Blogging “Laura”

I’m copying this post from my other blog because it is too emotional for me to type it, edit it over again.  It is self-explanatory.  The gist of it is that I’m writing too many things at the same time.  Hey, you hypo-manic guys.  Doesn’t that sound familiar?  For a few days at least, I’m focusing on my self same report.  I’ll show you what I’m doing step by step.  I hope you find it interesting.  I’ll be in touch at His Alter Ego[dot]wordpress[dot]com

I have to prepare report for a graduate school class  I’m taking.  During this past year I’ve taken ‘Immigration Issues Throughout The  World’, [there are crises elsewhere, not just the US.  It seems as though only in the USA, are international boundaries an issue.  Here, any one can in]; and The Arab Spring Movement’.    For this current trimester, I wanted something less intense so I took ‘Film Noir‘; the films of the 4o’s and 50’s,  like ‘Casablanca’. ‘Here’s Looking at you, kid‘ is one of the top ten most famous lines in the history of film-dom.  And ‘The Third Man‘ starring Orson Wells; the brother of H. G. , who came to England several years later.  [Ah Ha!  You were you speed reading, weren’t you?  Gotcha!]

Rather than working on my blog AND preparing the report separately,  I’ve put them all together.  I’ll be blogging “The Making of ‘Laura 1944′, The Movie School Report’.  I hope you will enjoy my work.  We’ll see.

In this first installment, I will tell how a man who not read until a few years ago, came to writing at all.  After my stroke, and subsequent brain surgery, I had to re-learn many basic things.  Simple things.  Like swallowing!!  Like shitting!!  Who knew your body deteriorate to that extent.

In speech therapy, my mind healed quickly.  I could speak well after a couple of years.  But reading took forever.  I’m not complaining.  Many folks never recover as well as I.  Gabrielle Griffords, the Arizona congress woman, is an example.  I see in her eyes that she smiles so broadly because she is so happy to communicate at all.  Its so lonely inside.  You know people are cheering you on, but it seems like you’re hearing them from a far away, badly constructed, Chechoslavokian telephone with a bad battery.

And I can only see out of one eye.  So in order to type, I have to cock my head over to the right side, close my right eye, keep my eyeglasses from slipping, ….   The creative process demands spontaneity.  Its taken mt two hours to get to this point in the report.

And I have to spell check every other word.  God knows I can spell.  I have a graduate degree from The City University of New York.  I worked at New York Institute of Technology as a psychotherapist.  I used to write complex forensic psychological reports and journal articles  on ethics.  Fuck you!  Now I’m reduced to hunting and pecking like a six year old.

I’m looking at the keyboard right now and I can see the word “spell” is wrong.  It,  my mind, keeps producing stille, instead of spell.  I can persist.  But its exhausting, maddening, angering, frustrating.  But I’m going to do this fucking report.  I used to say, “I’m going to do this fucking report and, if you don’t get out of this room, I’m going to hurt you!! [Triple-growl].

My splell [sic] check allows me to write

Triple-grourwl…growls…growl…phew!

Finally.

Another  hour has passed.  I’m tired.  Its 8:30 AM.  I’ve been awake since 5:00.  I’m going back to sleep.

Fuck ‘Laura‘!  What’s she ever done for me!  Fuck McPherson.  Fuck Waldo Lydecker.  Fuck Otto Preminger!  Now THAT would be fun!  What could I do with his bald head!?

Good night!

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