Monday, 14 July 2014
"I started late. I don't want to die with a good idea. I want to get it out."
"I remind myself it really isn’t work. My dad was a laborer who got up at 5:30 each morning and worked for 50 years in all weathers for, by showbiz standards, petty cash. I remind myself of that every time I feel a bit hard done by. Winston Churchill said if you find a job you love, you’ll never work again. And that’s what it feels like. I used to be a lazy person, unambitious, a slacker, but now I’m a workaholic, because of the privileged position I’ve found myself in.
Fame is an upshot of what I do. If you're a successful comedian or actor, then you're a famous one. But it’s a by-product. It’s not the driving force. The making of it is the fun for me—not the money or the awards. It’s the process that I love, and the most exciting part is the creative thought. I’ve never done anything for a million pounds that I wouldn’t have done for free. Likewise, the awards are a thrill, but deep down I know it's only the opinions of a few people; it doesn't matter whether you win or lose. What matters is the work. You tried your hardest and you're proud of it. That's the important thing."
Labels:
comedy,
on comedy,
ricky gervais
Monday, 7 July 2014
Thursday, 3 July 2014
morning star
a dance with the Devil
always begins
with
the skin
under my
fingernails
torn apart
as we dig into
each others'
dermis,
deep into
the somber ocean
of memory
where she
dissolves
into ashes
where I
wait for her
sinking
wrecked and
broken.
a dance with the Devil
always begins
with
a silent passing
the obituary
of us
sweet and sour
as we split
like the atom
drown,
fall asleep
under the stars
and forget each
others'
faces
the echo of
our first
laughs
it was never
just
a dance
more a
nightmarish
ritual
the summoning
of storms
and rain
arresting,
combustible
magic
that ends in pain.
always begins
with
the skin
under my
fingernails
torn apart
as we dig into
each others'
dermis,
deep into
the somber ocean
of memory
where she
dissolves
into ashes
where I
wait for her
sinking
wrecked and
broken.
a dance with the Devil
always begins
with
a silent passing
the obituary
of us
sweet and sour
as we split
like the atom
drown,
fall asleep
under the stars
and forget each
others'
faces
the echo of
our first
laughs
it was never
just
a dance
more a
nightmarish
ritual
the summoning
of storms
and rain
arresting,
combustible
magic
that ends in pain.
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