Profile
Name:
The Green Party
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Joined:
May 27, 2009
Latest Activity:
2 weeks ago
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About Me:
All in all, good advice. Strange words perhaps given how self-promoting this goddamn town can be. And me? Well I can't help my shilling ways. I've got goods and I aim to sell 'em. I got this novel, you see. I wrote it on a whim that somehow, years later, snowballed into a deadline. I'm not known for deadlines. Ask around. I'm a free spirit - minus the treehugging solidarity typically inherited by those goofy sorts. I'm just another self-absorbed bohemian. Sure I yearn for truth and good people (as much as any) but I'm only trying, with a wryness I can't discard, to be as pure as I can be in a potentially honest moment. Kerouac called it, and I'm paraphrasing now, the sincerity of your first thought. For the first words you put down may be the only glimpse at some ancient truth your wiser self attempts to shield. Ah, there I go again with highfalutin flourishes that get the better of me. Can't be helped. But the point remains and what stickss is solid: I'm just trying to lay it on the line. Tinsel town can be a crown magnet for assholes and mutants so my zip code may elicit a bad impression. Yet if you still entertain some doubt on that end, weirdly enough, then I suggest you get on the 5, exit Los Feliz Blvd and walk in The Bigfoot Lodge. A decent place for a drink and one of the best places in town to actualize nightmare premonitions of quintessential L.A. types. Shit, you might even see me at the bar, aping Bukowski (tho I doubt Bukowski would have ever stepped foot in that joint).
See, I live in Hollywood (Los Feliz technically - which is of little relevance because as a point of fact I also live in Little Armenia which is incidental considering I actually live in Hollywood. Welcome to Los Angeles.) Of course that's irrelevant geography. Here's some more: The book, now, yes back to the book, the reason for this awful self-gratifying alter, well the book, this novel of mine, takes place in South Texas (where I'm from); San Antonio to be exact. A strange place where the depraved decadence that exists in the shadows outweighs the ominous possibilities that town seems to offer. That doesn't sound right does it? The math seems all wrong. Well take my word for it. It's an evil place. And I was evil with it. Or maybe it was evil because I was so evil. It's tough to deconstruct sometimes. Just trust me. South Texas is full of hard, hard drugs, date rape, transsexuals on meth looking for love. And me. In fact, fuck my pitch. (For who's to trust my word? I'm still nursing a bruised eye for actions I can't exactly remember. And I don't think I'm kidding.) So, read my book. They say it's funny, a riot, one good read. It's a hell of a lot more honest, and disturbing, than I could ever be in person. Some might argue that's doubtful - at least after I've had a few.
Hometown:
Laredo, Texas
Country:
United States
Occupation:
Self-Unemployed
Schools:
My name is Shanks Carpenter Green.I live in Los Angeles.I have the screenwriter's blues.
Interests:
Shilling
Movies:
So it goes. The good sense I copyright forces me to be ashamed for so much these days. Despite hearfelt protestations from perplexed friends I know I should be. I'm struck by a giddy indulgence in West Coast paradise. Sins are irrelevant here. I mean, hell, I came to L.A. to dry out (which might be a first when you think about it). In the process I wrote a novel, got it published, and watched the dust accumulate in my bank account. In spite of social implications, I look upon that as a freakishly wonderul design I had no conception of. I had developed the taste early on for excusing myself from the higher impulse of communal pomposity (the trademark of intellectual pursuit) so I was well equipped to mingle in L.A.. And the myths are grossly misrepresented. They're out here in droves with entitled defiance and the worst part? Every other person I can't avoid, besides the actor types and writers - doctors, landscapers, you name it - work a deeply personal pet project; their own script. It made me feel everything I'd heard about this town was so fucking true it was overwhelmingly spot on (for seemingly sound reasons). Now I'm writing a script...just like I told myself I'd never do. I was a novelist after all which meant I was a noble type I thought, rare and totally unique. (And the glory I saw didn't stop there.) But I've been here long enough to see the error of my ways. And the error of my ways is a furious nose dive into glamorous illusions I greedily believe EXIST. I'd like a piece as much as anybody. So, there you go. There's nothing too original in that story. But that's the reason for this page. I mean, sure, a little advert for the book and a schowcase for indulgent shorts that could not have been made without the help of actors, writers, ex-child stars (who have disavowed the business with traumatized haste), models, musicians, and kooky, L.A. types too fantastical to ignore. I prefer to think they volunteered in the name of show business - not art - propelled by their own blurred vision of the other side. Well, sure. Why not. This town is paved with business cards that can't even help you get laid. This is my page, one of a few actually. So, like I said. Here you go...eat it up, if you notice at all.
Books:
Six Inch Crimes, Dissenting Views (by Joseph E. Green)
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"Not Exactly" is track #10 from the first deadmau5 album "Random Album Title" on Ultra Records - ultrarecords.com
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White Stripes performing Seven Nation Army and Death Letter. |
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