Saturday, December 29, 2012


Too many ideas and my brain won’t quit... 
so much in my head that my dreams won’t sit 
well when I wake and try to remember what they said... 
coffee at noon to chase wine in the moonlight 
and I can’t keep it straight in my head... 
no shit... 
there’s no rest in peace in my bed... 
there’s no rest... 
there’s no peace... 
there’s no bed... 
I type with fingers that fail when words are said... 
fingers that bled 
when they spoke for the thoughts unsaid... 
so many times that I quit in my head... 
no one will miss one bit... 
not spoken... 
not thought... 
not read.

Too many ideas.

© Copyright 2012 Bill Friday

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Advil and Alcohol Cures Everything

Will you please come to me in my dreams, after three and before four, when the pain is less and sleep comes best to my sleepless brain?

The pain in my mouth has almost gone with the sunrise.  A root canal on the horizon, like the dawn.  Three Advil after clammy night sweats, and sleep tries to claim me again.

Will you please come to me in my dreams, after four and before five, when my thoughts express my hopelessness, and my soul needs its rest?

The pain came back in crashing waves as the sun appeared without warning.  Gray-pink light from the fetal position, and there is no fucking way... no fucking way.

Will you please come to me in my dreams, after six and before seven, when the sun is raw as an exposed and dying nerve? 

The pain isn't all in my body, or in my hanging head.  It’s closer to my soul.  And like anyone could tell you, my soul is dead. 

Will you please come to me in my dreams, if I have them, after eight or nine or ten?  When the sun hangs low and the night comes back, and I’m too tired to feel.

The pain is no more.  It has gone the way of my soul.  Rest is inevitable, if rest is what it should be called.  Maybe just a break between struggles... with what’s real.

Will you please come to me in my dreams, when my dreams are the truth, and my open eyes look at what can’t be so?

                A new pain.  What is real.  Above the lies.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

Monday, July 30, 2012


I never hit her, although once she took a swing at me.
I put my arms up, and she bruised herself on one more bony than she.

I never left her, until the day that she left me.
I had patience.  The kind that lasts a lifetime.  Till there was no more we.

I never loved her, but I thought so when I was too young to see.
Only blinded till I wasn’t any longer.  It was just stupidity.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

Friday, July 27, 2012


I don’t want to be right now, if being means I care. 
If caring means I need to be today.
A future with no past I can bear, or at least look forward to. 
Not the need to cease to be today.
I see another day to be, not this one, but somewhere. 
To live my deepest need to be someday.
A time of then and there, with you. 
Nothing left to be or do, but we. 
Or another thing to say.    

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

(and follow Bill at Expats Post) 

Sunday, July 22, 2012

The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"... Based on a True Story?

Every writer, no matter the genre, will eventually run into (or run over and fall into) that giant sucking sinkhole of creative quicksand... alliterative pun full intended... the, “how close is too close?” question.  Mulling this over for a solid five minutes before I began writing today’s entry in The Screenplay Diary, it got me to thinking about something you see in the super short TV trailers for films about to be released (or released straight to DVD).

Something I now call, “the source tag”.

“A true story”… “Based on a true story”... “Inspired by true events”... “From an original concept developed by”... “Stolen from the intellectual property of”...  Seriously, where does it end?  And where does a writer have to draw the hard line between life informing fiction, and autobiography? 

You tell me when you figure it out, because I have no idea.

As with pretty much anything I’ve ever written that has ended up read in public places, the crafting of personal words usually find their way into the light because of very personal experiences.  Personal, that is, unless they are the very personal words of some other “character” in the story.  And sometimes, a story that’s too close can take on an unanticipated (at least for the viewer) element of extreme Cinema verite.    

For the sake of once such character, this Screenplay Diary marks the end of one in particular which has dominated the last several of entries.  For all who have been regular readers here, it’s time for you to say goodbye (for now) to the character of Buddy.


INT. WAREHOUSE – Late Afternoon

Buddy sits at his computer in the dispatch office.  Robbie enters, and flops into a spare office chair, never looking up from texting.  Buddy’s desk phone rings.

                                                                                BUDDY (on phone)
                                                Yes?  Sure... be right there.
                                                                (mutters, half in Tagalog)
                                                Ina fucker.

                                                Who’s that?


                                                The big boss?  What’s he want?

                                                He’s going to fire me.                    

                                                He can’t do that!

                                                He thinks he can.

                                                What are you going to do?

                                                I’ve got peek-chures.  Sa aking lock-air.

                                                In your locker?  Pictures of what?

                                                Peek-chures of Randall giving me my job back.
                                                And maybe a raise.

                                                No really.  Pictures of what?

                                                Ang pinakamahusay na hindi mo alam
            Best you don’t know.

Robbie stops texting.

                                                Seriously, why?

                                                Because then, I would have to kill you...
                                                and the goat.

The desk phone rings again.  Buddy answers it.

                                                 I'll be right there... Randall.

See you later Buddy.  And see you all later too.  Next time... a love story.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday 

Saturday, June 23, 2012

The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"... The Resident

The secondary character in a film can do one (or several) thing(s) to help a screen story come to life... or pull the plug on a story’s failing life-support... quicker than that brilliant soliloquy you’ve already written 100 pages in advance, for your lead character to monologue during the great, big, Shyamalanesque, didn’t-see-it-coming reveal at the end of the final scene.  The secondary character can inform the plot, move the story along in both actions and words... especially when the lead characters are stuck hip-deep in some kind of lead character, existential quicksand (like all lead characters tend to be).  

The right kind of secondary character, good guy or bad guy, lights the fire... or kicks the ass... of the leads.  And a great secondary character, whether it’s Heath Ledger’s The Joker in The Dark Knight, or Ken Jeong’s Leslie Chow inthe Hangover, or even Anthony Michael Hall’s Farmer Ted in Sixteen Candles, the best secondary character is usually a scene stealer.

In The Screenplay Diary, I have introduced one particular secondary character, Buddy.  In this entry, Buddy’s last for a while, this secondary character is introduced (with the audience) to his own secondary character.  The supporting actor’s “supporting actor”.  Kind of like John Cusack’s Bryce... standing side by side with Farmer Ted... in Sixteen Candles.

In “Between Love and Orgasms”, the secondary character of Buddy, best friend and messenger company boss to the script’s main character, Robbie, encounters own best-supporting nemesis in a character known as “The Resident”.

INT. Office – NIGHT. 

Robbie and Buddy sit in swivel chairs... Buddy working the dispatch computer, Robbie on his iPhone.  The clock on the wall reads “11:49”.  

Out of the frame, the loud sound of a large office access door, opening and closing.
A MAN... Black, early thirties, wearing horn rimmed glasses and a cardigan... enters, without speaking.  He walks through the frame, straight to the MEN’S ROOM.     

                                                                Who’s that?

                                                                                (half in Tagalog)
                                                                Ang aking bagong kasama.  My new roommate.

                                                                                (not looking up)
                                                                Where’d ya find him?

                                                                He works days... here... in customer service.
At the edge of the frame, the men’s room door squeaks open.  The man walks through again.  He makes no eye contact with Robbie or Buddy.  Out of the frame again, break room kitchen noise is heard... dishes, microwave, a can falling from a soda vending machine.

                                                                                (still texting)
                                                                Then why is he here... now?

The kitchen sounds go silent.  The man carries a bowl of popcorn and a can of soda into the main office area.  He gives a blank look at Buddy and Robbie, and then heads to his office cubicle.  He sits at the desk, and begins to watch a movie from Netflix on his desktop company computer.   

                                                                He lives here... now.

The man giggles at something while watching his movie.

                                                                For how long now?

                                                                Ng ilang araw... sa isang lingo.  About a week.

                                                                When is he leaving?

                                                                I didn’t ask.

                                                                Every night?

                                                                Every night.

LOUD BELLY LAUGHTER booms from the cubicle.

                                                                So he’s a resident.

Robbie gets up to leave.

                                                                Don’t go.


                                                                Siya ay mabaliw.

                                                                                (tilts head)

                                                                He’s cray-see.

The man appears, seemingly from nowhere, staring blankly at Buddy and Robbie.

                                                                                                THE RESIDENT
                                                                Anyone want popcorn?

The man heads back to the break room without waiting for an answer.

                                                                I’m outta here.

And I’m outta here... till next  time.  

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"... Just Keep Writing

A couple of days ago, I got an exceptionally nice mention in a blog post written by a very dear friend, in which she mentioned my ongoing efforts at writing a screenplay.  After reading the post (and spending another day mulling over the idea that sometimes people recognize you as much for your attempted accomplishments as they do for the ones that you have actually accomplished), I realized that it had be months since I posted my own article on where I am in the process of taking an idea, and turning it into a finished, 100 plus page manifestation of the original spark inside my dimly lit writer’s mind.

My conclusion (after the day of mulling) is that, while life can be life’s own biggest ball and chain, there comes a time in the writer’s life when he just has to take the advice of his 9th grade typing teacher and (thank you Mr. Wanous), “Just keep typing”.  There will never be a better time for putting your story on the (computer) screen, than the moments you have right the hell now.  It doesn't matter if it’s a few words out of a character’s mouth, scribbled in the margin of a work report from the night job you blame for keeping you from writing in the first place... it doesn't matter if it’s an illegally thumb-typed (remember that texting to yourself while driving is also a finable offense in California) memo on the notepad app on your cell phone.  And it sure as hell doesn’t matter if it’s one brilliant plot twist that you have on a wallpaper post-it on your laptop.  Script is script.  And writing is writing, even when it doesn’t feel anymore like writing than Cheetos feels like food.

“Just keep typing”.

As always, I will leave you with a small portion of the unfinished script of Between Love and Orgasms.  In this scene, between Robbie, the main character, and his best Tagalog-speaking, Filipino work friend Buddy (a character I always see being played by the one and only Ken Jeong), Buddy is attempting to explain why the only thing worse than sex with your next-door neighbor’s Russian wife is sex on the internet.

                                               Paano ko ito sinasabi? It's kinda like bragging
                                               about a  3 inch penis in a roomful of porn stars,
                                               and getting away with it... until you decide to
                                               meet for real, and then Ikaw ay fucked sa 
                                               pamamagitan ng hindi pa fucked.

                                               Google translate that one for me please.

                                                You get fucked by not getting fucked.

So, I'll keep typing... and see you next time.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Bill Friday To Be Inaugural Guest On Expats Radio


It's Always Friday, in cooperation with Expats Media and BlogTalkRadio, presents... "Expats Radio talks with Bill Friday".  Hosted by writer and activist and Publisher of Expats Post, Dean Walker, Expats Radio will feature authors and artists seen on the pages of Expats Post.

This Friday, May 11, at 3 p.m. Pacific Time, It's Always Friday's own Bill Friday will appear as the first guest on the inaugural broadcast of Expats Radio, live on BlogTalkRadio.  The show will also be taking your phone calls live for Dean and Bill by calling 1 (646) 200-4691 or 1 (646) 200-GO 91.  

The program will also be available to hear 24 hours a day at BlogTalkRadio's Expats Media - News and Entertainment page, where you can find links to all things Expats, including Twitter, Facebook, RSS subscription, and how to get Expats Radio for your iPhone from the iTunes store.  

See you then.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

(the) Philosophy Of Shit

Think... or get off the pot.
I wrote the following words this past week, and posted them on Facebook, during a time of emotional upheaval... 

Philosophy of Shit. 

“Taking shit from somebody indicates a felt need for more shit in one’s life… Giving a shit indicates a history of needlessly taking shit from others… 

To say that I no longer give a shit, or take shit, from anyone, anymore, about anything, indicates that my personal shit levels are finally right where they should be… 

No shit.”

Monday, April 9, 2012

Sometimes Love Can't Shut Up

A spoken word reflection on love...

Sometimes love can’t shut up.  It’s a bad habit that love can’t seem to break... not that it ever tried.  Love always seems to talk at the worst possible times.  Like when other much more deserving emotions wish to say their peace, and walk away.  I swear there are times that love, if it was smarter, would save itself the ass-whuppin’, and just move along.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"... Taking a Turn for the Words

My favorite story (out of many) about the bringing of story to screen is the story of the 2005 Academy Award nominated film Sideways.

The film was an adaptation of the novel of the same name, written by a relative failure by Hollywood standards (author Rex Pickett), ironically about a man who is a failure as novelist. The story also mirrors Pickett’s life as a quasi-alcoholic in search of success in mid-life, after years of failed attempts to break through to mainstream industry acceptance.

Sometimes lost in the story of the making of Sideways is the tucked-away fact that Pickett’s novel was still unpublished at the time it was being turned into the surprise hit of 2004. Director Alexander Payne “discovered” the story, reading the novel in waiting on a flight from Edinburgh to Los Angeles. But for me, the part of the “lost in the story” story that influences me the most is that a finished, but unsold, story served as an industry “calling card” to get the story of Sideways in the hands of the right person to make Rex Pickett’s words make it to the big screen. Which led me to this conclusion...

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Muth Labben

Today is for counting my wasted yesterdays
Each one neatly lined up, row on dusty row

Every year the same...

Today is for remembering your unborn tomorrows
And the time I sit, because walking is too slow

There is no blame...

Today is for pretending to make sense of the past
From a life ended, with nothing to show

When I speak your name...

Today is for thinking that memories last
But all they do is fade, until they go...

Like every unfinished song to be sung...

About the death of a son.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

Saturday, February 4, 2012

I Am Fucked No More


A reissue of my final column for a soon-to-be deceased internet venue.  Please follow the link to the beautiful, new Expats Post, the new home of Friday On Friday, and a whole lineup of talented writers.

For now, here is "I Am Fucked No More" 

Epiphany in my time of greatest need
that the shit on which I feed no longer satisfies my empty beggars gut
as it once did
I am whole within myself
and no sorry-ass opinion of my well-chronicled condition
matters now or in the future
as it once did
like before
I’m telling all
from now on
broken gone
I am fucked no more.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Out of a Crowd

I wouldn’t choose you today if I had to.

Out of a crowd, or all alone.

this makes me want to die

Maybe only to save you from some something.                                                                

Not for the old, not for the new if I had to.

this teaches me to lie  

It’s sad and it’s true.

but only to get by  

Because there’s not much else to do.

no more asking why

With you.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday
content originally appeared on the website Expats Post

Saturday, January 21, 2012


I have seen the way I see you, forever.
In the now and then, the same
Never worse, only better,
In honesty, not shame…

I have seen the way I see you, forever.
Not your lover, not your brother, in name.
Without end, or beginning,
Only right now today…

As I see you.