The bloody details of a horror writer, director & actor.

February 22, 2012

You're Not My Daddy Anymore


I want to be as honest as I can. I'm having a hard time. You love someone. They mean everything to you. Then suddenly, you don't recognize them and although they look like the same person, they sure don't act like it. The spark that made them special is gone. What do you do?
Well any sane person would realize their loved one has become a zombie and would promptly grab the closest axe and split their skull in two. Whew... I don't care if it's mommy or daddy, if they turn, separate the brain from the body. Even if it's the dog. It's a tough decision, but when Cujo goes bad, better put that fucking dog down.
But I can't. It's not my dog anymore. 

This is where I am. Nothing is clear. I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. At times, I feel like the voice of reason falling on deaf ears. 

I'm having a very typical reaction to letting go. Change is hard. Being a writer sucks the big D.

The more I'm learning about the process of creation, the more I'm feeling the incredibly sharp edges of the double-edged sword called Ching $ Ching $. Money is like booze, pour more of it on and people are dancing on tables for it, saying shit that doesn't make any sense and asking for the Moon, but you can't take a rocket to get there.

I'm in the midst of crazy and all I can hear is this cruel little voice in my head saying, "Dance Monkey Dance." 
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