creative blue-balls

 My toes are twitching, my chest feels tight, my sporadic insomnia is flaring up and the little sleep I manage to get is bursting with weird, disturbing, disgustingly Freudian dreams (I had a particularly twisted one last night. I can't really going into much detail without sounding like the lady off "Medium" meets Hannibal Lector on mushies, but I'll just say that "rape" was the least disturbing element).

I need some creative release, but my problem is that I don't have a definite mode of funnelling my creative impulses. I'm plump with artistic milk, but I ain't got no teat. I'm not a painter, i'm not a musician, i'm not a writer or a poet - i'm just a bit of everything and a lot of nothing.

So i'm going to make a film. There, I said it. It's out there. I've never really made a film, but i'm going to make one. I'm yet to write the script - Hell, I don't even own a camera. But it's going to happen.
Watch this space.

Or don't.

Godard's ghost, wish me luck.