It’s interesting to see the path a night of well-intentioned writing work takes. Once the Pringles “pop” (and consequently “don’t stop”), the clock strikes an hour that makes the eyes heavy, lowering slowly to ‘changy chong’ slits fit only for retinal Pringle insertion like a bound and gagged obese man’s very own flesh vending machine.
Solution: Energy drinks; but not too little or just right– too much. Can’t concentrate on writing anymore, it’s too low on visual stimuli. Pop in some crusty movies. Watch Lamberto Bava’s Demons (which is pretty fucking wild) and follow it up with a 1am showing of the half-directed by Lucio Fulci semi-pile Zombi 3.
I shit you not, dreams yielded a zombified Michael Winslow getting blood on our script as he thumbed through and drooled teeth all over it.
subhumanzoids 