Here there be monsters (socratic) wrote,
Here there be monsters

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Sliding back to the land of no humor.

I've been reading the book on comedy writing that fakingsincerity recommended to me (presumably not on the basis of any sort of expertise but instead because he was being a weisenheimer smart ass.) and it's a mix of interesting, depressing, and annoying. It tries to break humor down into its component parts even while admitting that that's a good way of destroying it, and teach you how to build jokes out of any situation, even the most unfunny out there. I'm not sure how I feel about this, a large part of me feels like humor should be organic, should come from some place of true and interesting observation rather than systematic attempts to build a joke from linguistic calisthenics. That's not to say that I don't recognize that comedy is hard work and doesn't just spring from a comedian's head like Athena from Zeus, but I think that it should come more from thinking about the world than making lists of homonyms synonyms and antonyms. I don't know, apparently you guys didn't find my little tittie riff particularly funny but I think it could be in the right atmosphere and with the right cadence. It was definitely intended as more of a night-club type comedy bit than something that would work when written, but I'm not going to count anything out right now. I want to create at least a little something every day and that's what came to me last night, so I'm satisfied with it.

I have not been sleeping well in the least, as previously indicated. I think it's because of this dream I had a couple of nights ago. It was a nightmare, naturally, and a really nasty one at that. There was this old Asian lady (or a monster in the guise of an old Asian lady), and she was killing people left and right, unstoppable. She let me live because she didn't think I was a threat to her and she found me somewhat amusing or something. Anyway she'd killed everyone else in some reasonably wide radius, using her fingernails that shot out into razor sharp blades like 10 meters long, and she was walking around my apartment. We were talking, she was basically telling me that I had about 24 hours to live provided I didn't annoy her. I said something very mildly challenging or provoking, and she whipped her head around, bared her teeth, and shot her nails out at me. I felt my consciousness leave my body and saw my flesh quickly furcated into a half a dozen pieces, my head lopped off, my hands and arms hacked to pieces, and of course blood everywhere. I woke up gasping, and it's been tough going back to dreamland ever since. It was vivid and real and even just writing about it gives me the chills and delivers a rush of adrenaline, as if it wasn't a dream and she's going to appear at my door to take my life in revenge for writing up this text. Irritating.

Charlie's Angels Full Throttle is the movie with the worst case of ADHD knwon to mankind. If you were flipping channels every scene change of a movie you would probably come up with an equally coherent piece of entertainment, although admittedly with fewer close-ups of Cameron Diaz' butt. That would be the main thing you'd lose. That and the headache inducing excessive lighting.

Today was not a particularly productive one. It's because of the sleep thing. Maybe that's an excuse, I don't know. I need to get cracking though, nose to the grindstone. I want to finish my second first draft by the end of tomorrow. Sounds like a good goal. Then I can start on the rest of my backlog.
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