July 2 – I Hate You

There she was. Right in front of me, like a blooming flower in midday, it was so impossible, yet here the contradictory laid. I couldn’t imagine something so real and so fictional all at the same time. It almost made my heart break. I held back the tears, the memories, the “what if’s” crawling around my mind these past few days. I felt sick… And of all places Miss 626 had to be lying in the bed of my only communication line between my film and our first encouter: Nate. Why did it have to be like this…

After days of writing in this journal, I’ve finally learned the craft behind writing a good story. It’s been good practice for my grammar and format, by pen I’m almost a master in my own eyes, but by speech I am still, well, speechless. As much of it I have been taking care of, it didn’t help me prepare for the real thing. Not like this.

Early this morning, I came to pick up my phone from Nate’s apartment. I didn’t want to be disturbed while I was finishing my submission for the Grant, so I made sure he kept it away from me, in case I had another temptation to call Miss 626 in the middle of the night. Now that I know she’s more abused than loose, a tragedy like that would go unsaid until someone else can do something about it. A car door was too much for me. I imagined myself as her hero at that particular moment, when her date made her cry at that stop, but I suppose I needed to be faster, stronger, more of a man. I considered myself a coward for not acting so quickly. Damn my nerves, I swear…

But of all times, right when I completed my project and submitted the final cut to the upcoming film festival, I return to my phone, to Nate’s alcohol, to her…lying unconscious on his bed…his bed. I swore I woke to a nightmare when I found Eve. The walls came crashing down, and my lungs suffocated under a thick mist of jealousy. Was he to become her hero? What was there left for me? I signed the form for the Grant, confessing my ardent piece, revealing my soul through her face, Shakespeare, and stupid rap music! It was suppose to be art, it was suppose to be a masterpiece, but right then, just as I saw her snoring in between his sheets and my cell phone, I affirmed the pervert Nate had to be. The Bartender and my bane. GOD, WHY!!!

Why did she sit there with her dry lips and dampened face, sounding like a trumpet — young strumpet, are you real at all?  What was all this for, if it were to just to end in humiliation? I think, I do think too much, and much too much am I finding myself more and more hysterical, lyrical, but hysterical. God, why-God-why???

I left my car, and walked home. I have my phone, but I don’t think I’ll be able to pick it up for another year. I wish I were quicker, stronger, more of a man. Maybe none of this would have happened. Eve can stay as Miss 626, for all I care. I’ll stay in hellish Northridge forever, and forget that day of paradise between her smile and voice and shoulder and phone number. My fingers can be wiped clean now, her number’s no consolation anymore. I hate the world, I hate being me — twenty-something and a stupid artist, as if I didn’t feel isolated enough for being only half Asian, my friends have to rub it in my face how slow and weak I really really am! I hate you Nate, I hate you. And Eve, how could you?

I’m in the bus and I

I didn’t take a shower, and I’m here at Ho

I’m about to flush the toilet, my film’s about to show. At least if I get this Grant, I’ll be rich enough to move out of this city. I hate Hollywood, but the festival is here, maybe if I make it in the Indie scene, I can go to the festivals in Texas instead. But for now, the Egytian Theater is all I got left. If I lose, at least I can end my career in Art today, and get a job at some Insurance company in the Midwest, where dreams are just another TV episode on Lifetime.

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June 30 – Mockumentary

It’s day one of getting my life back together. The past journal entries have been taped to the first page, so I could continue using this fancy blank book for my personal logs. It cost me $15 at Barnes and Nobles, I am not throwing this thing away!

Anyways, I’ve been filming. The sound quality’s been off, and I’m thinking of buying a filter to take care of the hissing noise between scenes. I’ve been having a tough time balancing the sound, and editing with every program I’ve downloaded on my laptop’s no help! I’m not good at this stuff. I’m better off working from the source, and get it done right, at the time I record: as is.

I got to meet up with Nate earlier this morning, and he said that my stuff’s not anywhere near what it used to be. He tried translating my film, but it wasn’t making any sense to me at all. He said the word conceptual and religion in the same sentence, calling my shots askew and 80’s, like there was anything wrong with changing the color on the scene. There’s nothing wrong with re-saturating the garden scene to blue! I am perfectly capable of making artistic decisions on my own film! Who does he think he is, telling me what my work is really about? I just wanted him to see it, not tell me my soul’s flawed! There’s nothing wrong with it!

Anyways, he handed me another Duchess, the last beer from his last stash. I couldn’t remember much of what happened afterwards, but since I got back up from what seems to be a two hour nap, I’ve been doing nothing but edit my film. I don’t know if it’ll be done soon, but one thing’s for certain: I need to get that Grant!

I only have ten hours left until the deadline…

June 24 – 5AM

I can’t sleep. I went for a walk. I can’t stop thinking, doubting. Stupid stupid stupid. Art, you are so stupid. Girls aren’t into stalkers, and if they are, they’re attention-whores. And that’s nothing like what you’d imagine this girl to be, is it? I don’t think so. I’m thinking that she’s better than that, much better. I think she’s a saint. I think she can hold her own. She can date other men, if she wanted to. Much like how you’ve waited for so long to call her back. How long do you give girls time to think, before you can call them back anyway? I never thought about that before…I wonder if my friends know?

I’m hungry. I worried what I have in the fridge. The last $30 I spent was for supplies. I really should wait until I go out. I don’t ever spend time at home in the afternoon. Too lonely… I’m so lonely… I need to get it together. I have a Grant to prepare for!

Sign,

Thee Arte