I am focusing myself on the film concept; the animation. I've always intended this to be a "film," but one that I have total control of. Also where I will decide to release it.
I see Electra as a cult hero, that is, heroine; a subterranean, Internet-virus. I don't want to pander to the controlled media world that force feeds the masses, telling them what they think they really need.
I think the masses need a good mind-fuck. One that will blow the circuits wide.
I know that the story will continue. I know that I can't seem to stop writing.
But I don't think it has reached its last incarnation. I think I'll hack it up again. I think each time I reach a notch where the pins line up and another realization is born.
Dawn becomes Electra. My haunting whisper. Always becoming.
This blog format is so awkward, the story goes backward, it is too hard to follow and I hate when the context gets lost. If I put it in order...? But it was never meant to be a blog, it's meant to be something else. This was just my sketch book to put it on and work from a kind of outline.
I am not abandoning this, it's just going to take on new life somewhere else.
While I do the art for the scenes, I'll be working on the script. I can't call it a screenplay, or maybe I can. I'll do like the films always do, ignore a huge part of the 'book' and work the story around a dialogue. I think of what I put on here as part of my notes. I have so much scribble all over the place. At least on here I won't lose what keeps falling out of my pockets.
I did find a program, I mentioned I was searching for one. To do my art on, I mean. A starting place, at least and all the art I have been working on for years, another sketch book. I know what I want the film to look like. And I won't quit till I get it right. I can't. I'm obsessed. So for the next six months I expect I will be slaving over the drawings and the animation to make my film.
And writing the scenes. I think I've established my characters, the foundations, the symbols.
It is silly to avoid sex. Even more silly for it to be awkward. Tasteful? I think Henry Miller and Nin left too much of an influence on me for me to play coy. I have to rework what I have because I want to walk a tightrope of graceful-naughty without smut. Thank God it's to be animated because then I can just illustrate it and my dirty words maybe can be read many years later. For now it'll have to do with just my dirty thoughts. And, you know, Freud's Electra--after all, we all expect has to be a very twisted little girl and so much fun to portray. In my defense of smut on this level, psychologically, there is no better place to to find humanity. The best sex needs substance, I think. And Electra has a father complex. She needs to work that out. And so do I.
I guess I'll leave a note on here when I have a website or something for my close friends who care enough about that I do this. And I want to thank all my friends for caring. I hope anyone might give a damn.
I might still blog on legendsofelectra.blogspot.com, I don't know. Maybe sometimes.
I am going to tell you a story about a girl.
Let’s call her Electra.
She creates a comic strip that tells a story. Within the comic strip is a diary that is known as Electra’s Dictionary. Through this it is possible to tell. There is no need to explain or apologize. There is no type of repercussions for the things that she reveals.
The density of words allows more to be said as the interpretations of words can always be defended by the subjective tendency to error in understanding, especially on the behalf of the reader. I think that in order to be a good secret agent you really have to be a good spy.
If this were a trail of clues the blue print would look like splices of a cross-section diagram. You put different colored films over the surface and examine how this influences the way that it looks. Other realities are exposed. Within every one of those realities is an infinite number of interpretations. Which is the right one? This question is irrelevant because all and none would be the answer and I know that is a contradiction in terms. Follow me.
You take a knife and cut into the cross section. You lay a film of ultra-marine over it and then alizarin crimson. You take away one and view. You put them together in two separate orders. Ultra violet is my favorite color; it contains so many, like the violet dawn.
I would make a series of mobiles; three-dimensional sculptures to explain that the dimensions actually are more than three-d. Maybe they are like solar systems. Every planet, every moon, every galaxy… contains many mobiles, many cross-sections and infinite dimensions. With so many possible realities the pondering of Truth becomes erroneous.I forget my way and exhaust possibilities while spinning in a battle to steady the focus. I get lost.
I am lost.
I still think the Greeks did it best. So let’s invite their chorus for this comic book opera and this splice may be seen through Freud’s interpretations or the lunatic inside. Either way. Not sure. Which way it goes. Or will go.
Ready? Let’s go…
Let Go
I am Electra.
Dinosaur or Thesaurus Rex-- wrecks…. the web, the lines get tangled and often overlap. Literary or literal, words never say enough….
Electra…. Who is she? A psychological assessment would give us a clinical, deeper understanding of her. But would it show her in her truest light….? In the absolute sense of truth?
We consider the Greeks as our birth of thought.
What do we know of Electra? And here, I do not mean the classical Electra, as in Euripides or Sophocles, nor am I referring to Freud’s Electra. Our Electra, who remains silently locked inside a dark world and uses symbolic suggestions instead of language to keep her barriers up and to politely snub the world. The dictionary, or lexicon is a primer, every line spoken in rhymed code. And yet we do know that her use of the choice of calling her diary Electra’s Dictionary is obviously meant to suggest all classical references to Electra in the ancient and modern sense. A guise, concealed behind what seems like simple self-analysis woven in a diary.
The question remains, as it always has, how much do we tell or how much do we distort in order to tell everything and remain safe within anonymity? I have written pages, volumes and years of this, at this very task. Those volumes have been destroyed. By me and by someone else who discovered them…. and acted to keep certain secrets safe. Or to just keep them. Some pages sit in legal offices, confiscated by…. one of many enemies
It took that last lesson to finally learn mother’s rule of “never put anything in writing….” Both my mother and the man who fathered me left no physical evidence or documentation. I know this because I have looked and searched.
What is a poet to do? Find solace in poetic license. These facts must be revealed in riddles of alliterations and allegory for the purpose of the secret(s) I am and have been bound to, and the need to unburden my soul.
We must begin somewhere. A starting point?
Words work for you and against you. My cryptic language is not intended to be mistaken for pretentiousness. The simplicity of words are intentionally dense. Fewer words said the more truth is stated. Look for it. You must accept these rules, as they have been the very rules, which have crippled me. Double meanings. Lines written invisibly or grammatically oblique. You see, I am committed to truth. And why should anyone care? It doesn’t matter if you do or not. Not to me. Just that I tell. This. But I will not spell it out because-- I think it was Cocteau who once said, “the matters I relate are true lies.” The truth lies somewhere between the lines. Sometimes I do not know which is myself. Mother was a good liar. She kept track. I never could.
What relevance do I have to this selfish greedy world only interested in immediate self-gratification?
Truthfully,
So-often I despise my species….
Hmmm….
I think I will entreat you with temptation.
Come in:
As an emotional vampire that feasts
I ask you-- How pure is your soul?)
--Because I don’t want your blood.
Cocteau also said, “The worst tragedy for a poet is to be admired through being misunderstood.”
I am an artist but I am a poet first.
I will use poetry to reveal what I must and to conceal what must be concealed. I must be cautious in what I say. Suggest but never say aloud. Be careful what you miss. If you care or dare, take it or leave it. This is a story that must be told.
With 21st Century’s electronics and the Internet it makes sense to use
--along with my poetic license
images….
I am an artist –but, you see, nobody cares about art anymore.
So I will draw in modern cult style.
I always loved Batman and his Gotham city as a kid… and all those dark B
movies in black and white…
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