We did. And it's because of you. Motherfucker. You, who can't tell between Netflix and a movie, Spotify and music, science and sarasa, freedom and your selfish need to be rewarded for not having done anything interesting, probably ever. Of course it's ridiculous, like saying Oh we won't bring children into this terrible, terrible world. But it does feel a bit like that. It feels like sharing anything nice would be a waste, unfair to the thing itself, now that most humans have gotten so unnice, to put it mildly. (Yes, unnice is a word, we didn't know either.)
Thus we have retired underwater to do nothing, or rather to do the things we usually like (and some we don't like) without depending on an audience for a while. In fact, we feel that the very idea of an audience may be antiquated. We feel that we should either invent something new or go back, waaay back to something more artisanal. Preferably in warmer weather. We have plans. We will soon tell you more about them. Or not.
MFA Graduate Screenwriting Program, University of Southern California. Fulbright Scholar. Screenwriter, Filmmaker, Photographer, Illustrator, Musician, Cultural Agitator. (In order of proficiency). He lives in East Sussex, UK.
Gone. We're on hiatus. We moved hosts. Even TP has closed its archive and we don't know if it will ever come back. TSW is still online and we have new ones, not to be released until later. The world has changed and we understand that we must change too, clearly in the opposite direction.
We like conversation. Which is a problem, because no one does it anymore. We come up for air on Twitter every day, but it's not pleasant, except maybe late at night, among people who don't have to wake up early. The rest just feels like global secondary school. Not a compliment.
So look for us, we're always open for one-on-one interaction. Old friends that we have difficulty staying in touch with: write to us. And if we don't know each other yet, even better. We're here. Let's conspire against this shit. Even if it amounts to nothing, the conspiring itself yields a better life than the conforming.