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Friday 17 February 2012


The writers went all crazy mental trying to write a script that would sell, and then they gave up and tried to write something from the heart, but no-one cared so they tried to write a script that would sell, again. The actors were desperate to land the roles so they sent emails to all the casting directors and went to the networking parties and smiled and blurted out answers about all their 'current projects'. The producers told everyone how Colin Firth was attached to their projects, and they told all the people at the parties how they were nearing production, and they told investors they needed money for production, and they told everyone else how they had all the money and guaranteed distribution and a guaranteed amazing project.

People got crazy depressed about how their dreams rapidly disappeared into the night like specks of snow that never quite settled. They'd wake up in the mornings with a plan, and go to bed with an emptiness soaring through their hearts. The plan was to be accomplished by 17, by 21, by 30, by 50. People smashed their souls down on paper and on screen and on answering machines, begging for opportunities and together thousands of people at any one time fired forth, determined to create or be a part of the next masterpiece.

Some youngster got a lucky break, and someone slightly older stopped getting lucky breaks; and everyone danced a fine line between hearts filling and hearts breaking.

Everyone stayed mad crazy busy and fought fought fought to achieve something nearing anything, just so they could sleep sound at night. Just so they could feel it had all been worth it. They all kept getting closer and closer to getting somewhere near where they thought their lives would be. But when they got closer, it hurt more when it turned to dust right in front of their eyes.