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In watching The Darkest Hour I was expecting to take away two – please, do me a great service and do not get hung up on the number – certainties.  I knew I was going to enjoy Joe Wright.  I knew I was going to enjoy Gary Oldman.  How much and the extent of my enjoyment was entirely left up to them and what they put on the screen.

It’s a shame – for me – that I was not able to write this when it was fresh in my mind.  I am only human, even if others disagree with me and believe I have super human powers.  The truth is I do not, for I break all the time.  I live in a constant state of delirious sleep-deprivation not to mention actual relaxation, and un-plugging of my brain.  A lot of what I was going to write about Joe Wright is gone at the moment.  I am sorry, Joe Wright.  I cannot offer more at this time.  There is only so much I can do and retain.

I want to mention this too, I am writing this one first because of what Joe Wright and Gary Oldman gave me in viewing the film.  If for any reason there is any debate, or contest between the movies I write about.  I chose to look beyond the smoking cigar and watched the performance.  I am an extremely demanding audience.  I am probably the worst audience a director, actor, producer, or anyone in the movie industry would want in the theater.

See, I knew I was going to enjoy Joe Wright because I have seen Pride and Prejudice more than once.  I believe it to be one of the most different of the Pride and Prejudice’s.  From the moment – No, I stopped myself just now, I was about to go on about Pride and Prejudice, but that is another movie.  I don’t want to take anything away The Darkest Hour.

Joe Wright has an eye for beautiful.  He creates it in every film.  He creates moments in every film he makes.  The running across the screen cut-aways – fantastic – it is a movie in itself.  It is complete.  It needs no beginning, no end, it exists on its own.  Audibly fantastic.

Looking up from his computer screen, other than being a darker version of himself, I have no idea what else he looked like, for I did not see him as the altered version of himself trying to blend in with my surroundings.  I saw beyond him.  I saw him as he was, in that moment looking at me, before the actor took over and started working.  Gary Oldman looked at me from the corner of his eye with an almost timid curiosity, is this going to work, how is this going to work, is she going to recognize me, what will she think of me?

You are going to hear this from me more often, perhaps to the great begrudging of others as I am constantly asked for words to define the moment, or a person, or a place, etc.  Although some things defy words, can only be felt, and experienced.  It was the briefest of glances.  But, I saw him and knew him in that moment.  However, as not much has changed since then, I was miserable.  So, my experience, the experience of seeing others is controlled by how little I enjoy my present.  But, do not forget or mistake me, I saw him, and I knew him.

What fun!  I exclaimed this over and over while watching Gary Oldman in The Darkest Hour.

I will say this first because it is one of the first thing I noticed about Gary Oldman as Winston Churchill.  He must have loved and hated the experience.  I could be wrong, and that is ok.  However, what I saw was the joy of being able to portray a character.  I saw the love and enjoyment he had for being a character.  I knew this from watching him in other films because is there anything that Gary Oldman cannot act in?  Nope.  He is one of those great actors with ego he takes to the stage, then sheds his ego for the character.  I love it.  It is very rare.

He loved it, to be able to play such a character, and hated it for the bodily form he had to endure to play Winston Churchill.  It must have been annoying and wearisome to be burdened with a heavy body – it is what I saw.

Being able to wipe the floor with someone.

This is what I say when I know with such certainty that there is no one greater than me in the room.  I know what it feels like to be in front of an audience, or crowd, and perform, or audition knowing that no one is looking at anyone else other than me.  To command complete attention.  To fill the entire room with my presence.  So, I know it when I see it in others, and I have seen other actors just wipe the floor with another actor.  We all have.

Here is Gary Oldman in front of the camera, delivering a performance unlike any other.  Yet, the best – for me – was not that he could wipe the floor with any of his fellow actors.  Because he could have.  He could have wiped the floor with any of them.  The best part was watching Gary Oldman egging on his fellow actors, come on!  Match me!  Be here with me in this moment!  Egging them on and cheering for them in the same moment!  Fantastic!  Scene after scene!  Do you have any idea how fucking rare that is for an actor to purge ego for the greater good of the film, project, character, and audience?!  I fucking do!

It was fucking fantastic to witness and watch!  A battle not to compete, but to perform.

So, here is the thing.  I have had this idea of writing film appreciations for more than a decade.  Since, at the moment, it is killing me to write I am uncertain how much more I want to watch and write about.  If, however, I do continue to watch and write – be prepared.  For I want it all on the screen.  I want everything an actor, director, writer, producer, every single person on the crew has to give, and then I want some fucking more.  Do not let me see a cheapened, hollowed-out, imitation, or copy of a person, or character.  I want all your blood, sweat, pain and agony, defeat, your tears, your burden, your joy, your sweet and simple, your fucking disgusting, your rage and compassion.  Do not chicken-out on me.  I want the expanse of your universe shoved down into that deepest well of truth we all have and hold onto, shove it down, then given with precision and purpose.

For I will take nothing less.

On my third cup of coffee, so blurry-eyed tired I am just starting to see clearly.  As I could barely see my writing when I woke up with all the grammatical mistakes for someone reminded me I left out a portion in my Great Expectations piece earlier.

I am so tired my face hurts.  I know it hurts to look at me too.  Making my second pot of coffee wishing the coffee was stronger.  Perhaps I am in such a way that no amount of caffeine can bring me back.

Wish I was hungry enough to write about it, but I still have no appetite – not even for sausage.  Now, you know there is a problem when this girl doesn’t want to put sausage in her mouth.  Because sausage and me are never going to break up.

Papaya, earlier I felt like eating papaya which I believe speaks to my bad, hurting, upset belly because papaya has enzymes that is the most I can give you.

Killing myself writing and I don’t know why.  I am killing myself on my days off writing, why?!  I mean, I don’t get paid for it, it doesn’t get me anywhere in life other than more stressed and tired, and further behind in chores as I have piles of other day-to-day work piling up that I have no help with.  It is overwhelming and burdensome.  I can’t stand the amount of time it takes hours and hours, and hours and hours, and hours and hours, man – no joke.  Ugh!

Writing.

Trying to get ahead of someone who had it easy for months getting one or two posting a day.  Now, I have to – for some reason – hurry up and get it all done in one or two days off?  I don’t know why I am doing it.

Why am I killing myself writing?

What?

What is he…

What is he doing?

Wait, what is he doing with that boy?

Is that boy in trouble?

What is he going to do to the boy?

No, don’t hurt him!

Is he going to hurt him?

Wait, is he…

Is he, ok…

Is he an ok man?

Why is that boy outside by himself anyway!

He could get hurt!

He can barely see with all that fog.

Don’t hurt that boy.

What is that boy doing anyway?!

Why is he outside?

Why is he alone?

This is me at eight years old falling in love with my first movie – true story.

Sitting on the lowest floor of our split-level home in Oregon that was built into the earth where the view from the windows met the ground outside.  An unlit wood stove in the corner, afternoon light filling the room, a twin bed tucked up against the other wall, I am sitting as close and as far away from the television as possible.  A butt lift, and a stretch away.

There was no remote control, I was the remote control.  There wasn’t cable television.  There were three, sometimes four channels, and depending on the time of the day it was possible to get one or two more channels.  So, I sat so that my greatest effort amounted to me lifting my bum, stretching out my arm to change channels when bored.  And, that was a great effort.

Black and white, David Lean’s Great Expectations had transfixed me.  I don’t think I started breathing again until Pip went home to eat with his family as Mrs. Joe starts bleating on and on, I nearly raised my bum to change the channel.

I am glad I did not lift my bum, for if I had I would have missed meeting Miss Havisham.  Wow!  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  At eight years old to see a person portrayed with such grotesque interest.  Miss Havisham is disgusting, cruel, and mean, however to look at her you know there must be more to the story.  For who would spend their entire life mourning in their wedding dress for the happiness and happy ending that never arrived or happened.  Setting their anger on its heel with such salivating, sharp, jaw snapping anger that the audience cannot help but feel pity, compassion, and revulsion at the same time.

I disagree greatly with Charles Dickens’ ending to Great Expectations, however much I enjoy Dickens.  He has such a way with characters.  I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve read Great Expectations.  It wasn’t until high school that I got to read Dickens’ Great Expectations.  There is not another writer like Charles Dickens who can capture the human spirit, condition, and struggle to hold onto our own humanity despite ourselves, in spite of our own self, or because of our self.

As the story of my life goes – film first with reading to follow.  But, that was it.  I was hooked, I became a cinephile in that moment when the boy on the screen pulled me in, worrying for him, caring about his safety, wanting to reach across the screen and join him.

It never left me over the years, I thought I was going to attend film school.  I had done my research on schools, Florida State University was my first choice, I thought it was the most logical choice since I lived in Florida.  And, from what I understood about the program I thought it would give me a good foundation for film making even if the school was not able to keep up with the ever-changing world of film making.

My other choice which was a complete fantasy because I couldn’t afford a state university let alone a school abroad, but I wanted to go to Bath, England and attend their film school.  I believed it would offer me a different academic film experience that I would not receive stateside.

I also auditioned for Southern Methodist University trying to get into a school that would or could offer me more than what I already knew or expected.  For I already had the basic information and knowledge of acting, writing, storytelling, and film making, I just did not have the practical experience which is what I was after –  the experience of it.

Also, I have said this before, I wanted to go to film school to learn about writing, directing, and producing to make films, so I could give myself a job.  Because director’s look over me and did not hire me.  I mean look at me.  So, if I didn’t belong in front of the camera, then at least I could work behind the camera where no one could see me.

Like most things in this life, my ideas, my thoughts, my plans are too grand and big for this world – for the world I live in.

That boy in the movie, I was so worried for that boy in the movie, I had to watch the rest to make sure he was going to be ok.

So, I did.

I have said this prayer for many years now.  Every time I see an ambulance, an accident, a fire, a problem where emergency vehicles are required – especially when I am driving.

God,

Please send help to those people in trouble, and hurting, who need it.  ASAP.

Please help the emergency people arrive safely.

Please help the people in trouble to get taken care of as quickly as possible.

Please help the doctors and nurses who will be helping them.

Please bless the doctors, nurses, and emergency personnel.

Please help the emergency people have a good rest of their day.

Please help them get to where they need to go.

In Jesus name,

Amen.

As a footnote to my 9/11 post I have not yet written – working on a back log that is longer than my life here – my intention and meaning in asking God for the emergency people to have a good rest of their day is this: I wanted those people helping others to not be burdened down with the trauma they’ve witnessed, the small whisperings of hurting, desperate people, the small moments when you are not certain whether you are going to make it alive.  I prayed so that God would allow those people to take off that empathic weight, and live.  I do not want it to be confused with my 9/11 article which I will be writing.

 

 

Let me preface this post with this important fact, when I mention my cats and feeling they would be better off without me, or dead it was the greatest warning I could give.  My pleas, my begging for all this to end was going unheard.  I knew that those around me would know my animals were very important to me.  Since, my life was neither important or worth saving I was hoping someone would hear my plea for them, and help me.  That has not happened.  So, I am writing instead.   

Depresion 101

March 3, 2016

So depressed.

So unhappy.

So miserable.

I did not realize that the only reason for my existence was so that others could watch my misery and destruction.

Nothing I do changes anything or get better or makes a difference.

Nothing is okay anymore and hasn’t been for years now.

I feel like I am nothing more than some rich boy’s toy that he uses, messes with, and hurts.

I will never be free and have a life that is mine.

Noting in my life is real anymore.  I can’t trust anyone because no one actually talks to me among other things.

So depressed.  It doesn’t get any better no matter what I do.

Every single day my entire day is filled with cleaning up and clearing a path for myself only to find someone has blocked me inside.  There is no escape.

This is the worst punishment imaginable.

Here I was thinking enough of myself that I believed I was special when in reality it turns out they have chosen to torture me, make me feel worthless, and punish me every day of my life.

Where is the victory for a person to be treated this way?

Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.

What purpose and motive does my life have any longer?

Trapped with no escape, with no motive, or incentive, or purpose, or value.  I don’t even want to take care of my own animals any longer.  I feel they would be better off if I gave them away, or euthanized them.  Because I see no purpose or value in my life any longer.

There is no James.  There never was.  Tired of being used.

Tired of James and all his women – leave me alone.  Can’t he go be with his million men and women who want to sleep with him?

Since this all started happening it has had the most negative impact and effect upon me.  I have become more and more secluded and pulled within myself – as a way of protecting myself.  I have no job security with any job I’ve had.  I’ve had a mountain of debt I’ve tried to maintain.  All of this has kept me from pursuing and being a part of anything.  All it does is push me further and further down rather than inspire or motivate.

Which I guess started with Marvin at The Container Store pushing me out the door, unable to support myself.  I would not have returned to Florida had I been able to plan an exit.

Nothing I do matters or means anything nor changes anything that affects me.  I have too many worries and concerns.

There is a very real and serious problem with this in my life.  Not being able to speak to anyone in any real way is a very dangerous psychological problem.  It has seriously stunted any growth or learning I could have had as a person.

It never ends.

And, I never asked for it.  I did and do not seek it.  I simply asked to have a life and to be able to live.

Serious.  Serious.  Serious, deadly, and very dangerous problem with this that takes place around me.

July 3, 2017

                ,

What is the fucking point in talking to you?!  I do not believe what I heard about setting me up with a fucking virus all over my hands was set-up a week in advance.  Bull-shit!!!!  Anything can be changed!!!!  You were all aware of how bad this would have an effect on me and choose not to have my best interests at heart.

I have what looks like a worm growing under my skin.  I do not have time for this fucking bull-shit!!!!

Who would want to work for an               who constantly sets their best              up for failure every day?!  Who would want to            for an             who harms and hurts their own fucking         , who in spite of everything still chooses to be loyal to the person who touched her knee in the bar and gave her the             smile as he left?!  Why would I still want to       at a place of business who goes to such great length to degrade and belittle the one person who brought the world to them.  You need me.  I do not need you.  Because I do not want to be a       .

I am not your fucking detective!  I am not your fucking Sherlock!

Fire every person involved in invading my home and spreading virus everywhere!!!!!

Because of this I will no longer use that knee.

Because of this any idea of creativity has left me.

Because of this what is the point of demanding creative control to me alone?!  When you are powerless to even make that happen!

What is the point of you?!

Who would take the good and beautiful that I see in people and use against them?!  To harm and hurt them?!

What is the point of you if you have no power whatsoever?!

I am so miserably unhappy and pissed the fuck off!!!

Cherith J Gjestland

Rachel,

You are no longer a friend of mine, and you know why.  I would never do to you what you have done to me and the things you have done to me.

I am guessing that when we met at work it was not by accident.  It seems someone is very protective of brother.

I have a picture of you and I taken at the back break room.  I wore a navy dress with a pink cameo and pearl necklace, and a great smile as I glowed.  It was my birthday, I wanted to look nice when I went to school later in the day.  I think there was pizza with black olives back there.

My smile had nothing to do with you, or me, or my birthday – I was going to see David.  It was a feeling that could not be contained, concealed, there was no way for me to disguise it.  I went to Kazbor’s with David and friends that night for my birthday.  It was one of the last real birthday parties I’ve had as lame as it was.  More than twenty years ago.

I guess you got the job at Progressive in 2012 because I applied for it and never got hired.  Just like Alisha getting hired at Macy’s because I applied for the job in 2012.  Just like I am still denied access to real employment.  And, last time I checked President Obama is no longer in office.

I believe I understand in some part why you never invited me to your home.

However, you were a friend, I believed.  A friend I travelled with.  A friend that I cheered for and encouraged to pursue promotions at our job.  A friend I encouraged because that is the kind of person am.  I would have had your back if someone made fun of you, or put you down because I am THAT kind of person.

How many times since moving here did you ask me if I wanted to take up acting, and mysteries, and so forth.  My answer was always the same – NO!  I was and still am middle-aged, I have spent my life entirely alone.  I wanted to finally have a man in my life – that was what I wanted more than anything.  Because a life without love is meaningless.

After my surgery – that never needed to happen – you visited me in this house.  I have no idea what you said during the visit.  To me you spoke like you were on speed – not like I would know.  I have just now understood how easy it is for those in hospitals, nursing homes, and even in your own home to be taken advantage of – for you took advantage of me.  At the most you should have only stayed for a half an hour.  I was delirious.  I was not on pain medication, but I was in so much pain I couldn’t even ask you to leave when I wanted to scream to get you out of my house.  I was in so much pain I couldn’t move let alone think.  I was falling asleep in front of you.  It was clear I was not enjoying the visit and you continued to stay.  I am making this point for a reason.

You took me to that stupid bar in Sarasota where you introduced me to a puny man called Ben.  The whole time I felt like his mother encouraging him to be a better person.  In a million years, or if he was the last man on the planet I would and am NOT ATTRACTED TO THAT MAN!!!!!!!

I have no idea why I am being punished with this imprisonment which you have been a part of, Rachel.

I will say this, you crossed the line at Krav Maga.  Perhaps it was not your choice, but you could have said no.  You crossed the line and I do not need to say anymore about it.  I wanted to learn self-defense because I wanted to travel – alone.

You worked for Cox and Kings, right?!  Also, not true.  I guess that is why you had a secondary Facebook account because I had one at one time.  I did nothing wrong.  I did nothing improper.  I simply wanted to be prepared for what was going on in the world.  I wanted to make sure I did it right, so that I didn’t hurt David’s feelings again.  I think it is a very difficult relationship for people to understand.

There is no longer a way back for he and I, but if you think for one minute that I am going to deny David for a set of tits, you got to be kidding me.

I will not deny him not just for me, I won’t deny him so that others might have the possibility of knowing what something fantastic really could be.  Even, if I will never know that again.  It is something I’ve learned over the last several years.  Just look at my face.  It is not the face of someone who enjoys or is happy with their life, or what they are doing.

I remember when you fell down the stairs as we were all loaded into the car to go to a soccer game.  I felt so bad for you, I started laughing.  It was a painful, uncontrollable laugh, and I tried.  Perhaps that was also, not true your fall might not have been an accident.

You will see, I have to actually stay alive in order for everything to continue since it seems I am never allowed to have my life back.  I hope it was worth it to you.  I know you would not visit me at my funeral.

Who knows who you really are.

What I know is you are not a friend to me.

We are not friends.

December 27, 2017

James Franco,

You lying son of a bitch!

You and David Wolfe took a risk with your fake dating, and it back-fired in the worst way possible!  You knew it went bad big-time, and instead of coming clean with your mistake you covered it up pretending something and someone that was never real or a man I EVER cared about was my destiny, my true love, a match, or even love at all.

Why the fuck do you think I walked on by when I saw David and that midget at Home Depot?!!!  You fucking liars!!  Since, you have altered the texts of previous journaling I’ve done before on my other computers I am uncertain if you left that previous message in there.  I wrote it before.  I walked on by the two of you.  You squirted that STUPID COLOGNE in front of me, making me walk on by because I wanted nothing to do with ANYONE involved or connected in any way with that last dating experience!!

You were aware, and understood after that dating experience I was NEVER going to allow that to happen again.  Because if you did it once, you would do it again, and I did not have the means to get you to stop as my pleading and begging for it to end was unheeded.  So, you have denied me the chance to have a man to fall in love with.

What a horrible human being you are.

What person denies another person the ability to have love?

How much you must hate and despise women to do this to me – a great woman!

You have absolutely no comprehension of what it is to live a life where everywhere you went people are following you, and watching you.  I could pick them out a mile away – EVERY SINGLE DAY!!!

Do you know what it is like to be constantly matched with men who are unattractive, dull, boring, physically unexciting, to have no romance at all, to never have any blushing cheeks from the embarrassment of desire, to never feel sexually desired by a man who you in return want with so much unrestrained emotion you could consume every ounce of him and not be satisfied?!

Do you know what it was like dating the red-headed Mark?  Yet again, another unattractive man, dull, boring, uninteresting to talk to, yet I was in such a need to have a life with a man and not wanting to sit at home – alone – for the rest of my life I went on EVERY single opportunity there was to meet a man.  Here I meet a man for a drink, and my first thought is – yuck.  This is it?!  I let him take me on a second date because, fucking hell man, there had to be more somewhere.  Nope.  He took me to that expensive restaurant, he gave me a rose, I had my car valet parked, I wore a nice dress, he was polite, it was a very good meal, but there was no more to it than that.  Not a moment happened between us.  Not a spark.  Not a single flustering of my emotions, he never excited me, and I tried.  Man, did I try, so fucking hard with every single date.  And, I am easy to love.  I am easy to flirt with.  I mean I am fucking hot-as-hell, at least I used to be before – YOU, YOU FUCKING LOUSY MAN!  Never once did any of the men I dated respond to me in any way. Can you possibly imagine what that can do to a person’s mind?  Can you possibly imagine how that would make a woman feel?  Can you possibly imagine how it would make a woman feel who had just spent years alone sacrificing her life for her family to then lose over 125lbs. to then be viewed as undesirable by every man who dated her?!  Mark took me to that fancy restaurant, then I drove home, I was stopped by the train, a Sheriff’s car was in front of me as we were both stopped by the train and I knew, I was not alone.  I turned my head as the tears started falling from my eyes because…

Do you know when I was on eHarmony, I instantly deleted profiles if they did not meet my height requirement.  It was a good instinct too.  Somethings will never change.  Especially after the last dating experience I will not surrender my good taste.

I want nothing to do with David Wolfe anymore because of that dating experience.  Until my financial dependence changes, I will be unable to forgive him for the horrible wrong and injustice he has done to me!

It is a terrible sin that you have taken away from me one of the greatest men I have ever known in my life.  You did that James Franco.  You knew he was an important man to me.  You knew he was a valuable part of my life, you took him from me in the worst way possible because your ego believed you knew better.  It is a relationship that can no longer be repaired because of you, James Franco.

I will write the story, but to protect myself from you, I will write this now.  In the hospital room, sitting with my back to the open door – which I never do – instinct – with the lights off except for a light behind the hospital bed where my mother lay unresponsive, and I sat with severe stillness begging and pleading, and bargaining with God to bring my mother back to me for every reason I could think of, and I was asked to leave by the unskilled nurse who wanted to put a tube in mother’s nose, walking out of the room taking note of the time realizing I had spent hours praying for my mother’s life, I walked down the hospital hallway and I heard whispered in my ear, David.  Years later, looking for David on-line I came across a MySpace page of David’s where he blogged about a loss in his family’s life.  In the text David wrote a passage that I believed and knew he meant for me alone.  When I read I scrambled quickly as I couldn’t believe it, he wrote it nearly to the minute I heard his name audibly spoken in my ear.

Whoever told you that all I wanted to do was sit at home and watch television when I moved here – lied to you!  All I wanted to do was read and write, and find someway to get out of this place.  For I had already lived in Florida too long.

You are disgusting to me!

I never want to live in your world.

Disgusting!

No one would want to play me.

We had the game Hüsker Dü growing up, no one in my family wanted to play with me, my friends would choose other games to play.  Because when it came to memory – it was game over for them.

I could see it wash over their face as they realized there was no way they could win against me.

My memory was something I held on to as a way to teach myself.  I knew my memory was a learning tool that I could use.  It was sharper than other learning techniques.  I relied on it greatly.

Unfortunately for me, all I have anymore is mushy brain.

I wake up after 5, 6, 8, 10, 12 hours of sleep, and I could immediately fall asleep again.  I am sure a great deal of that has to do with my limited and type of physical activity vs. food and hydration.  More than that, it is this use of my brain while not allowing me to emotionally mature, or become enlightened as anyone would as the years go by.

December 2014, early morning I was at a Wal-Mart because I – again – had not a single bit of food in my house.  If you want to know the secret as to how a person looses 18lbs. in a matter of less than two months – you stop eating – or, as is the case with me, I was denied access to food financially, as well as, at gas stations, grocery stores, and anywhere else you can buy food.

Finally, I had beaten all the traps, gestures, and the problems that are constantly in front of me when I looked up.  I had felt the security camera in the ceiling on me, so I looked at it.  It is something I used to do without thinking, checking roof tops, peripherals, and eyeballs like cameras.  Did Michael teach me that?  Some of it, I am sure came from the Michael years.  But, most of it is just like my grandparents – I knew it, click – just that quick.

When I looked up, bang!  Like I was shot, sound effect.  As if I was being told not to look at the camera anymore.  As if I was supposed to pretend that I was no longer aware that the camera was looking at me.  Which is to say, it caused me to stop being myself.

I am not sure when it happened, but I stopped believing I no longer had the right to look the camera in the eye.  However, I still need help with de-programming.

Another way this mushy brain has been allowed to continue and degrade has been the disruption in my writing.  Once, I became a reader – story to follow, stay tuned – the compulsion to write which had always been there became greater.  The more I wrote, the better my writing became, the better functioning my brain became.

Like a neat and tidy desk.