Most Malaysians who want to sound profound - even the fake artsy fartsys here and there - like to say that you can't define art.
When I heard this, I was like, duh! The dictionary has defined art again and again. Everyone's got a definition of art and many other things, like dick or cunt, or blowjob.
To me, art is merely a form of communication. Like in a musical, when simple dialogues can't convey how gay the characters are, they burst into song.
Some people say that art is torture. That it is pain or a small death.
I don't know. What I do know is that in order to write these two movie scripts I have on my computers, I have tortured myself through sleep-deprivation. Averaging at only two hours a day since Friday, I have forced myself to write when my energy is at my lowest ebb.
At my peak, I would read about TV history - Carson, Howdy Doody's Clarabell, The Prisoner and the entire Star Trek universe.
Don't ask me why. Just know that it works. Only that it makes me completely useless for meetings later during the day. And I have two or three meetings today. One at 3pm, and another at 8pm or thereabouts.
Fortunately, I am only expected to raise an arm, nod, shake, boo, hiss and grunt. And take a cheque. Hehehe.
Currently, there is a Word file open, and around 200++ firefox tabs and windows. Been reading. And writing.
I expect to finish all this by tomorrow. I mean, I know that writing in this state will ensure that I make mistakes. However, I will leave the final editing for tonight or thereabouts.
And possibly some cleaning up over the following weekend.
My forays into TV history is punctuated by breaks of Heroes and Lost and United States of Tara and Dollhouse. Dollhouse sucks. But I have seen the first few episodes, and am going to finish the season.
Okay then. Back to work.
