These are some bits of writing that didn’t make it to my final scripts; I’m certain they’ll emerge somewhere else like the Swamp Thing with a seaweed dye job (i.e., my back feels like it’s made of instant pudding and I want to sit and vegetate so I’m on hiatus until tomorrow):
GEORGE (V.O.)My life is a walking filibuster. And my speech to fill the Senate floor is that sometimes love is war. It’s a river that flows backwards in another dimension and dribbles down into these gorgeous, fragmented vessels of expression. The heart is an obelisk, a winding liquid obelisk that darts its way through others like rapids until it collides with another with such a dam is formed and it feels like we’re bucking nature, but we meet the best essence of ourselves through the other person because nature alone has not provided for the hunger of our souls.
George: When the rest of the world stops watching Baywatch, then I’ll listen to how dumb Americans are.
Lona Margolis When you have such a deep, thunderous ache you wonder if it can ever be touched, let alone satisfied fully.
Breathe the fire in your heart and let it burn away the sins of this world.
You see, sometimes I talk and sometimes I actually have things to say! And this is one of those times!
Don’t you want to be shattered, opened up and deepened, rediscovered and strengthened and have all the false, neat plastic lawn pieces blown off the grass? Maybe gently removed but gone, gone GONE! Right, gone in what way? I guess that’s what makes tragedy a different color than bliss.
CARL Silence is a site for sore ears! So this is where Madeline saw the angel, the devious aberration! Madeline. She limps and she gallows with the howls of a sage oh but I know love her, I love her between the cracks and the slivers. She makes me feel like a miracle! An act between what howls for premonition and what prays for relief. Pink toed angels can dance for their god, who’s angry with me for relenting but who will forgive me if I protect her. Suddenly anything less is a failure. Flesh succumbed to the Bone!
MAN Work pounds! I get home, I keep pounding my wife, in the bed, like a jackhammer! I gotta wear ear plugs so I don’t hear it! a million pieces and screws in me. America pounds, America pounds! I don’t know what kind of living I’m carvin; But when I get home I’m always starvin’ And I don’t know left what to do!
FRANCINE You can’t just drop everything and everyone and run away.
JEREMY Why not? I don’t see no rules about it.
And as a bonus here’s a poem I wrote six years ago. Sleepy wheaties to you all.
The only thing that keeps me awake at night without insomnia Is the howl for you. I keep forgetting how deeply it drills, Layer after layer of personality built on memory, And how untrue it all feels When the deepest piece is held tightly by my insolence And stupidity and all those deadly sins that you see on TV. And the only thing that cures the pain, Is the thought of you returning again. But I know that when fragments of the sky That fit together so well from where they fell When they meet on earth, They are trapped and forced to build mosques And temples to trap it, When the only thing that can cure me Is what is inside of you, me. And if we could get past our families, Society, Wills and powers, Perhaps we can find the softness of that cord Between us that’s weaved of hairs, cologne, Bread, wheat, filaments, chains, slaves, Lies, deceit, intentions and miscues, That this time, This cord could become the ritual plank, For which we leap again, This time as lovers, As we were as pieces of the sky, Like whispering marble.