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September 09, 2003

dream somehow

The whole house has gone to sleep. Ferris and Riley are behind me, snuggled up back to back near the coffee table. The back door is open, and the dull roar of the freeway is my constant companion. A solitary fan sits in the doorway, and pulls cool night air into the room.

I always take great comfort in the silence of a slumbering house.

I'm listening to Dark At The End Of The Tunnel, which is the soundtrack to writing Just A Geek.

But I'm not writing. I'm looking at websites all about Urban Exploration. See, this guy who does UE e-mailed me earlier tonight and told me that WWdN is considered "similar" to his site by Google.

Uhm . . . oookay. I told him that I think the exploring he does is much cooler than what I do here, but whatever. His e-mail has spurred the sort of intriguing, fun, educational late-night-link-following that makes Tabbed Browsing the Killer App of the moment.

In the past few hours, I've been down forgotten tunnels, and explored abandoned hospitals and asylums (a big bonus, since I read the new Arkham Asylum from DC this afternoon). I've stood silent in shadows and crouched behind trees to elude security. I've run like hell to get away from police. I've visited those places that we pass every single day, but I've seen the secrets they will only reveal to the bold.

Is this reality?

Jesus, this music makes me long for another place. Another time. Working on Just A Geek is harder now than ever, because I'm getting closer to completion, and that terrifying prospect of sending it out into the wilderness of readers, Dancing Barefoot has done (and continues to do) better than I ever dreamed . . . I have put a lot of pressure on myself to follow it up with something good, and JAG isn't quite there, yet. I'm getting closer, but it's just beyond my grasp. It's frustrating, to say the least. It's also hard because, for all the sadness and frustration I experienced when I was struggling through the "gotta make it as an actor" years (I have to relive that time to write the book, you see), it's nothing compared to what we're going through now. How I'd love to run down one of these dark tunnels, and never come back . . . just keep exploring forever.

If you peel away the skin, is there anybody there?

I don't know.

Is there anybody in there, in this self-inflicted tomb?

I'm going to bed.

Posted by wil at September 9, 2003 12:31 AM

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