Monthly Archives: January 2018


Well goddammit. I suppose I have to do this thing in the spirit its intended. How do I quantify 2017, now that we’ve all moved forward in our joint temporal experience of now…?

Pride. Love. Loss. Success. Achievement. Failure. Disappointment. Joy. Anger. Frustration.

I began 2017 with an entire catalog of expectations that proved to be as wrong as wrong can be. I have ended the year in exactly the same fashion. Along the way I got married, lost a good friend, lost a truly delightful mother-in-law, completed a film I’m extremely proud of, failed to sell that film (so far) due to truly ridiculous circumstance 100% beyond our control, and gained and lost all hope, faith and aspiration daily (or, some days, hourly).

Shoulda fastened my seatbelt. It’s been a bumpy night.

I knew when I set out on my blog-a-day mission that there would be several that were private; journal entries that are for my eyes only. As it happens, there have been a LOT more than I expected. as 2017 came to a close, it became apparent that there were a lot of thoughts and opinions I’m simply Not Allowed to Voice. That’s a hard place for me, but I have responsibilities beyond my own public persona, so I’ve ranted in silence, and it’ll stay that way for now.

Going forward into 2018, I’m still having daily crises of self centered on talent, strength of will, ambition… I’m still frustrated that we haven’t closed a sale for Diminuendo… I’m still inexplicably surprised to discover that I continue to be, by a large measure, my own worst enemy…

For some of these problems, there are already plans, mechanisms and solutions in place. For others… well… I guess I keep my enemies close.

It’s official; 2018 can eat a dick. I want to live the rest of my life during Aug-Oct of 2016.

First day of 2018. So far, I’m not impressed.

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When suicide is out of fashion we conclude that none but madmen destroy themselves; and all the efforts of courage appear chimerical to dastardly minds … Nevertheless, how many instances are there, well attested, of men, in every other respect perfectly discreet, who, without remorse, rage, or despair, have quitted life for no other reason than because it was a burden to them, and have died with more composure than they lived? — David Hume, Essays on Suicide and the Immortality of the Soul