Art And Artist
I’m an artist walking on a limb
Saying what I feel
Doing what I say
Knowing the next moment will be the best.
I anticipate what you will say
Change it. Colour it. And make it my own
Then give it back to you before you say it
I’m an artist
Don’t think you know what I’m doing
I’m sure you don’t know
I’m sure I don’t know
But it’s what I keep doing
See the path you walk so carefully?
I can make it smooth
Or rocky so you must turn back
Will I, you ask? Maybe
I like the robin floating in the sky
Floating in rebellion to the earth
Singing and floating is moving art
I’ll let you see what I see
But don’t let my paintings burn
with the thoughts of the careless
Leave them in bewilderment
so that others may see
les goûts et les couleurs ne se discutent pas
Two tigers real fast
One red shoe lost
A man and his mojo
Fishing with worms
Music in a submarine
Messages on tape
Callers on hold
Blue paper on fire
Understand?
22
May
Today, Is Your Lucky Day…You Think
Author: Braden | Category: Old Stuff, Screenwriting, WritingA Lucky Day
EXT. DESERT CANYON. DAY.
Desert. A distant beat of drums is mesmerizing. A tribal beat. A man looks out on the dusty vistas and smokes a cigarette…exhaling on the rhythmic thump…thump…thump that washes across his ears on the way to some unknown destination. The air is crisp. The sun is harsh. The rocks are large. His cigarette is finished.
He stands and we see a young man of 26, SEAN. Handsome, but rough from a street existence. He is dressed in jungle khakis. Surveying the landscape his eyes fall upon the car behind him. The beat is coming from the car. Another male, TED, about 24, is sitting in the car counting something in a bag. Anxious, SEAN walks toward the car.
SEAN
ARE YOU DONE YET! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU TALKED ME INTO THIS!
TED
It’s all freaking ones man! I don’t know…2 maybe 3 thousand.
SEAN
What!
TED
THREE THOUSAND! I…
TED turns down the stereo.
TED
Maybe…I don’t know. Where’d you get this cd?
SEAN
3 thousand? Why would some boondocks mom & pop store in Dorado, California have 3 thousand new dollar bills in the register? One thousand used, yeah. Not three new.
20
May
With The Cool Comes The Dreams Of Hot
Author: Braden | Category: Old Stuff, Poetry, Prose, Stream of consciousness, WritingFall Portfolio Of Dreams
My portfolio
Of dreams
Whistling
Scattered about
Like leaves from a tree
Shriveled and light
Blown against a fence
Gathering up
An army of leaves
Ready to explode
When a gate is opened
Braden Stephens (no date)
20
May
Too Long Have I Been Here
Author: Braden | Category: Old Stuff, Prose, Stream of consciousness, WritingPseudo Intellectual Hollywood
Writers play golf with god
Producers go to parties with angels
Directors correspond with saints
All actors can play a convincing devil
19
May
The Beginning of A Little Story Called Calais
Author: Braden | Category: Old Stuff, Prose, WritingThe Beginning of Calais
Two people sit in a closed bar. The room is black with only small spotlights on the tables that seem to highlight the lonely and desperate, but separate, couple near the center of the room.
Nikki has been tired of the life she has been leading as a small-time actress in the Atlanta art community. She hasn’t told anybody though, thinking, this is all she should expect in her life. She’s just damn lucky to be alive. Lucky…to be…alive. She thinks.
A sad story yes, but not nearly as sad as her companion.
Michael has never in his life been tired, or for that matter, without something to do with his time. But in all his years, he has never done anything of any importance. A frivolous life. A life without direction and without meaning. Unfortunately, Michael doesn’t know it.
Until tonight…
Braden Stephens (no date)Life Past
To the light of the setting fall.
Winter comes to cover us all.
Is this fair? Nature’s wrath?
Love and hate take the same path.
Disease and pain discovered too late.
Who can tell their bittersweet fate.
Snowflakes fall, memories covered.
Thoughts so still and closely hovered.
Visions of the end all so clear.
Wondering if the past is something to fear.
The evolution of man is miraculous. The events that led us to being rational sentient beings has a probability approaching zero - yet, it happened and is probably happening again and again all over the universe. This rarity of a written word I conceive, and that you now read, is new and fresh. To think, is to be lost in the enormity of the entire concept. But even so, there you are.
And the stories, excerpts, half-baked ideas, character studies, poems, scripts, summations, treatments, synopsis, log-lines, notes and whatever else can be written down…all happened in their own little way. All are inconsequential to the evolution of man and earth, but helped define the life of one single unit in the Big Picture - a man.
Braden Stephens4/18/87