The God of film continues to send me to events. I say “the God of film,” because I’m Greek, so “the Gods” are everywhere and they oversee every domain. I have some family in Naples, Italy, and they believe I am from Naples, for real, not the USA. They believe, for real, that I was born in the USA as a Neapolitan for spiritual reasons, to go through what they call “the USA family inferno.” Naples is one of the oldest cities in the Greek world, so it’s the time of Sparta. It’s pre-Sparta, I think. It’s Jason and the Argonauts time. We’re the “siren people.” Odysseus killed our siren, and we vowed around her dead body to RISE A CITY OF MUSIC that COMMON will come to. She did not lure him, whatever this nonsense is. She was just a singer, a healer, a baker. This man had PTSD. That’s what The Odyssey is really about. We can’t even get through the chapter about the Lotus Eaters. RELAX Odysseus, Jesus Christ. The man had PTSD. If you read the text, for real, that’s exactly what he’s going through. The epic is home. We’d shrug at you, superiorly.
In any case, I like to joke around that “the God of film” have been supporting me through this new chapter in my life as the Neapolitans wouldn’t even bat an eye at that. Yes, yes, of course. Maria is going to comically bring this in. The God of film was looking down on this relationship with this screenwriter…and saying to himself — that had to hurt. He magically sent me to a wine bar in Istanbul where I was swept away to a production office the next morning, truly, where I had a meeting with a producer. The God of film gave me the gift of this experience, so I could continue to get to the understanding that this screenwriter was inappropriate at the beginning. This producer in Turkey did not get involved. He simply thought, make a movie bible. Easy. No talk of manifesting, no psychoanalyzing me, no talk of me being Alexander the Great, no talk of bending reality… or spending my IRA. The God of film hath spoken— time to buckle up, get back into the Mercedes, cross the bridge, and get back to Istanbul.
He continues to guide me to projects to support my process.
Over the weekend, the project concerned an absurd piano teacher. She hilariously reprimands a 12-year-old for not practicing, which has nothing to do with the piano, but her ability to embody pain, as that’s what music is about — so, the scene spoke to my fears, spoke to my experience getting chewed up and out by cowardly men? And my future, as a woman, to be left alone and suffer in a basement in Brooklyn. I got to assume the experience, laugh, a lot.
It was now time to tackle the subject of motherhood. He sent me to the chic European cinema on the Lower East Side, Metrograph, for a screening of Little Disasters — wink, from the God of film as I came from a little disaster orchestrated by a mother, for sure. He even made it so LIZ would be at the front of the line, and that the staff let us in early, because it was truly freezing cold outside. The space has a speakeasy undertone. The poinsettias for Christmas added an understated holiday touch to the warm and cinematic atmopshere with production stills from the show tastefully placed on the walls even by the elevators in the dark, basically, so you couldn’t even make them out. European. Relax. The God of film hath spoken. Relax. Enough of the hype. Let’s go back to the basics—candy in boxes.
They set up a brightly lit section as if it were a little store where we picked up our popcorn, boxes of candy: raisinettes, dark and milk chocolate, milk duds, sour patch kids, and soft drinks. How it should be.
In the show, which films in Budapest and London, Diane Kruger plays a mother suffering from postpartum depression. I’m going to keep watching it because Kruger — who doesn’t give a shit about personality, just to say — said her internal experience was going to come to the forefront. I’m interested in seeing how they treat that on film. And anything concerning motherhood makes me laugh, considering my mother was a joke. But there it is—THE TOPIC, not exactly COOL, you know, it’s complicated, but things are changing.
Afterwards, it was just Kruger up there, who briefly spoke about how, at the scheduled end of the shoot, there was no overtime, it was PINT time. Time to hit the pub. She laughed. That’s not what an American production is like. She was home…for dinner, every night. I thought she did an excellent job, capturing a multi-layered story. This woman is hiding secrets, or is she? What? The doctor is her former best friend who calls social services on her, and why? She’s going through mental health issues. She’s not telling the truth as to what happened to her little baby.
The God of film said — look, this baby wasn’t even two. You were four. It’s totally possible to envision yourself on this screen. My mother would be utterly distinctively entertaining, horrific, for real, and practically evil — this would be a Joker flick, and it may even be groundbreaking. But WHAT? What’s the GENRE? What’s the SCREENING like, Maria? THINK. Where on you on TV? We might have to do it somewhere funny. MoMA, something.
We had cocktails and hor d'oeuvres upstairs in a candlelit lounge bar… I have to laugh, looking at Kruger over there in a fur and suede coat. Whatever. The guru believed I was the most special person in the universe. I am Lady Gaga meets Joyce Carol Oates and Carl Jung’s The Red Book with a dash of Barbara Harris — someone Ryan Gosling would not believe could even exist — I’m smiling at the members of SAG as they pass with their cocktails—vodka, strawberry, prosecco and mezcal, two choices — catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror lit by candlelight. I have the ability, picturing myself relaying this “information” to Kruger, as I can “download books from the future, Kruger, I can downlown the information and make money appear at my doorstep… in Amazon boxes. I meditate on my full name, location, time of day, the outfit I’m wearing, the headline for the day, what Clooney said, what Jay Shetty said, and throw in some ridiculous line from FOX NEWS, TRUMP’s twitter feed, Brad Pitt fan page, Amal Clooney’s outfits, I repeat the mantra, as the guru told me to do, and the money just appears, and now I own multiple properties across the tri-state area. Throwing up my hands, sipping my cocktail, it’s easy. My future is secure. I did not have to DO anything.
I get so scared sometimes. I felt pangs of fear while watching Kruger lose it on TV in a really really nice house. I have no money, and I have no idea how I’m going to make it. Harry Potter was a phenomenon, and everytime I write Harry Potter, the magic in the name resonates, as if the font changes slightly. I get there is a REALITY that already exists in which I AM Harry Potter, but meditating on achieving that seems to be counter-intuitive to the idea — she was just a woman who had a vision. Better to leave the woman alone, if you catch my drift. I think, I don’t know, I’m back at square one, actually worse that square one. But it’s the best moment to be alive, of course, it’s the BEST time for me to — became Vera Wang, or one of these women who succeed in their forties.
Imagine if I called Diane Kruger “the hot girl…” I laugh, I do. The gurus said in passing to me one day in the car, that I was “the hot girl,” which is sort of crass. That would probably inspire some women to go, “oh really? I’m the hot girl?” To you. They would never call Diane Kruger “the hot girl…” they would show her more respect than that. They didn’t say, “the beautiful woman.” Because that would be sincere. Imagine, if Diane Kruger was in the passenger seat of this car… they would not use that language with her.
But the good news is — no more psychic paranoias. No more picking UP on anything. No more future oriented navigation as if I could write my life backwards by projecting myself to a future point— That’s all gone. I grieved the loss of it, too, as I tried to believe that you could actually meditate success? I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe that, other than, tears. I am not someone who has complicated thoughts, in fact. I have a clear mind, I like to keep it that way. I do not like esoterism. I hated the BRAIN AS COMPUTER, with Carmen San Diego soundtrack, where she’s at the Eiffel Tower, stealing it, and you have to — where on earth can she be — fly across space to REACH your future… tell me where is Carmen San Diego…
Tell me where is Carmen San Diego — oh! Carmen San Diego, where on earth can she be.
I had a fun night. I genuinely enjoy going to these events, speaking of…what I like to DO. I enjoy events. I enjoy night life. I enjoy meeting new people. Maybe I’ll try and get involved in events — avoiding ANYTHING that has ANYTHING to do with FAME, ART, etc. Maybe. The guru killed that shit as I magically jump and spin into the sky and latch onto the fluffy long dog from Neverending story just as he is passing to fly away… “wooooo!” as we SOAR through a tunnel of CASH. Euros, dollars, I mean all currencies. I want multiple bank accounts.
Anyway, fantastical imaginings aside AKA “the work,” as the FEELING drives all reality into existence, NOT THE IMAGE, the FEELING BEHIND THE IMAGE, the IMAGE I JUST CONJURED makes me FEEL RICH, imaginative, and fulfilled — I like film. “I’m on top of the world!” Leo, Titanic. (Or a set.)
I keep thinking of Good Will Hunting as my shrink…taking THAT in…as a piece of literature, telling me to figure what I like to do, and we’ll tackle the career in the next step. So that’s what I’m doing first. I’m reading magazines, looking for what I like to read, where I see myself. I’m following this mag I’d like to get into — as story writing interests me. I gotta hustle, picturing him holding a football, telling me to go long… I gotta make money. Here, I’m going to have to think. I am scared, right now.
I hope to see myself on that screen in one way or another. The God of film hath spoken, this baby is two, a car, in a dream, sure, smashed into the stroller, social services called.
Through the years! When everything went wrong, together we were strong! I know that I belong right here with you…. it was their family song, on Miracle Mile. Picturing their family shots… appearing on screen a touch and fading away… a psychological thriller Barbara Harris could be in. Through the years! Heartwarming, somehow. I was in a situation that necessitated calling them.
And, in the end, that was dangerous, in fact. I was touching, and this put me at risk. Brought me strange attachments. Truly, sitting there, if the guru saw me NOW, he would say, “that’s just a chick.” Not that I AM NOT AMAZING SPECIAL OMG DIANE KRUGER — but come on. Am I Beyonce? This other dude, unbelievable, told me I was a channel, antenna, and portal traveling on multiple planes of existence… it was not a joke, and no, it was NOT the same person who said that in the fifteenth century I would have been the one to SPEAK to animals—imagine? THAT’s where I ended up. Sucked. It really did. Embarassing, insulting, a waste of my time. But, sure, looking to the side, maybe I, too, will have a show up there. It would NOT be insulting if I indeed came to play this person on the screen… Professor X’s protegee. IF THAT happens, I’ll be the most psychic person… gladly.
And with my mic, lifting it to my mouth, “yes, as we know, I really went through this experience…”
OH MY GOD AMAZING! HILARIOUS! SAG FAVORITE. “You know this really happened to her,” cue the musical about the film as audience members snap their heads side to side, “did you know?” “Yeah totally she was in a cult run by a Hollywood janitor…” as the game of telephone would confuse the hear say. “She’s gay,” for sure, “but hiding it.” “Janitor?” “I heard it was…” “And then, Brad Pitt psychically tuned in because he SICK AND TIRED of the INTERFERENCE.”
“Jesus Christ, who the FUCK is this?” Putting on his cashmere shirt that he dreamed about, and then his energy worker friend did to, and she went up to him and suggested they start a business. That’s the KIND of psychic I’d like to be. That doesn’t not happen to me. Brad Piit thinks, “I need t shirts,” and then, a psychic goes, “hey, I had a dream about t-shits, green,” which is what he requested psychically. This is what I heard as he lounges…
In any case, psychics aside, I don’t think that mocking an idea is sending out some message to the universe… etc etc. I believe the divine is on my side, and they will reward me for poking fun at all this. I just hated the pressure that line of thinking put on me, like, if it’s not happening, whatever IT IS, it’s because I haven’t figured it out internally… I have no interest, and Diane Kruger — out by nine pm, okay? She doesn’t either. I’m pretty sure. I’m pretty sure she would have SKIPPED it. No one is telling Kruger she’s downloading info from the future, speaking to animals in other centuries, unable to make real progress in her life because she’s too psychic. Diane Kruger has bodyguards, sort of, and she’s…taking pictures with fans, sure, no problem, on her WAY OUT. Peace. White heels. Nice. Camera zooms IN OUT really really fast.
Be real, people, be real. The God of film hath spoken, funny enough. “Be real.” This is the message he is delivering to me… as he moves me through this sector… ME, a person the guru believes had a divine birth, because I was born to parents who were “not there,” AKA mentally ill. Okay? I was a biblical chapter in a curly hair bonnet. Surprise. Jesus wore sandals. It must be said. The confusion must be cleared up. The God of film hath spoken.
I made an offering of fresh fruits from the farmer’s market to the God of film upon my return — to thank him tying my personal journey to the larger mythic landscape, as we entered into the theme of evil motherhood this evening, and for helping me to produce my vision and to heal the wounds from the relationship that almost killed me. In ancient talk, in ancient worlds, most people almost get killed at least once, if not twice, before their 13th birthday. From disease, famine, murder, etc. No big deal.
So thank you, God of film. I will invent a name later to allow the BACKEND of these sorts of stories to remain transparent, a moment. This is Behind the Bible.
I wanted to explore this arena, and I got back to New York, and magically, I had a friend who happened to get on the nominating committee this year…it’s a coincidence, if not a touch serendiptious, but I’m writing like this, because the gurus I met would say “I am spinning up the reality…” you see, as I want to get into film, so “this would be an EFFECT.” It’s NOT a coincidence. Not to them. It is INDEED a product of my INTENTION. Which is fine, whatever.. I believe in making THIS idea a reality. Let the GOD of film continue to demonstrate his power and humor, yes. In my curly hair bonnet, he believes I am Lucille Ball, so I will work on Vitameatavegamin as a monologue. We will see if a genius does indeed exist within me…