My heart hurts.

Dear Kurt,

Nepotism makes my skin crawl. I despise anyone and anything who has achieved unwarranted success based on even the slightest connection to someone else. Why? Because it is U N F A I R. But then, if life was fair... you would still be with us and child molesters would all drop dead right? Yeah.

Maybe I am just destined to be without career, without relationships without... anything. Maybe that's just the way things are? Maybe some people were never meant to be loved.... appreciated... respected. Maybe I'm just a great big pile of shit, and once I accept that... life will be nice and dandy. Eh?

Fuck it all.

P.L.E.

JS

A night at the Chateau Marmont...

Dear Kurt,

I ventured out in Hollywood tonight, catching a couple live bands at a local bar on Sunset and as I was eating a bite of my burrito I caught a glimpse of a familiar looking building that I've written more than a couple scenes for a few of my screenplays within its walls.

I'm unaware of how often you spent your time on the L.A. scene but I do remember a particular story where you were discussing with a group of people, just months before your own death... you spoke tragically of the passing of an astoundingly sweet and talented individual -- River Phoenix.

I've studied this topic extensively. I've written and I've written scene after scene for this lost boy's story, and I just couldn't find the spirit of it. But tonight, as I glanced up at this eery, somewhat haunted hotel known as the Chateau Marmont... I could not draw my eye from it.

So much history, so much life -- so much death -- had taken place between its walls. Namely the story of young River. His life almost took several tragic turns within the walls of the room he holed himself up in before the Viper Room finally did the trick. I was thinking again and again what it would be like to go back in time, and capture that very moment -- the moment I could grab him by the hands and save him. Just save him.

Just save him.

Such history. Such sadness. Why him??

Why you?

Such sadness.

Goodnight, Peace and Love.

Empathy.

My God people are fuck nuts.

Dear Kurt,

There are so many idiots in the world that it astounds me. People are selfish, greedy, shallow jerks. It never ceases to amaze me how many people throw away a perfectly good friendship if they can't have sex.

In short. I hate everyone. The end.

Saturday I will be granted another chance to harrass a long standing harrassee (band) with my script. Wish me luck.

Words have failed me. Today sucked. Much bullshit. Peace out.

Justice Seeker.

Heading home in Kennedy.

Dear Kurt,

A few days ago I put the finishing touches on my most meaningful project and sent it off (via request!) To the largest agency in all of film.

And if dreams really do come true, I pray to you above that the gods are on my side with this one.

Peace, yes.
Empathy, definitely.
Love, absolutely.

Dear Kurt,

I'm often eaten alive by bitterness. Today was no different. I had a few moments of peace as I sat at the Santa Monica pier with a good friend, watching the seagulls fly above the Pacific, while listening to serene covers of my favorite songs from a street musician.

Then as we debated over our meals at Johnny Rocket's.... we came to the conclusion that we will also be taking on the tourists of Santa Monica with a list of our own covers -- him on keyboard, me on vocals. One of the songs on my list of ten? All Apologies. A slow, piano version. Very inspiring.

I will be flying across the country again tomorrow. And I didn't expect it... but I must make a little money some how, and I will count the seconds until I am back home.

Peace, Love, Empathy.

JS

Ten dollar tickets?? I'll play for two minutes....

Dear Kurt,

Last night I dreamt I made out with John Frusciante. Then I woke up and realized he is no dream. Tonight I dreamt I was in another plane crash. Why?

I love how popular musicians today believe that they have the right to cover your music. As if they even have half the soul in their entire body that you contained in your little pinky finger. Call that metaphor a cliche, but it's true.

There are two types of people trying to make it in music and film. Only two.

The ones who know nothing about struggle... Who just fell into their success...

And the ones who work their live long asses off to succeed... And rarely do because their (we're) too busy working our live long asses off making ends meet to put the full effort into our passion.

So the ones who end up succeeding most are spoiled with their success, too busy taking it for granted rather than appreciating it... And lacking the soul it truly takes to... Hurt. And suffer. Because they know no pain.

I don't know if I will ever escape my resentment towards the ones who live their dreams with no struggle. The politically correct society we live in today tells us that we, as "good" people, are to be pleasant towards another's accomplishments. But that's complete and utter bullshit.

If there is a single person who can honestly sit back when another achieves what they long to achieve with an honest "congratulations, I'm happy for you. Better you than me!" Than we are living in a warped world.

We are all human. And is our duty to ourselves as human-beings to put ourselves first. In everything. Even our happiness. It's our liberty as Americans. -- "And the pursuit of happiness...." Was that ingrained in our pledge because we reserved the right to be happy for our neighbor's successes?? No. Our own.

I have no more guilt. No more guilt for wanting to achieve a level of success and happiness that suits me, for me... and me alone. Fuck everybody. This is my goddamn life, and I want to live it the way I feel is my way. And when I die, I will know that I did everything in my power to find my own personal "pursuit of happiness...." because when you're busy living for everyone else's happiness... well... nothing matters when your life ends but what you put in it -- for you.

And the world goes on. So no more guilt. Every person has a damn right to be selfish. I'm finally understanding that. Writing the types of scripts I've written I have, essentially, trained myself to be overly thoughtful towards others, to empathize with these characters that I'm creating. But I'm not a saint. And I'm done trying to cater to this desire I have to convey strong, moral messages. Done.

Fuck the messages. And Fuck everyone. Especially the assholes who live on their high-horses covering your songs. They don't deserve to be the shit on the bottom of your converse sneakers.

Peace... Love.... Empathy.

You know the rest.

"If I fail, If I succeed, atleast I've lived as I believe."

Just a echo.

Dear Kurt,

Later today I will be attending the show that I spoke of in a previous post. My goal is to hand a business card in person to... the musician who inspired my favorite script. I have no idea if he truly knows my name and of my script, but I hope the transfer of my card into his hands finds itself successful.

I was reading another writer's blog tonight, and an entry about loglines caught my attention. I decided to elaborate and finalize my logline for "Going Inside" and it follows this post.

Tonight I will be putting on a cute pair of jeans, a sweet shirt and a funky hat in hopes that my whole life will one day be a little more satisfying than just settling for admiring glances from passer-bys.

GOING INSIDE

A young guitar prodigy finds himself helming his favorite band by seventeen, but his love for music is soon challenged when his love for heroin forces him into the deep, dark depths of his very soul. Can he find his way back or will his addiction erase his passion for song and destroy his talent forever?

(true story ;-)