Watching Hugo reminded me of the time I fell in love with film. Escaping the yelling and tension at home, I would sit in the darkened university theatre and watch hours and hours of silent films – D.W., Harold, Charlie, Buster, W.C. – they were my friends, my companions of the dark. They helped me cope. They inspired me to write and dream. Then, along came Bergman, Dreyer, Eisenstein, Murnau, Goddard, Polanski and Fellini to show me different ways of seeing the world. So many riveting stories and images. This was my place in the world.
Years of dreaming and starving, writing and fighting against those closest to me, wore me down. I fought the rational world with every fibre in my being, finally succumbing to it in the late ’90’s/’00s.
Now it’s 2013, and I’m a man with nothing left to lose having experienced what it’s like to come within a hair of losing everything. I have recaptured my spirit and am writing again, writing with passion and drive. Writing and dreaming. Now, I am alive.