Below are the 9 most recent journal entries recorded in Scott Graham's LiveJournal:

Thursday, February 16th, 2006
2:14 am	Death in the Rumble Seat It's been a long time little livejournal... Cover your ass cause here comes a NEW ENTRY! Life, as of late, has been a safari. A sixty mile an hour jeep ride down narrow, winding jungle corridors and bumpy, dust strewn, sub saharan plains where the terrain is never even. In the passenger's seat your whole body seems to go hot and numb from the caustic vibrations, your eyes remain transfixed to one stable point on the horizon, it's the same trick ballerinas use to keep from vomiting on one another or spinning wildly out of control and collapsing in awkward fleshy heaps on the freshly lacquered floor. You stop only occasionally. You see animals, sure, and they are majestic and tranquil and what fuck have you but you know that in five minutes when the giraffe's head disappears beneath the smoldering fireball that is a setting sun you'll be on the move again. Off to God knows where seeing God knows what and the only sure thing in your life is that point on the horizon. You begin to fantasize about what it might be. Perhaps a friendly village, a tribe of aboriginals that will welcome you in with strange words and native customs and give you bowls of milk from animals you didn't know were capable of lactating. Or maybe it's an oasis. A shimmering pool of water with a single palm tree, an image ripped from the saturday morning cartoons you watched as a child in refrigerated underwear. The day passes and with each new trip you get a few miles closer to the point. Every time the engine turns over your throat sticks because you know that you are one step nearer to some hidden treasure sitting just on that horizon, waiting for you to find it, own it, name it. A few miles pass and the point grows in size... A few more and it is no longer a point but a shadow, a true shape but without form or substance... A few more and the shadow is now an object, a tangible thing and you close your eyes because when you glimpse it first, when you understand it with your senses you want it to be like waking from dreams in to reality. A chaste moment, unadulterated by the passions of your heart and mind. It is no longer what you want it to be, it now just simply IS. You open your eyes. It is a tree... Nothing but a dead tree rushing past at sixty miles an hour. You feel hot and numb again. Your heart clings to the inside of your throat. Had you kept your eyes closed for a moment longer you could have preserved the dream and left reality to its own bleak devices. There is a moment of solemn regret as you sit in the rumble seat, eyes closed, head bowed in prayer to whatever God will listen, lips parted ever so slightly muttering breathless words. From somewhere on the plains a shot rings loud over the roar of the engine. The poachers have shot you dead. Your last wish is to be buried under that lonely tree so that someone, some day, from their rumble seat, might dream of the things you never were. I'm not really sure what all of this means... Is it a metaphor? A parable? I don't know. This is just what comes out... Mental vomit. I'll analyze it in the morning but for now, it's good to be back. Lani? Ande? Sam? Your my only friends here and if any of you happen to read this please let me know you're alive. It's been too long. [As a general rule, people, even the wicked, are much more naive and simple-hearted than we suppose. And we ourselves are, too.] [-Fyodor Dostoevsky-] (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, May 22nd, 2003
12:57 pm	You know we've come a long way... I know it's been a long time everyone but I'm back to te ol' Live Journal and I'll bet you're all very happy. YAY! Anyway. I finally graduated from AADA last saturday and I gotta tell you, being graduated is a lot like being UN-graduated except for a slight increase in skill as far as acting is concerned. I hear it takes 20 years to make an actor but at this rate I'm thinking it's going to be more like 50. I just hope I have the strength to see it through. On a side note: Fuck marriage! I have too many friends getting engaged and frankly it makes me feel pressured. I see all these happy couples strutting about acting like they're living some sort of beautiful dream and it almost makes me feel like finding a girlfriend... Then I think about all of the shit they're hiding. Like the knock down drag out fights at three in the morning after some embarrassingly poor sex or the piles of cash getting wasted on dates and little gifts. That usually makes me feel better... Well, that and all the masturbating. Sorry... Everyone was thinkin' it anyway. On another side note: Fuck Michael Jackson! This crazy son of a bitch walks in to a bureaucrat's office in a spider-man costume and asks where a Taco Bell is and everyone acts like "it's just cute little Jacko acting crazy again". Has everyone forgotten that this man has children now? They are in INCREDIBLE DANGER! If this guy were you or me social services would have cleared those little crotch monsters out of his house faster than you could say "incest isn't a crime in Mississippi"! One final thought: Keaneau Reeves is IN FACT the worst actor that has ever lived. It's really sad too because the poor guy tries so hard. His latest performance in The Matrix Reloaded has in fact surpassed that kid who played Anakin in Star Wars Episode I for worst performance of all time... And I never thought he'd out do his role in Johnny Pneumonic... Oh well... He's now thirty million dollars richer and I'm still struggling on two hundred fifty a week... Where's the justice I ask you? Where? Good luck out there in the great wide world and I'll see you around. -Scott Graham- (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 26th, 2002
11:46 pm	If you don't care about my sex life. DO NOT READ THIS... (Suckers) Fuck relationships. First potential relationship here in three years and I can't make it work. Is it me? Would someone tell me if it's me? First woman I have kissed in THREE YEARS and she walked away. I'm somehow caught in "the friend zone" again. Fuck relationships and fuck the friend zone. The weird thing is I actually got her in to bed. No sex just... The "fun stuff". And it was brilliant! It was fucking brilliant! If I may be so bold, I fucking ruled! She was so so but I'm pretty sure I FUCKING RULED! How do I know? Because she told me! I didn't ask, she offered up that information on a voluntary basis! This goes on for two nights and I am on cloud nine! I am the happiest I have been in years. Here is an incredibly attractive, intelligent woman that I can actually hold a relationship with AND I'm fooling around with her. I was so happy! But here's the thing. She's still seeing other guys. Harrison, he's a third year student. One date with him and suddenly I'm history. THAT SUCKS! It burns and stings and hurts and after TWO NIGHTS I'm falling apart. I tried not to be the jealous type and I tried not to violate her personal space and I DIDN'T TELL HER THAT I LOVE HER, BECAUSE I DON'T! And it got me no further than rushing in to everything! So here's the point to all this tragic rambling. I've now come to the conclusion after talking to her THAT I WAS A SEX OBJECT! Yeah, you heard me, I was a sex object. And bearing that in mind try to decipher the cryptic meaning of this statement "This doesn't mean I don't want to see you in the future". Oh, yeah! When she's done with Harrison and feels like a good lay who is she going to start "seeing" again? ME! FUCK THAT!... Actually I'll probably end up seeing her again. BUT I WON'T ENJOY IT!... Yes I will... I have no self respect do I? God this sucks... Why did God chose to give women all this power? (Comment on this)
Sunday, October 20th, 2002
2:05 am	Bowling for Columbine I just saw the movie "Bowling for Columbine", Michael Moore's latest film. It was one of the most profoundly moving films ever made. It gave me closure with questions I have been asking myself for the last nine years. Because of this film I am going to start reading the newspaper again and I am going to stop being afraid. I suggest you all do as well. See this film... Sorry I can't write much more but I just spent two hours drafting an E-mail to Michael Moore and I'm fading fast. I hope to hear from you all soon. (Comment on this)
Saturday, October 19th, 2002
1:34 am	WASP Today I had a realization while I was watching an interview with Dave Shapel (I don't think that's how you spell his name) on Conan O'Brien. As a white, male, Anglo-Saxon protestant living in America I have nothing to be proud of. I am constantly bombarded by one agenda or another all thinly disguised under that word "pride". Gay pride, black pride, female pride. What can I be proud of? If we had white pride week it would be a joke. Speaking of jokes, I can't watch TV these days without being the butt of a joke. Beer commercials about stupid white males fucking up one thing or another. Television shows where white males get women pregnant then can't deal with the consequences while the woman remains firm and true. The one that really gets me though is that same joke that every writer thinks is so witty nowadays, you know the one where a white guy tries to use ethnic slang but just sounds stupid. ISN'T THAT HILLARIOUS EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME YOU SEE IT! None of this would be quite so bad if I wasn't constantly being made to believe that I deserve it. What did I do to make people assume that when I shy away from a smelly black bum it has everything to do with the fact that he's black and nothing to do with the fact that he's A SMELLY BUM! I want everyone to know RIGHT NOW, Scott Graham doesn't discriminate against bums, no sir, I don't want to talk to white ones, black ones, Mexican ones, Asian ones, females, hermaphrodites it don't matter! Point out a bum, I'll give him some change and move on. I think what I'm trying to say is, with all of the political correctness currently running rampant in our nation we are overlooking a ferocious double standard taking place. Isn't laying the blame from every race/sex/class problem squarely on the shoulders of white heterosexual males worse than simply accepting those inherent problems and trying to overcome them without pointing fingers. After all no one's giving ME a free ride. No one's laying out a race quota or giving me a scholastic gay and lesbian alliance grant or an alimony check. This all sounds better in my head than it does on paper. Plus it's 2am on a Friday and I'm a bit drunk, but that's beside the point. I want you all to know I'm not preaching white supremacy (the Neo Nazis are no better than the NAACP). Nor am I preaching color blindness (or sex/sexuality blindness) because we are CLEARLY different. I'm just offering a suggestion... Be different BUT SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT IT! Again... I think I can explain this better in person. If you want give me a call (818)-692-9495. (Comment on this)
Thursday, September 19th, 2002
6:19 pm	Am I Gay?... No. No I am not gay. I'm not fuckin gay, got that?! Just wanted to make sure we're clear on this before I move forward. For anyone who doesn't know (which is probably anyone who happens to be reading this) I have been very stressed out lately. I have been stressed out because I am working for THE MOST EGOMANIACLE MAN EVER! Bruce Nash is a self-serving dinosaur of a human being and the fact that I have to shadow his every movement is making me lose my hair! I am being serious when I say I'm losing my hair too. I was going to the bathroom this morning and I noticed that my bathroom floor is COVERED in MY HAIR!!! MY HAIR! How do I know it's my hair? I DON'T HAVE A DOG THAT'S HOW! My drain was clogged with it too. I think it might be the shampoo I'm using. I'm going to change to something that isn't 2 for 2 dollars. Anyway, I'm stressed and I think if I could just find a way to relieve some of this stress that I would be a much happier individual. So I start going over some of the classics of stress relief. There's killing something (out of the question), creating something (creation's for pussies, ask that fruit cake God!), and having sex with something. Now... I want to have sex with something SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BAD! But I'm not that kind of person who goes places or does things so I don't meet a whole lot of fuckables. OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH How I long for the days when a simple sheep herder could wander around in open fields and stick his Mohammed in the first piece of woolly bully that moved without fear of reprisal. OHHHHHHHH but for a simpler time when we weren't bound by the restrictions of species or even phylum. When a man could love a horse and a fish could love a tree and tall built Swedish women could love each other. I seem to have digressed but I suppose my point is. If I could screw any object I wanted without you people saying this like "My god that's just unnatural" or "It won't fit in there" I wouldn't be loosing my hair. Shame on you... Shame. On. You. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, July 31st, 2002
12:05 am	I will die today. A lot of people talk about how you need to live each moment as if it were your last. What I've come to realize is that you shouldn't live each moment AS IF it were your last. You have to understand that each moment IS your last. It's like Schroedinger's cat theory. You have no idea when you are going to die therefore you have to assume that each and every moment is the moment of your death. Therefore NOTHING you do EVERY matters unless you can prove that you were actually alive at some point. I know some people may not like this but most homeless people cannot prove that they were alive at any point. In some cases there isn't even documentation of their birth. These people do not and never have existed. In all fairness I don't exist. I have done nothing to preserve my life beyond my death. Sure my loved ones would remember me for a generation or so. I might get an occasional mention from distant relatives, but I cannot prove to EVERYONE that I was alive. Less than 1% of the earth even knows about me. I guess what I'm saying is CHANGE THE WORLD! Make sure those who beat the odds and still manage to live know about you. Despair to die until you have done something to benefit humanity. All you have to do is understand that you are already dead. Now nothing you do EVER matters, so you might as well DO IT! Live death happily everyone! Maybe you'll stumble upon something and the whole world full of corpses will remember. Don't you wanna be immortal baby? Come on, everyone's doin' it! (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, July 21st, 2002
1:12 am	Stupid Words! Why is it so damn hard to write? Whenever I start writing ANYTHING (stories, poetry, scripts) I always end up doing one of two things. At first I start out real literary, using lots of metaphor and imagery. Then I step back and look at it and say, WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING? It's so sappy and hokey and (as many of my Lovewell friends seem to enjoy saying) trite. So now I say just write like you talk. Now I'm I'm suffering from Hemingway syndrome. You know what I mean. I looked at the sea. The sea was blue. I like the sea... Yes... The sea. And that's a THOUSANDS TIMES WORSE than sounding trite. I've only read two Hemingway books in my lifetime and one put me to sleep every five minutes. "The old man and the sea" was ok but that's because it was a simple story. Let's face it America, Hemingway like Picasso was a hack it's just that no one had the courage to say otherwise. Anyway, I'm having trouble writing. I started a short story last week. It's sci-fi pulp based on a cartoon I'm obsessed with called Cowboy Bebop. So far the story has been going ok. I have about eight pages written and It's getting better and better as long as I don't take a step back and look at it. That leads me to another question. Once I've written this thing... What do I do with it? I can show it to my friends and family. Maybe get it posted on some fan sites, but what the hell was the point of all that time? ANYWAY. I guess this all just comes down to the fact that I wanna be loved. But really isn't that what everything is about? [Who shot J.R.? ] [ -Idiots who used to watch Dynasty-] (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, July 16th, 2002
1:01 am	One moment, that’s all. I had a strange experience in the line at the bank a few days ago. Thought this would be good for my first entry. I had just filled out a deposit card and I stumbled in to line completely drained from the routine day I had been having. I’m staring at the floor and the ceiling and the walls and of course not making eye contact with anyone, and suddenly I notice the woman standing in front of me and I want to touch her. Just on the back of the hand or the neck or a shoulder blade. I wanted to hold her and say hello and trade lives right there in the middle of the bank. It was magnetic and electric and I’m sure I was the only one that felt it. I almost cried. I went outside and sat on the gigantic steps of the Washington mutual on vine. For the second time since I came to Los Angeles I felt completely alone. Why shouldn’t I be aloud to reach out and touch a complete stranger? To share something real and physical, born of the moment not somewhere to the left of it. Not a pickup line or a passing hello. Not something you can fake or fall back on. An intimate naked thing that completely exposes your core. Something we fear. So in my fantasia I take her in my arms and tell her my name. She answers me with a weeping sigh that tells me she understands. They all do. We grip tighter without a word or a breath or a kiss. It’s not sexual, that would cheapen the metaphor. It’s just two strangers holding each other close, sharing an unbearable moment of humanity. [“Okay?” ] [“Okay.” ] [ -Garth Ennis ] (3 Comments |Comment on this)