begin (again)

fuck everybody

perfect day

I guess it's just like me to obsess over something as dark and depressing as the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman.  Thoughts of the man, his talent, his films, and the way he died continue to roll in and out of my brain.  I'm not going to pretend that he was my very favourite actor...but he was a personal favourite...someone, who as I said in a previous post, immediately made a film he was in a must see.  I don't know if it's because he was so talented, or because he was sober for almost two decades before falling off the wagon in a bad, bad way that has me continually thinking of him?

Or maybe it's because I'm jealous.

You see, there's a part of me that doesn't enjoy the world.  Doesn't enjoy the hustle and bustle of life.  Doesn't enjoy the company of friends.  Doesn't enjoy the chore that is getting up everyday and trying to put on a brave face.  Taking the world as it is...and trying to fit myself into it.  A part of me wishes I had the balls to just throw everything away, scoop up as much money as I can get my hands on, and hide and kill myself with drugs.  I'm sure his final days were a messy, ugly haze of despair, anger, frustration, embarasment...but let's be honest...there were probably moments of pure bliss too.  Whatever he was running from, or towards, heroin was clearly something that helped take him where he wanted to go.  The fact he left behind 3 young children is the biggest tragedy of this story.  But I'm sure thoughts of his kids crossed his mind when weighing the pro's and con's of his drug use.  He chose to withdraw from that life, to embrace the dark unknown.  I'm sure his addiction obscured things...maybe, you could argue, he wasn't thinking clearly, and had someone truly been able to reach him, he might have made another choice.

But you know what I think?  I think he was done.  I think he had achieved everything he had ever wanted to achieve in acting, on the screen and on the stage.  I think the method by which he worked had reduced him to an empty husk of a man trying to find something, anything to keep him going.  His relationship with his partner had run its course.  He was getting older.  And despite knowing better, he decided to dance with the devil in a bid to jumpstart those creative juices.  Instead, he found himself hunched over in the bathroom with a needle in his arm.  I'm sure he's not surprised.

I don't want to glamorize drug use, or make him out to be some kind of martyr...he fucked up, and with heroin, you're lucky if you get to fuck up once and live.  But I also think there's a reason, a real, valid, human reason why people turn to drugs.  A reason why people want to escape.  I know, because I feel it constantly.  

The world bores me.  People bore me.  Life bores me.  Sure, you can say it's up to me to make the most of my life...and if I'm bored, I need to get off my ass and choose life...go searching for whatever it is that will make my time on this earth worth living.  But on the life checklist, there are a number of boxes I'm never going to check off...and many others I've already checked.  I'm never going to be a parent.  I'm probably never going to get married.  I'm probably never going to be able to retire...at least, not on my own.  I'm probably never going to make my movie, or write that novel I've been working on in my head for the last 10+ years.  So what is there?  The little moments?  A sunset?  A great night out with friends.  Christmas dinner with the family?  Tiny blips on an otherwise flat line existence.

Despite things going well at work...and despite having money in my bank account for the first time in years...I'm still sad, lonely, and tired...almost all the time.  And when I'm not, I'm either faking it, or so busy and distracted I forget who I am.  The words 'I'm so tired' come out of my mouth multiple times a day, everyday.  Everyday.  I just don't want to be here anymore.  

But here I am.

I don't think I have the guts to ever purposely kill myself.  But a drug OD?  An 'accidental' overdose?  Yeah...I could see that.

I'm sure I'll read this in a few days and be embarrassed, ashamed and shocked at my sharing this.  Wishing I could go out like that...just slip away quietly...on a high.  Yeah, I'm fucked up.

Nice day today, though.

go or go

Swimming in my cool ocean of loneliness I am at ease and at peace.  Looking up at the bright moon in the sky, thinking of all, I am momentarily distracted.  To sink or to swim, that is the question.

something big

Summing up how I'm feeling in a few words is proving difficult.  Malaise?  I feel like nothing much really matters anymore.  What am I doing?  What for?  For who?  What the fuck?

So this.  But the opposite.

Philip Seymour Hoffman

I'm a movie fan.  In fact, if I'm being honest, I'd consider myself a film snob.  I can sit down and enjoy a film as a piece of entertainment...but more often than not I like to dissect, and view films with a critical hat on, looking for those pieces of magic that take a good film, or a great film, and turn it into a piece of art.  Over the years, I've come to respect, admire and follow the careers of certain individuals who seem to continually show a mastery of craft.  Certain directors, cinematographers and actors are just that much better than the rest.  Philip Seymour Hoffman was one of those actors.

He may not have been my favourite actor, but he was up there.  A talent, who as soon as you saw that he was in a movie, instantly made that movie a curiosity and something you wanted to see.  His filmography is just full of amazing films and amazing performances.  The fact that there won't be any more is terribly sad, and more than a little depressing to this consumer of films.  They just won't taste the same without him.

The fact that he went out with a needle in his arm, hunched over in his bathroom, is also more than a little depressing.  Essentially he killed himself.  As someone who battled addiction, and won for as long as he did, he must have known that he was going to die sooner rather than later now that he was using again.  Did he want to die?  Probably not...but you never know what dark clouds could have been floating inside of him.  But dancing with the white devil is essentially dancing with death...and a brilliant, talented man like Mr. Hoffman would have known, or understood that there is only losing with heroin.  For it to have devoured him so quickly after falling off the wagon...and in such a pathetic manner, is just heartbreaking.

All I wish now is that the man found peace, and understood before he passed away just how awesome a talent he was, and how much joy, pleasure and amazement he delivered with his many fine performances.  Capote, The Master, Boogie Nights, Synecdoche, New York, Owning Mahoney...it's almost disrespectful to just choose a handful, but these films were some of my absolute favourite films...and performances that just ooze talent and nuance and brilliance.  He had a way of taking any part, great or small, and turning it into something essential.  He stole scenes, and sometimes entire films.  He owned others.

At 34, I've seen my fair share of talented people die too young.  I've felt the loss and shaken my head in frustration that death can end ones existence like that and everything that that life brings with it.  I'm used to it now, but Philip Seymour Hoffman dying from a heroin OD at age 46 has left me in a state of profound numbness...like I feel terrible, but my heart is so tired of processing this kind of loss that it just doesn't even want to fully acknowledge it.  I'll get over it, like I have many times before...but it really does feel as if the world is a little bit worse with him no longer in it.

Rest in Peace good man.