Analogy Whore and Ringmaster

Analogy Whore 

This title is an analogy; fuck me. I tend to dislike too many analogies in writing, but damn do I like making them myself [see passage below, and this whole rant]. I’m so bad at it - like I was going to name the passage below Lord of the Love, but realized I’d have to kill myself for doing something like that. But I love them because what better way to describe a shitty day than comparing it to the watching Grown Ups 2 on repeat for five years straight or saying “it was like smashing my dick between two bricks.” What’s a nicer way to tell your Mom her cat exploded? Letting her know the gory details or comparing it to a flower blossoming. I’d go with the later and maybe talk more about the happy flower shit than the mess of cat hair and guts all over the carport.

Ringmaster 

I miss companionship, embrace and ultimately love, but I have a problem of dealing with its presence too. Love’s warming touch comes with anxiety that its potency may fade or embrace may be shared with others. To love unconditionally: that’s my quest. However, in this pursuit, I've only drove myself and those willing to take the journey with me completely crazy. I’ve garnered trust, wholeheartedness, and pure love from others, but have not been able to return the favor. I doubt and behave outlandishly, making claims on irrational futuristic thoughts. Sitting on the fence waiting for it to break. I’m now officially a member of the circus I shied away from so long. But I guess knowing is power, and I plan to get better at this. Maybe one day I’ll be the ringmaster and not the hungry lion.

Summer Camps and Cyclic Love

Summer Camps
I never went to a summer camp.  I remember begging my parents to let me go, but they would not hear anything of it.  Maybe it got in the way of our family vacations, or maybe it got in the way of yard work my dad had planned for me.  Anyways, I feel like I missed out on a lot of adolescent development. Yes, I agree there is a natural course for things to work themselves out, but a catalyst would have always been welcomed. Even if it was an atomic wedgie or getting tea-bagged by the counselor. Maturity comes in many forms, from second base with Becky to victoriously climbing the tallest tree, then falling out and breaking your arm.  It comes with pain, embarrassment and glory.  Camp offers a healthy dose of all these things.

Anyways, I'm currently working on a new script with a friend and it's about summer camps. Since I've never gone to one, I've had to research. Watching movies, playing pranks on co-workers, and referencing vocabulary that just doesn't register for the average adult.  It's been a fun trip, and I'm still enjoying it.  For a preview, I've added a short description of two of the many characters I'm currently shaping.  Also if you have any good camp stories, please post them!!

Maggie:
She's 12 years old and idolizes her older sister.  She watches her everyday, jealous of her stage 4 areolas and punk rock shirts.  She's a rebel at heart too.  She wants to meet people outside her boring town; cool people just like her sister.  She finds out about summer camps. Here's a place she can fit right in with the older girls without her sister standing in the way. She'll mature, and learn all the Ins and Outs of boys and their ways.  Camp starts, but not everything goes according to plan.  She tie-dies things when she gets upset.

Simon:
Simon is your typical nerdy guy.  Fluent in obscure alien languages and pre-cuts his underwear before heading to school.  He finds out about a camp outside of town where he might have a chance to be cool.  He signs up, starts working out, and gets immediately ridiculed the first day of camp.  His best friend gets taken under the wing of one of the jock and becomes a bully. Simon learns a lot about himself, even gets some action.  His big comeback involves challenging the biggest jock to a game of ping-pong, one game that nerds can succeed.


Cyclic Love
It all started with a kid's game.  That game where you pick up a beautiful flower and remove the pedals merrily chanting "They love me, they love me not".  Slowly, one pedal at a time, the flower is transformed into a useless weed, lost of desire and enchantment. It was at the early age of eight or so we started preparing ourselves for a vicious cycle we did not quite understand.  How everything starts with a bang and ends with a crash.  A type of cyclic love, flower to flower.  It begins with something great, several weeks of excitement and getting to know each other.  This is very similar to the blooming of a flower in the Spring.  Then something happens, you either settle, and plant your roots, or start looking for faults.  And one by one, contemplating love and hate,  you pluck away until you have no beauty left. "They love me, they love me not".