

The Deer Hunter (1978)
Duck Soup (1933)
Fanny and Alexander (1982)
Jaws (1975)
Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
La Dolce Vita (1960)
Psycho (1960)
The Red Shoes (1948)
The Reflecting Skin (1990)
Seven Samurai (1954)


Directors (in alphabetical order)

Woody Allen
Ingmar Bergman
Federico Fellini
John Ford
Alfred Hitchcock
Stanley Kubrick
Akira Kurosawa
David Lean
Michael Powell
Billy Wilder

Your submission?

Warren Hsu Leonard - The Times

Check out the article in today's Times of London about Screenwriting Expo 4 - "How I Ended Up In Big Pitches" - based on an interview with Screenwriting Life's Warren Hsu Leonard.

Also features mention of Warren's new spec script "The Dream Factory".

Screenwriting Expo Pt. 4

Philippa Burgess began with:

"Who here has the goal of selling a script this weekend?...Who has the goal of getting representation? ... Who has the goal of ... the goal of ... goal ... goal ... goal ..."

With each utterance of the hideous word, a voice from the back of the room sounded: "Ouch! ... Shit! ... Ow! ... Quit it! ... Ouch! ... Ow! ... Stop it! ... Yeow!..."

My voice, that would be.

Goal???

Creative Convergence's Philippa Burgess, in her Friday seminar, Million Dollar Screenwriting Career, gave my own screenwriting career an overdue bitch-slapping. I've told my hench-people that I'll have a draft of the new horror spec by Valentine's Day - maybe, probably. There's no reason why it couldn't be done by Valentine's Day. No reason at all. But, you know, we'll see. Or not.

Goal???

I have been taught - but have not thoroughly retained - the knowledge that goals must be measurable, must be time sensitive, must be actions that can be executed, and other stuff like that - all of which make my skin crawl - all of which are very helpful, vital even, in getting my crap done, but things which make my skin crawl nonetheneverless. I don't like my skin crawling. Makes me feel like a snake.

But on the other hand, have you seen a snake after it's crawled out of its skin? Shiny.

Anyway ...

I suppose I attended Expo 4 with a vague notion that I wanted to meet other writers. That's a goal, isn't it? Yes, I'm counting that as a goal. I also went with a determination to take Philippa's marketing class, of which I'd heard much praise.

I've been stuffed like a Siberian pepper with education on the screenwriting craft - much of it completely useless when the time comes to put words on the page, but necessary in order to get to the page in the first place - but, for years, I've avoided - evaded, more like - acquiring good skills in marketing myself, selling my work, negotiating the whip-lashing rope-ladder of success. In fact, I - as have too many writers before me - even taken the position that as a writer I am not allowed to attempt to manage and navigate my own career path. "You are not qualified, son." It's part that destructive infantilization of writers that David Milch has bemoaned, and I have bought into it hook, line, and other fishing tackle items. For my career thus far, I have taken what I like to call - or will like to call in the future, having just thought of it now - the "Bastard Astronaut" approach. That is: "Put me in a silver suit. Strap me in. Wake me when we blast off. I'll be available for autographs later."

I seemed to gush in my Friday post when I said that Philippa's marketing seminars were a "revelation", but that is an accurate assessment. The first seminar was anyway, then her second one, in the evening, which was virtually the same, was just confirmation of the revelation (you have to be careful about these things - there's nothing worse than a nut running around shouting about a half-baked revelation).

My representation has always been mui laissez faire - often frustratingly mui. Laissez faire can be wonderful when you're an agressive little self-promoting pit bull. But I'm usually more of a passive little self-deprecating alley cat, which does not always insure the jobs keep rolling in. When baffled as to why I haven't been lining up job after job after job, I have blamed my agent, because...well, that's what we do. We blame our agents. Laymen suppose that an agent's most important function is to secure work and negotiate deals. No, no. It is to absorb blame.

If I took action along Philippa's helpful guidelines, I'm thinking it would be very difficult, might be impossible to blame my representation again. And if you don't need representation to blame, then...well, do you need representation at all? I wouldn't know. I'll keep you posted.

At the Expo, I bought Philippa's book("Secrets Of A Million Dollar Screenwriting Career"), which delves into her seminar material in greater depth. It's available at The Writer's Store. Check it out. Most of the information is - like all good teaching - simple with the effect of reminding you what you already know but have forgotten to apply.

Still, it's hard not to feel like the Australopithecus in "2001", utterly baffled by something too, too simple.

For example: Networking is apparently the continued maintenance of friendly contact with the people in your community.

Cue the Monolith.

Screenwriting Expo Pt. 3

So I got up to the mike and I said to William Goldman, I said:

"Bill, I just wanted to let you know first of all how much 'The Lion In Winter' means to me. It's one of my favorite movies. In terms of dialog, I think it's probably one of the greatest movies ever written. My question is this: Did you find that it was helpful that you wrote it as a play first and were able to work the bugs out before you adapted it to the screen?"

Mr. Goldman took a breath, smiling his kindly, wisely smile, then:

"You're thinking of my brother."

"No, I'm not. I'm thinking about how sweaty my upper lip is! You may be a great writer but you don't have UNCANNY PSYCHIC POWERS!!" I cackled (those present later told me it sounded like I coughed, but I want to set the record straight now - I cackled).

"I didn't write 'The Lion In Winter', he continued, "My brother James wrote 'The Lion in Winter'."

Such a great talent. And humble too. Was there anything this guy couldn't do? But I would not be swayed:

"Ha! That's great!" I shouted merrily.

"Now you're going to ask me about 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest', right?"

"No. Actually, my next question was about 'Lord Of The Flies'. Why did you make it twice?"...


Some other stuff William Goldman said at the panel discussion (also featuring David Koepp, moderated by Den Shewman):

"You've got to protect your writing time when you're starting out. Find out when you can write and protect that time. You have to protect it. If you don't protect it, nobody will. You can accomplish a lot in two hours."

And of his differences of opinion with studio executives:

"I believe the movie is the star. And they don't."

Screenwriting Expo Pt. 2

I've avoided the Screenwriting Expo for the past three years because I've naturally assumed I already know everyone and everything re the movie industry in general and screenwriting in particular. This kind of stinky arrogance repeatedly causes me nothing but suffering. But that doesn't stop me. No sir. Suffering, sir? Bring it on, sir! Self-inflicted suffering, sir? Bring it on on, sir! Unnecessary self-inflicted suffering, sir? Bring it on on on...and so forth.

And true, being a writer and all, the last thing I want to do is interact at length with the real world. Not that writing is any great pleasure either. But it is much more comforting to be able to sit down at a page and write "They lived happily ever after - and that's the truth", than to have to negotiate the disorienting network of currents and tides that is our everyday second to second existence. Add people to those tides and it's "Beaches Closed" as far as I'm concerned.

So no one is more surprised than me am when I say that I really enjoyed the networking and flesh-pressing and how-ya-doing-ing of this weekend's Screenwriting Expo IV. In fact I found myself taking to it - like a cat takes to water, in some cases, but with after a couple hours of practice I think I started seeming quite un-hysterical.

The Scribosphere Party, hosted by Joel Haber and Warren Hsu Leonard at the Figueroa Hotel, was a great success. It was nice to meet the whole mob in the flesh (see the Blogroll for their sites).

I ran into gangs of people I knew throughout the Expo, some from as far back as film school and some whom I'd met only a month ago under very un-screenwriterly circumstances. It's always amazing to me how you can drop in at an event of thousands and keep seeing your homies. It's a small world after, all.

It was a pleasure to see USC CNTV classmate Will Plyler, whose Done Deal is one of the most important resources for screenwriters on - I think it's safe to say - the entire planet Earth. Yes, it's always a pleasure to see him. But whenever I run into Will, even if it's been a long time between meetings, I always come away with a feeling of "Why was he being so nice to me?" To date I have been unable to detect the sinister motive behind his niceness - other than innate cheerfulness and genuine good will no pun intended. Naturally this is very unsettling, because I usually have to be promised substantial rewards before I even crack a smile. The fact that Will may like me is not something I'm yet able to consider. I'll talk to my therapist and get back to you.

It had also been a long time since I'd chatted with William Goldman. Quite a long time. Years. Or more even. I don't know. Could be...Okay, never ever met him ever. But after his panel discussion with David Koepp, moderated by Creative Screenwriting's Den Shewman, I did jostle my way through the armpit-stained mob to say thanks to him and David and Den.

You know how it is when you're toward the back of a handshaking line and the line is so long that by the time you reach the person, you really feel very horrible about the whole situation, like you're complicit in some atrocity, like you may be the person who is responsible for sucking away the last of this person's vital energy? It was like that with William Goldman. Yesterday I shook hands with one of the greatest living movie writers. All I can think about today is how guilty I feel for shaving another week off his life.

Screenwriting Expo Pt. 1

Attended Day 1 of Screenwriting Expo IV yesterday with comrade/bro-in-law Warren Hsu Leonard.

Ran into many old friends. Philippa Burgess's marketing seminars were a revelation.

I'll go back tomorrow.

But today is my Birthday.

NO work on my birthday.

Bronze Beauty Returns!

The Bronze Beauty has been returned.

Or at least recovered. She wasn't truly "returned". There wasn't a note attached saying "Here's your car back. Thanks. Oh, by the way, we're keeping the Thomas Guide and the radio faceplate and some of the catfood that was in the trunk. Hope that's cool. See ya round" - although that would have been very sweet.

Our beloved brown Toyota Camry - dubbed "The Bronze Beauty", because she is neither beautiful nor bronze - was picked up at 1403 Oak Grove Drive in Highland Park, only blocks from where she was stolen. Naturally, the LAPD are going door to door in the neighborhood looking for leads and say they will not rest until the criminals are apprehended, found guilty, and sent to Texas for sentencing.

The car seems undamaged - a little traumatized perhaps, having been maneuvered by unfamiliar hands, but all her parts are intact.

The car thieves - or shall we just call them "The Terrorists" - also took the registration and other vital paperwork out of the glove compartment. But fortunately, they left behind The Club. So that's good.

I think we're going to start using our Club more often.

Darth Cheney

I know it's juvenile.

I know my sense of humor rarely rises above the sophistication of a pimply adolescent.

And I know I am plagued with an inability to keep my snide comments to myself.

And I know I have a terrible habit of rehashing tired, worn out, old jokes.

But...I cannot resist...

...I cannot resist...

...Who can resist?

We Don't Torture

U.S. President G. W. Bush stated yesterday during his Latin American tour:

"We do not torture."

I wonder: was he using the "royal we" (also called the "pluralis majestis")?

Famed Admiral Hyman G. Rickover ("Father of the Nuclear Navy") once told a subordinate who used the pluralis majestis: "Three groups are permitted that usage: pregnant women, royalty, and schizophrenics. Which one are you?"

But I do think it's important to make it seem like you're serious about addressing the issue. So what really is "torture"? Well, according to the "United Nations", torture is:

1. Any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him or a third person information or a confession, punishing him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or intimidating or coercing him or a third person, or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind, when such pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in an official capacity.

So there you go.

Or was the President saying that "WE THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES" do not torture? But that can't be right. I LOVE to torture.

Just pulling your leg, of course. I don't really love to torture. After all, loving not to torture is what makes this country (naturally, by "this country" I mean the USA) the best of all the countries. We do not torture - and therefore it is clear to all that we are very great indeed.

But even though I do not do torture, thinking about torture and talking about it does get me excited. I flush. My heart beats faster. Questions come to mind. Here are a few of my questions regarding torture (which, remember, is a very bad thing to do to people and even sometimes to animals too) :

- If you shoot a suffering person in the head, does that count as torture?

- Does tickling someone to death count as torture?

- If the person doesn't think you're torturing them, is that torture?

- If I throw broken glass at a person to get them to do what I want, is it me who is torturing them - or is it the broken glass that does the actual torturing?

- If torturing people could bring about universal peace on earth, would it be morally okay then?

- Is force-feeding my victim a hundred donuts torture if I really love donuts myself?

- If I pay a someone to spank me is that torture? What if she does it for free?

- If I tell millions of people that they are in danger of annihilation and I know it's a lie, does that count as torture?

- "If God didn't intend for us to torture, he wouldn't have made bad people." Is that statement ALWAYS true?

- Is it true that when Jesus was tried for torturing the Roman centurion, that he was acquitted for completely technical reasons and not because he was innocent of the crime?

I could go on forever: "Is there a Torturer's Union?", et cetera. But those 10 questions are more than enough for the torture experts to chew on.

Hey, you torture experts, enlighten us.

Spartan Son

The Spartan Son

Cradling it to his belly -
to where a womb would be -
the Spartan Son held it still,
concealing it in clothing.

His Father smiled down.

Feeling whiskers dust him,
the Son smiled back.

(It bit a door in his skin
tearing in,
penetrating the quiet wound, pulling
its pink, snake tail through.
Like a hand in a sock, it filled his gut,
then squeezed with ulcerous steps
to the stomach.
It burned to his spine,
then climbed, rung by rung -
stopping to grapple the heart,
stroking and groping with delicate paws.
It tugged on his tendons, clenching his hands;
its swell in his neck cracked his voice;
its squeak wore his teeth, and the water it made
seeped through forehead and lip.
Grinning, it entered his skull,
eye beads trained on the matter.
Scouring it hollow and dry, it nested,
awaiting a lover.

He'd seek to spook it with moving soon,
to poison it with wine,
to sate it with night flesh.
Trying to draw this horror out,
he'd quarter himself in the city square.)

The Father smiled.
The Son kept smiling back.

---

Secret Lives Of Meats

Today we introduce a thrilling new sequential art drama:

"THE SECRET LIVES OF MEATS"

Jumping Fish Shirt

A NEW T-SHIRT available now at the Rabbit + Crow Shop:

Here and There

I dreamed of riding a bicycle last night.

And I dreamed of a girl with a skateboard.

And I dreamed I jumped into an ascending elevator, just before the doors shut, and as the elevator rose, the walls closed in tighter and tighter till my shoulders were the only thing wedging them apart.

I often dream of conveyances. Means of transportation. Trains, buses. Elevators, planes. I am often in a foreign country or city. Or am about to leave for one. Travel and movement, getting to and from places, getting there and back again. Often there is a ticking clock in these travels. For example, I am in England, enjoying a vacation, but must get back to Los Angeles tomorrow morning for work. In other dreams I am driving cross-country (a favorite activity) but must drive several thousand miles without stopping if I am to make it home in time for...? - and with 1500 miles to go, I realize I am exhausted and blind drunk.

More Tricks

Our car - stolen.

In front of my wife's workplace. In the middle of the day.

"The Bronze Beauty", my wife called her. A Toyota Camry. Her color was technically brown, but we always thought of her as bronze. Bronze is an alloy of copper - usually of copper and tin.

And the theft wasn't the worst thing to have happened to my wife at work yesterday. Maybe some day she'll tell you about it.

I am not so much angered or saddened by the loss of The Bronze Beauty. I am more...baffled, and a little curious - eager to see what happens next.

It seems a lot of things are breaking down in our life now - as if some harsh invisible hand were dismantling things - striking the tents - in preparation for...for what?

Our plan had been to move to England next September. Maybe the move will come sooner than we think.

I am a third of the way into Joseph Campbell's book "The Hero With A Thousand Faces".

Last night I dreamed of a tsunami. I climbed higher and higher, up to the rooftops, to escape the flood of rising water.