Oh Girl

Oh girl walking her razor scooter up the sidewalk. You're wearing zebra print pajama pants and a red hoodie. I'd say you got out of bed, but this isn't the first time I've seen you. Everyday you're on the bus wearing some pair of pajama pants with your hair up, like your protesting letting it down.

Oh girl that never really woke up, I guess you can't make it up the hill so you're waiting at the bus stop. I'm sorry I thought it was funny you had a razor scooter. I had one when I was in about 2nd grade and that was a pretty big deal. I'm pretty sure it was one of those gifts that after I got it my sister just had to have (and eventually did).

Oh girl that can't really seem to accomplish much, do you remember that time we talked? Yeah, I mean, I think that was you, wasn't it? It was early in my first semester, when I was dragged my computer bag everywhere, the one with all the buttons. One of the buttons from Spamalot. The button reads "I'm not dead yet." We had just hopped off the bus and you came up behind me and said something like "Hello we have something in common, we both have the Spamlot button."                                               I said something like "Oh really, yeah it's a great show." You went on to talk about how funny it was and how impressive the adaption came through. I agreed. I suppose I didn't have much to say. For me Broadway is something I feel more like talking about when I'm around people who know what I'm talking at, when I'm not somewhere so removed from it. It kind of feels like the shows that my family and I have seen, maybe we weren't allowed, we just snuck into the city for a couple trips. I guess most likely i didn't realize this at the time. This moment we had wasn't anything special. It was pretty awkward conversation, mostly because I didn't really have anything to say. You kept walking forward, no abandonment, you just realized the moment was passed. You might be my closest NKU friend.

oh girl. Like I said, I'm not positive it was you, you were wearing sunglasses. Maybe it's somebody else and I just can't remember at all. It's whatever.
I can't say I've really know you. You don't have a name because I've never heard it. You don't go to any classes because I've never had one with you. All I really can say with confidence is you don't seem to make much of an effort in life. No, I could be wrong, but from what I've gathered you're just like a lot of the kids that go here. You make yourself stand out all the way down the road until it gets too far or the hill gets too high and you wait for the bus stop. Don't loose any sleep over this, really don't. I probably don't even exist to you, right?

Oh girl walking her razor scooter up the sidewalk. You're wearing zebra print pajama pants and a red hoodie.

Oh girl that never really woke up, I guess you can't make it up the hill so you're waiting at the bus stop.

Oh girl doesn't know that someone sees her giving up and getting on the bus. Oh girl that shakes it off and stands at the stop unmoved. Oh girl  that moves forward off the sidewalk and tugs her scooter so it doesn't get in my way as I walk past. Thanks for clearing the courtesy, I'm a gunna walk the rest of the way for ya.

Love Leave

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gGObENrkYk

The films are personal. They going to be personal or a little while. When the personal settles down then maybe the films will get a little more public. Until then, keep watching the skies.

Asheville, North Carolina

December 31^st 2004

Beth was working in Garageband and making a song. We made a movie called Super teen about Superman as a teenager. I was Superman, she was my mom. I don't remember much. I remember the white DVD that I wrote the date on. My Uncle always wrote the dates on things so I suppose that's why I did it. We drove to Illinois. A month and a year ago you died. You weren't the first person I knew to go, but certainly the closest. Three years from December 31^st 2004 everyone would go to bed, I would try to come up with some pseudo new years resolution. I scribbled something on paper about talking to a girl I liked or ridding myself of a bad habit. I took it and lit it on fire on the window sill of my room. Unsurprisingly the smoke detector went off. I slapped myself in the head trying to blow the smoke away, turning the fan on etc. Mom and Dad crept out and walked into my room. Dad led. He was furious, he knew what was up. Ella and Leslie crept up in the background. Mom was beside the situation, going with the lead, she was thinking, I think. The night settled embarrassed and the break with arift. I awoke to my Mother's voice blurted out to surprise me, scare me.

“I want you to know how it feels to be woken up like that. It's scary.” These words aren't exact.

Your Dad and my Mom were going to your ex-boyfriend's apartment to pickup your stuff for you.

My mom was livid, she set the situation out.

“I'm going to go help him get his screwup of a child move out today.”

“I'm trying to teach you so that you don't end up like her.”

“But I'm not like her.”

“I'm doing this for your benefit, you should appreciate me doing this.”

I thought you had become irresponsible too though, by that time you weren't going to college.

We didn't talk, you were on your own and didn't come visit with your Dad as much. I remember my Mom telling me your dad had gone to visit you and your crappy boyfriend, almost like they were making amends, despite no huge falling out. Time rather than a fight. Mom showed us the picture. You looked like a small boy. I guess I'm trying to convey that if you were still alive, we probably still wouldn't be that close. You might still live in Evansville, maybe married. You might be considering adoption or considering pregnancy saving up with a good man to keep you on your toes to actually save this time.

I guess we weren't close in the end. We were kids together and you were an older sister, I think a lot of us can say that without offense to your real sister. We all loved you the same way, for the same reasons. I was writing this before I was tying this and something was in the air. I sneezed so hard it all came out and I was balling my eyes out like the day after you died.

That happens you know, I feel like when I scratch the surface again and again it just floods, but each time I have to add another memory, and there are only so many. I miss you and it burns each time I really look at your face like I did on November 22nd, but then I think of December 31st 3004 and then I think of December 31st 2010 and I'm a good man Kim.

On Perfume and the home movies of a 17-year marriage

Thanksgiving Adulthood

So the day after our little Thanksgiving in Monmouth I wake the girl up. 

"I think we're going to go soon, babe."
I'm a little anxious.
"Leslie you wanna go to?"
"Sure"
We get in the car and roll down through Monmouth on our way to Alexis. She plugs our destination into the navigator. I realize half way down that I wanted to get flowers. Leslie and I run into County Market and we try to find something relatively cheap. She picks out the poinsettia and we check out. I get some quarters out of the change and drop them in the machines. I get two rings out and we walk back to the car. 

It's been about two years since I've seen this town. Work and School stopped me from being able to come and I often think about my priorities. The navigator is moving us onto gravel roads and she's ", Where are we going."
This isn't right.
I didn't grow up here, this isn't where I was born, but it is for everyone else I know.  i back up and we get back on the road. The Navigator adjusts. We keep driving. The blown out speaker in my car sizzles.
"Ahem...Let's pretend Marshall Mathers never picked up a pen, let's pretend things turned out no different"

We move into town, past the fire station. This is what keeps Alexis alive, and nothing else. The population is 850. She says that we're in the town out of "The Crazies."
I say to Leslie "That green patch of grass there is 'Sparies' where Dad used to get comic books. One time I got Grandma to come out here at sundown so I could film a night scene for The Pinklydoodle in that telephone booth."
"I'm surprised you got Grandma to drive at night."

"This is so sad."
I'm looking at the shut down "My Store."
"Tell us about 'My Store' Barry."
"Well my store was owned by Don Mckelvie."
"What did he sell?"
"Uhm he sold everything, he was a painter to. I saw him perform in the Galesburg Choir Concert once." 

We mull around some more looking at locations. I tell the stories my Grandmother has told me and her mother told her(so one day when I'm a mother...).
"That's the Library that Mary-Alice owns, she also runs the Alexis Museum. That used to be the phone company. That's where Iola used to go to see silent movies..."
We continue down the road and I remember a day ago Grandma telling me her high school is being torn down. She and her mother graduated this high school which was built about ninety years ago. We park at a stop sign and she gets out to take a picture. The only remaining part of the school is the entrance. It's eerie with the entrance still open holding a staircase that one would consider leads to some meaningful purgatory. 

Alas though, it is dead and gone. Speaking of death, we're going to visit MyDeadGrandFatherwhoInevermet's grave.


I make a left turn which should yield the cemetery, but there is nothing in site. We turn left and right and I don't know where I'm going (and I should). We pull over to the water tower and I try to call Grandma on this dead Illinois signal.

We go straight down main street. 
"And that's where Grandma grew up and Iola lived for a good fifty years."
"That's it?"
"Yup."
I almost turn the corner as she and Leslie point out the truck bearing down on us and I stop. 
It's good to have loved ones. 
We pull in see the graves.
LAUGHEAD
McBride
Sims
They're all related to us somehow. We stroll through as I point them out.
"He died young."
"Oh that was Grandma's brother. He was injured in Vietnam and when he came back Grandma said he just wasn't the same little brother. He was driving a truck when he shouldn't have been and was hit by another car and died."






Barry Dwayne Rowen



He died 13 days after his 47 birthday. This doesn't say anything about the man, but it's all we've got. 
We look around and there are some really weird graves. One woman has an enormous portrait of herself, another has a giant picture of a semi-truck on the back. Barry has a short poem he wrote. 



"Creativity is the essence of civilization
This no one can deny
for it allows each individual
to make his mark or try"

I hope they remember me

By Barry




I didn't know you, but I feel like I have a privilege only for my name's sake.

Sir I didn't know you. You were a military man all your life. You kept interest in the mechanics rather than art, film, and music. Maybe that's not so true. Barry, I've been writing letters to your brother Bill this semester. They're short recaps on how the others life is. He even sends me a check for "pizza." He tells me stories about you, encounters you had with other people and how you reacted. I suppose most everyone does that. Anyways... I'll never know you, never will feel your presence or take your words of the moment to heart, but we do share something. I've love the people you loved. I've shook the hand of the brother you shook hands with. I've worn the clothes you've warn. This hasn't been forced, this hasn't been planned out, it's simply the affect of being your grandson. I'll tell you the truth, just like a lot of things that probably would not have happened if had lived, I probably never would have been born. You can't dwell on this though (because you're dead), you can't tailor life like that either. Back to the Future wasn't real and I can't change the past or jump to the future. All I can do is think and think slow and that's how I'll change the future. You're dead and I can't have it any other way.
From one Barry to another.

I drive home, just the two of us in the abyss of the Midwestern fields. I've shown her my other background, the one which is mine by relation. As the sun sets and we switch drivers, she plays stick wars on my phone and my eyes move left above the trees to the navy blue sky. Three of us go to visit Barry Rowen, none of us knowing him. I put a measly $5.00 towards a plant and look at the grave. We stand for a second or two. No memories, no prayers, we stand. It's respect in Adulthood.

Post-Thanksgiving Meal Nap

I had a river once

she was born a stream

but men came along and filled her up

and now shes the ohio

and that means a lot to me,

because I didn't get the job with that piece of info

I worked for that illusion

and it carried me as long as it could

one final day it decided on its own

its time to set me free

Cincinnati i'm not mad at you, I just wish you would have told me

these are things we can talk about

build more buildings

make your towers higher than any

don't worry about money, the money will come

but its going to come through truth

in your current state the honest dollar is running out

but I think I know you well enough and you

I've been around

but you, you'll make your decision

we'll either go our separate ways or we won't

so think, think about the future,

think about the past.

Illinois

My resonators echos, sometimes too much; more than I can handle.

Cincinnati’s got me down.

“I’ll be in Nashville by the morning, cause Cincinnati’s got me down.”

I drive to Kroger right across the street. This is not a drive. I start to think to myself how much better this place looked last year. It’s not disappointing, it just is. This is the full extent of Highland Heights. Every now and then while I’m riding the TANK that I look over at the houses surrounding campus. They have old brick and are littered by trees and this is almost an old college town.
Louisville is the same way, at least what I’ve seen. Any street along Bardstown in fall, now that will convince you, but you keep driving and you’ll wind up near 75 in no time. I don’t relish the place I grew up, but I’ve grown out. That’s hard when you have no money, nor any credit with anything to your name.

I ride a riverboat everyday. We can be packed or completely empty at any given time. Yesterday it was eight. I took a picture of two and they weren’t interested. The captain forgot he had to work and we left fifteen minutes late. And as we pulled out of the dock he scrambled to button his shirt, he drank from a plastic cup and cleared his throat.
Out it comes.
“Well folks, let me first welcome you to Cincinnati.”
He speaks of how the river was once a fourth this size, how pioneers rode flatbeds down, but weren’t able to go back up, and how in the summer you could cross between Newport and Cincinnati.
I picture Ford’s “How The West Was Won” but these me were real, and how did they feel about the city.
And I worry that these are side thoughts, that this is the echo of every dream within me as they dwindle down into an abyss.
Are these cities living a lie? Are the Carolinas everything I dreamed they are.
Utah, Maine, or wherever the travels take me, life moves farther with a girl and a car.

Basic Drawing has changed my life-NO JOKE. I can draw a wine bottle in 2D forced perspective, thus I can draw Henry in 2D forced perspective.

And:


http://www.vimeo.com/14558733

Florence Y'all

It's reassuring moving into the dorm, meeting the roommate, and showing the friends. I suppose its kind of shocking once you put up all your posters and feel the comfort. I am removed from my seven-year residence where I made all my movies. Here though, I think great things may happen, maybe even Henry 2?
Anyway life s smooth and expensive, but all right when you're not picking up the tab (or working on a riverboat).
And maybe its just a blog to blog this month, maybe I'm phasing out of the blog. I hate that this is the lifespan of a blog, but finding purpose for these is hard and maybe even rhetorical.

How are we to see these characters? Are they the world Barry projects himself onto? Are other people merely imperfect copies of himself? Or do they serve to represent the overwhelming self-image, the way Barry truly sees himself, and in effect set off the main character as an idealized form of Barry, one which he sees as separate and disconnected from the crowding masses bearing his likeness?

Never gonna sleep this one off.

How I would prefer college

It's like the ending of Big Fish where Albert Finney is being carried into the river and sees everyone he has ever known, except in my version no one has ever been to Ryle and no one knows my name.

EIT

It felt like I was stuck in YouTube for two hours, just with more V-necks and pants tucked into socks.

Walton Bike Rides Be Still Ft. Janelle Monae (Produced By Royal Flush)

There is a bare lamp pole standing in the middle of this room. The fake gold skin reflects the sun's fluorescent sunlight after a summer rain. I keep looking out that window, the fences one next to the other, all manufactured the same. Everyone has a fire pit and some lawn chairs, they all love a good fire. Each fire is different though and that's dearly important. Where you get your wood, where you purchased the pit, why you're lighting the fire, the size, these are all very intricate options allowing for some originality in the mock wilderness of Brookstone. We don't have a home owners association and that's our edge.
It's this rainy day that makes me sad and reminiscent. I sit on my twin mattress next to all the posters and pictures of things I love.  I'll take them to college to have a piece of myself with me at all times.
I met my roommate and he seems like a decent guy. By met I mean we "facebooked." We're guys there isn't any reason to get overtly chatty.
I scribble some notes down for Henry Two, the act is a bit pretentious, but when I sketch out Henry's love interest on paint, she seems to be what I had envisioned and there is surely some satisfaction there. It's paint, but it is surely art. I thrust my life into this one, unlike any other story. So what, it will be viewed probably fifty times at max and probably seventy-five accidentally. Number of views will depend upon the number of people I tell in person or see on facebook. There is so much more to appreciate though, the kind of helping hands that have always been there. There's the delight my Father brings with his deep bellied chuckling laughter, which slips into discussion aloud and within his own head.  He throws analysis into the subconscious meaning I must have implanted regardless of truth or not. There is the separate showing to my mother where I thrust her into my own world and she is deeply impressed whether she entirely gets it or not. There are friends some near and some far who have grown with my you tube hits and have been subjected to the grandeur I apply to the release of a "Barry Rowen Film." Regardless of whether it is deserved or not.

Switch from Big Boi's new album to The Avett Brother's The Gleam.

I'm going to yard sale less than a month. Maybe we'll have a Winnebago, or an old 1973 Beetle, but if nothing else we'll take a Jetta and a Kia Rio. This year's Yard Sale will probably be smaller, but it's charmingly intimate. You're with the people you generally do want to share time with and not abuse on Facebook or Formspring, remnants of high school etc. You spend the day only an hour away from your subdivision in places like Owenton or Ghent, but Northern Kentucky has this bizarre transient watch of it's own, thus it is worthy of being deemed a road trip.

Union: 25 minutes one way you can see a Broadway Show, 25 minutes in the opposing direction you can be sitting in a lawn chair on the porch of the Glencoe General Store.
That's road trip enough for me this summer, 2010.

When I'm capable of love, when I'm full to the brim of my heart.

I have a style now

time to get a different camera, slow mo slow mo to the grave it would seem

The Q

I love the Subway.
It's riding the School Bus, but these are adults, thus given it's tradition I always feel that there is a tremendous amount of comradeship. We rode in this morning, about a twenty-five minute trip iinto Manhattan. Every now and then you'll get somebody crossing cars and walking into yours. You know that they're different just for the sake of moving between cars, not worried about someone stopping them or staring. Occasionally it's some homeless guy shouting in need, occasionally crazy, sometimes just desperate and embarrassed, they smell of hot dogs and body odor and they appeal to your better nature or your upscale "homeless means gross" nature (which is pretty much mine, fakers are in abundance) they reach out there hand and you toss some money into a Tropicana carton. Today it was Dancer that walked on. They warned us ahead of time, there will be dancing, we should be prepared to see some hot shit. Three of them walked on, two black, one white. The first guy started, he ran down doing flips, jumping from the pole hitting the ground with is hands. They performed back flips up and down, tied their hand together, rolled down. "Whoever said white men can't jump," one guy said about his white co-star. The guy did some flips with the other partner and hits his head on the ceiling, leaving a big red mark. White men can't jump I guess. Some people are just ignoring them and their boom box, some are staring, my family doesn't applaud, but I manage a slow and subtle clap. They hold out their flat bills for money and i wish i had broken that twenty in my pocket. It was impressive, it was impressive because they broke the ice on that subway ride, because they through themselves out there. There's a  lot of power if you can manage to entertain a subway car full of strangers, full of preconceived notions, tourists trying to be New Yorkers, New Yorkers trying to tell them apart and vice versa. I think I can dig a Hardy niche for myself here, when the time comes, and it will, even if i have to break dance.

Seedy Seeds Sedy Seds

I had a dream last night, the stereotypical party with everyone you know or knew. They were all there living or dead. My deceased Cousin Bethany was sitting on the end of a sectional telling me how wasted she got the previous night. I chuckled and my eyes wandered around looking at her family whom in real life misses her dearly, but for this moment was just another one of there kids. The couch surrounded an enormous bonfire which everyone surrounded, and by everyone, I mean everyone I have ever known. I arrived at Ryle, the Auditorium, back when Perkins was around, except this time the auditorium was large and grand, balconies like the Arnoff. We were still working on some project, there were enormous ladders so that one could travel from balcony to balcony. Culp was at the bottom practicing a song as I saw Alex in a long overcoat move down the ladder.

I hope to God I'm making a film by this time next year. NKU, a young film program, promising, but not if no one has any idea what you're talking about. I'm not berating  people before I meet them, just looking out for my best interest and wondering where that interest lies.

Driving down 75 away from the city. Cincinnati had it's charms, but I feel like I will have exhausted them in a year or two. Poses is playing in the CD player. Louis and I, to two talented people, will we leave?


It always happens, I'm not even in college yet, and already sure that I will never get out.
Monday I'm flying to New York. Seeing a show everyday, my father's style. It's been a year and a half, many things have changed, including the spouse in attendance. I think this will be an eyeopening trip, but the question is which direction. Will this city seem staggeringly unapproachable, or will i knock em' dead. Hope it remembers me. I don't remember it.





Final thoughts:
The Seedy Seeds would e totez cooler if they played anything live.
There is some mean banjo playing as well as drum work that should be given a chance.
If they do not perform everything live, i am forced to assume they are the Monkeys, and thus do not play there own instruments. END

There Is Nothing Like The Drive Back From The Pink House