pvlshd - Tumblr blog

[pvlshd]

what haunts you?

so many fucking things, isn't this the point of art ? exorcise those thoughts those demons, tell stories, hope against hope answers or enlightenment come through the void or simply to shine a light on something no one seems to see or talk about enough. the spectre of his dead sister, lurking in the corner of his mind — not in the form of guilt, no. it's some sort of fucking imprint that he doesn't want. " a few years ago, 2016, i think. i was having trouble with a certain, script... and i went into a hole, as you do — one thing leads to another, i'm in south america on ayahuasca... it was more than a transformative experience, the result of that... immaterial things notwithstanding... still haunts me... constantly. like an STD i can't shake. "

[pvlshd]

favorite people?

the breath he takes in is so slow, and so long, he might have died midway. favourite people ? is there a sample size ? is there a category ? is there no category ? what is the point of this exercise ? " i think, in life, you get to be a certain age, where you just... stop ranking people. and by that i mean, people. not them in their jobs, politicians, actors, athletes. even if i did name three names right now, i might be cussing them out at the end of the week, what happens then, would i have lied ? " has he driven in the pointlessness of this yet. " my ex-girlfriend, name, not important she did a great job with me... for awhile and we still talk. marty from back home. and my cat is not a person, but my cat, i really care about my cat, the needy fucker. and uh... i don't know man. akira kurosawa, may he rest in peace. "

[pvlshd]

🥭

🥭  :    how important to my muse is their hometown,  or where they’re from?  are they proud of it,  or considered a hometown hero?  did they move away,  or do they wish to?

the way louis talks about new york, brooklyn especially, outside of talkshows ,you'd think he's describing hell on earth. he has a million and one problems with a million and one little things in a way only a local can, but when he is anywhere else, he'll be annoyed at all the differences in the new locale that isn't more like where he is from. he maintains a carefully curated sort of ambivalence about these places. he doesn't necessarily want too many people knowing the things he loves particularly, the best kept secrets. tourists can keep to their spots and he'll keep to his. he might have a home in L.A and elsewhere in europe, and those homes are somewhat transient, he moves every now and then, engages in that real estate game of tetris, but his place in new york remains a stable stomping ground, he's only moved homes there once in the last ten years.

[pvlshd]

tell the truth louis, how do you feel about bees?

" i fucking love bees, bees win oscars, i will not elaborate, and also fuck you adelaide. "

[pvlshd]

is it true you have mommy issues?

the keen gaze lingers for a moment and he leans forward. " first lets define... mommy issues. what exactly are you asking me — do i seek maternal care in every woman i meet ? no, that's disgusting. do i have issues with the way my mother died ? not really, she was suffering. but that's reality. in a dreamscape sort of way... who is the mother ? a life-giving entity, mother earth, the food we eat, the things that make life worth being sentient for. there's a new documentary that just came out, a consortium forged by ritual murders, just so happens to be what life is about. i thought that contradiction was interesting, the perspective isn't all that new, but the way he went with it — barrett, i appreciated, it was unique. he's a good friend of mine, i recommend it. "

[pvlshd]

honesty week !

louis

[pvlshd]

glrlrot​:

location: undisclosed, new pad in L.A intruder: @glrlrot​

     “    aw .   ”      she utters mockingly ,    a single drop of venom dribbling down the corner of her mouth, betraying her angelical features .     “     i considered going with ‘new step mother’ ,   but i thought that would upset you .   ”    she shrugs, casually avoiding his question .   she needs to remind herself to be kinder to him —- he’s sensitive .    “   louis,  ”     her long, pale legs eat up so much room with each step it doesn’t take her two seconds to creep closer,  seemingly unfazed by his agitated demeanor .    “     don’t be mad at me .    ”   her voice is a gentle purl,  innocuous.    “     it’s a gift .    don’t you wanna find out what it is ?     don’t worry — it won’t bite this time .   i’ve made sure of it .    ”        sometimes ,   it’s hard to tell when she’s joking .

“ new st — ”  hand closes into fist and his mouth presses shut with the vigour of his distaste, as if his blood pressure can be conveyed in the muffled hoarse vibration at the back of his throat — a growl graciously consumed barbs and all, and whatever irritation he controls inside the enclosure of a hard, dry palm. eyes remain fixed on her, ignoring the vexed impulse to move in tandem with her weight, a swinging pendulum, ensuring the equilibrium of space with the swing of her gait. “ no. no. i don’t, ”  a part of him is certain she doesn’t walk around toting her pet snake to any and all available to judge her for it, no he’s just that fucking lucky.  “  you open it.  ”

[pvlshd]

location: private booth by the balcony, the parlour unfortunate: @mdwomn​ , midday

he is early. spots her from his spot, away from the reserved table, before he ashes the cigarette, glass in hand and makes his way back. “  hello — good to see you —ms galante, i’m louis. ”  lewis, he always says. he does the opposite of correct people when his name is read out loud, he wrongs them; the ones that think they know french, but from the backwater dumpster he is from ? he has always been louis — that is — lou-is. the ‘s’ is not fucking silent. “  i cannot say i’ve been familiar with your work, i was sent a reel just an hour ago, but i think i spotted you at vanity fair’s after party,  ”  and he never forgets a face.

[pvlshd]

location: undisclosed, new pad in L.A intruder: @glrlrot​

“ you have to STOP telling the new staff that you’re my wife. how did you even find me?!  ”  it’s insulting. it’s insulting that anyone would ever believe it, but he cannot begrudge ignorance as much as he resents the stupidity, or the fact that every description of adelaide’s physical attributes in a combination leads him to think of someone else and if he possessed even a modicum less of self-restraint he’d berate her even more for accentuating the most generic of identifiers. platinum blonde ? doe eyes ?   his mother’s aesthetic ?  “  and what the hell is that ?!  ”   

[pvlshd]

tinseltowns​:

location: warner brothers oopsie: @tinseltowns​

             “humble  abode?”  julia  arches  an  eyebrow,  lips  wryly  quirked  upwards.  call  her  sentimental,  even  laughably  so,  but  sometimes  she  just  enjoys  strolling  the  studio  lots  to  give  herself  that  impassioned  reminder  of  why  she  does  any  of  this  —  because  she  loves  the  magic  of  it  all,  watching  casts  and  crews  come  together  to  create  something  that  lights  up  the  world,  words  on   paper  becoming  life  onscreen.  it’s  been  in  her  blood  before  she  was  even  born,  and  even  when  the  industry  gives  her  a  goddamn  migraine,  knowing  her  place  in  the  arts  always  brings  julia  back  to  equilibrium.  it’s  just  a  plus  that  louis  happened  to  be  lurking  around  today,  and  even  a  casually  dressed  julia,  with  weary  eyes  hidden  behind  feline  shades  and  a  crisp  white  blouse  loosely  tucked  in  her  jeans,  can’t  resist  a  playful  intermission.  “sorry  if  i’m  interrupting  anything  serious,  junior,  i  just  thought  i’d  see  the  master  at  work  …  but  it  looks  like  scorsese  isn’t  around,  so  i  figured  i’d  say  hi  to  you,  too.”  her  smirk  deepens  as  pale  arms  languidly  fold  across  her  chest,  nodding  towards  his  glass,  “gonna  assume  that  isn’t  mineral  water.  got  any  more  around  here?  if  not,  you’re  a  rotten  hostess.”

“  thought it’d sound nicer than the site of my rotting corpse. i like to think i’m a patient man, but after the twentieth minute i start to feel my life force draining out of my eyeballs. but you don’t have to worry about that, we’re still on minute fourteen.  ”  he should’ve brought something other than just his fucking phone, it is a mistake he will not make again. he shifts in his seat, he’s been on it for awhile.  “   do you practise that one in front of the mirror with different names, or am i just special ?  it’s tequila. one of those blanco, sipping varieties. why don’tchu sit down sayre-sullivan,  i’m a gentleman, i can rustle up a minion or two for you —  ”  the ‘gentleman’,  rolls  past her toward the door with a smooth kick and a swing of his legs, popping his head out to spot that mousey face that had ‘new’ , ‘terrified’  and ‘ardent fan’ stamped all over it earlier, who he’ll request for one more.  when he returns, his relaxed position renews.  “  so you are here to see nellie then ?  doesn’t seem to be taking to this new promotion very well. what did you end up doing after that party ? you were still there when i left, i think. ”  

[pvlshd]

avangelines​:

( … )

“to everyone else in the room? almost certainly.”

it nearly feels like the hour to tell a story. nearly. another few clicks of a short hand on a white face, and ava might have started on i couldn’t even get through a sentence that didn’t keep your name inside it. could have said, you didn’t stray any farther than the edge of my perfume. if it had been any later in the evening, she might have.

but it’s still early. everyone inside has a long way to go before they pass the threshold of unbearable inebriation, louis is rewarding her quips with a look crossed between amusement and caution, and the lights are raised high enough that he can read the reverie on her face. it’s too early, really, and there’s no need to recite a story when you can see the pictures playing across the screen.

ava doesn’t mind, knowing she plays like a projector in front of louis; the memory is one warm, hard soap-bubble on the inside of her ribs. fond, ephemeral, outlasting. 

“you know, it’s the funniest thing,” she starts, knowing what she’s about to say, but quite unsure as to why she’s decided to say it. “i was thinking of you just last week. i was entirely worn out from a shoot,” i was tired, and exhausted, and all of those words, as i almost always am, and i was taking something to help with it. “but it was all i could do to slip in and out of sleep. i’d nod off, then every twenty minutes or so, i’d wake up again. i had these little snippets of dreams; strange little anthologies, almost. and in the middle of the night i woke up again and suddenly thought, ‘i’m famished’. positively starved. but all i wanted was one of those —” a hand pulls from the railing, thumb and forefinger gesturing into a broken moon shape. “those little honey cakes from that shop in prague. i fell asleep again, woke up again; the same thing. this intense craving. but this time i was up, without really thinking about it, tying my robe, looking for my phone. i was going to call you. i think, for a moment, i really believed we were there still.” laughter breaks up what she’s saying. trying to say. what she’s not sure she’s saying. breathy, sweet. “it wasn’t until i saw your name that i remembered i was here and you were in new york.” 

he can see that spark in her eyes  —- no,  no not a spark, a faraway glow that seems to approach, looming larger as it closes in and then blooms; a formless thing taking shape if you only bother to see past the glare. she goes off on a tangent in that melody of hers that he knows too well. he could close his eyes and know which way she’d move: the angle of her shoulders, exactly which point of the next phrase the head will tip. her story is charming, it’s easy to lose focus, she had cravings in the middle of the night, the confusion off a sleep-addled brain almost led her to make a whimsical blunder, he can encapsulate it into a single sentence in moments, but no, what he is watching here, is the way she chooses to tell it. long-winded, but effective in rolling the tape of his imagination, because he knows, what she looks like, in all those little moments — when she is tired, when she is restless, the delicate way she’d take a bite out of those fucking cakes, the material of her robe and what she’d feel like under it, and then wrapped in a pretty bow of a reference ti all the things that had happened in prague.  he can’t help but wonder, if this is a hook that’s just occurred to her, or if it is a tether she is grabbing onto, to keep herself — or him, in that balcony, just a little longer, before he starts to say the thing that is already there at the back of his mind: we can’t be out here alone for too long. too open. too exposed.  

strange little anthologies.  the phrase brings a quicker huff of grey from his airways, tapping ash over the railing before scraping his middle finger over his cupid’s bow. it’s a private chuckle he won’t expound on. ava is a bird in a plane, all featherlight and silken to touch, caught in an inescapable dream, she flies... soars... but whether that’s to where she wants ?  he can’t tell. that part has never been his job. and the personal time they’ve spent, he’s never delved too deeply into finding out because he doesn’t want to find an answer that he doesn’t like. things get complicated. complicated in their business could be inspiring, too complicated could end everything.

 “  you know, it doesn’t take that much to buy a recipe off a chef in prague. ”  a filler sentence, it buys him time that he extends with another long drag, a lift of a brow as he taps again,   “  been busy. i did miss you from time to time. ”   now and then in the vanguard,  when he’d crawled out of a hole just to go into another hole, shrouded in a corner, he’d see flashes of what she might look like, dim lighting, bouncing off bare shoulders, carrying what he could make of her next. 

[pvlshd]

location: warner brothers oopsie: @tinseltowns​

“  well well well...  ”   it’s like a wave breaking the surface, the way gaunt features open up instantly at the sight of that signature red hair,  that lofty way she walks, the barely there eyebrows when she’s off duty.  he’s leaned against the glossy mahogany table in the empty meeting room swivelling round on the chair closest to the door, a glass of something that’s definitely not water, sweating onto his coaster next to him.  “  welcome to my humble abode, ”  it’s fortunate really, when his time is disrespected, he often finds himself in less satisfying circumstances — you have to find the silver lining where you can.  “  if you’re here to see nellie, we’ve been double-booked i’m afraid. or she’s scared one of us is going to litigate and is hiding in a bathroom somewhere. ”    

[pvlshd]

I’m still honing and experimenting so go away.

[pvlshd]

🍍 🍊 🍒 🍐

🍍  :    how comfortable is my muse in their body ? how do they feel about their height,  weight,  strength,  and body type ? how important is being attractive to them ?

louis has never thought about his physique too much, but he has thought about death. he wonders sometimes about his own relationship with his own mortality. how will he die ? will he be murdered by some crazed fan that thinks they know him through his films or ruined a story they cherished on the page via the screen ? will it be a heart attack by way of his lifestyle: booze, recreational drugs to take the edge off, stress, high blood pressure, too much red meat and cheese. or maybe he'll die like legends, found dead one day shot in the head by a lover wronged. how will he be remembered ? as he is now, looking more or less the same but with more grey in his hair and a lot more lines on his face ? or will the image that might haunt the paramedics that come to take his body away be grotesque. a distended belly, puffed features, knobbly knees, stick-figure legs ?

he is not an energizer bunny by any means and doesn't expect to be, but he doesn't like not having the energy or the will to make his vision come out the right way, it is a dealbreaker for him. if his life is somehow sapping the juice out of his bones, he'll look at his diet, maybe try meditation, go box it out with the punching bag in his personal gym. he doesn't need to feel as strong as a marvel superhero, but strong enough for his weight class will do.

these things inform how he eats, but not always ! he does not have a sweet tooth, he grew out of that in his teens, he likes his carbs and his cheeses and his """robust""" sandwiches, vegetables are rabbit food, unless you know how to cook them into something much heartier. he eats indulgently sometimes and neglects meals at others simply because he is too preoccupied, too obsessed to remember to. he curbs his habits when it occurs to him that maybe the result of high cholesterol or high whatever, wouldn't suit the things he wants to do. it lasts for as long as he's conscious, he'll make better choices, eat conservatively, stop at four martinis, try to get on the treadmill more often. regardless, louis is often pale and gaunt. if he gets some colour, he's been florence, or milan holed up in a friend's house. he likes what he likes, but he is not a foodie per se. the food is there to sustain you, and if you have the means to have it taste good, sure, have it taste fucking good, but that's all it's for.

while being physically attractive to others isn't consciously anywhere on his list, he does have an innate need to be able to recognise himself in the mirror. he has to have the same face, remain at the same size, can't feel too much heavier than he's used to or too much lighter. he dresses for function. he wears nicer things only when there is a need to. otherwise, he'd rather be comfortable, and if other people assess the people they meet according to this, he does not care.

🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship ? do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often ? do they have or desire to have many friends ? do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend ?

a lot of people know louis and louis knows a lot of people. the crew of every set he's worked on, his mentors, his peers. he has a lot of acquaintances and good loyal ones too ! they can almost, be counted as friends. but his inner-life and personal life aren't shared with them so they can't be counted as those true good friends everyone aspires to have. he is okay with that. the companionship he values are the people he calls for input. the ones from brooklyn that will rag on him, that will tell him what's bullshit and what can get by, the people he's known for decades. he likes being around them. he likes having cigars with industry heavyweights that he can actually stand, those guys hold the experiences and stories that he would imbibe through osmosis if he could, it's a source of inspiration. when he is working however, he prefers to be alone. if they are on location and the cast and crew has a day off, if he throws a party, it is something that's heavily planned, and that he is mentally prepared for. mood management is important for louis, the people around him never forget it.

🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall ? are they smarter than the average person,  or less than ? are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school ? are they more street smart or book smart ?

louis is well-read. he counts on his street-smarts from when he was growing up more than his traditional schooling. schools are templated, rigid. encouraging ! sure, but true problem solving happens in the real world, where the stakes are high and there's no safety net. a lot of things are either self taught or observed from the tedious hours spent with various members of the crew from film sets and applied to his own knowledge, his own poetic views, techniques, technical details to supplement and enhance art, rather than things that create obstacles or restrictions. workarounds are a challenge for innovation, not an inconvenience.

[pvlshd]

tinseltowns​:

           “ah,  what  you  are,  but  not  who  you  are  —  that’s  quite  the  distinction  to  make,  junior,  do  you  want  to  talk  about  it?  c’mon,  the  world  wants  to  know!  is  louis  j.  wilder  on  the  cusp  of  an  existential  crisis,  and  even  more  importantly,  just  who  is  he  wearing  tonight?”  julia  pantomimes  an  invisible  mic  in  his  face,  just  as  carelessly  as  the  average  reporter,  but  she  drops  the  facade  and  her  hand.  she  rolls  her  eyes  gamely  and  offers  a  wry  chuckle,  wondering  if  he  really  believes  that  of  her  —  that  a  woman  who  has  spent  her  entire  lifetime  being  goaded  by  the  public  eye  is  really  searching  for  deeper  validation  from  the  same  industry  that’s  often  trying  to  strip  her  of  all  agency.  “ah,  we  were  so  close  to  having  a  moment,  louis!  i  almost  heard  the  orchestra  start  to  swell  before  you  dropped  that  little  stipulation.”  her  hands  waves  airily  between  them,  too  accustomed  to  his  mercurial  nature  to  be  even  remotely  offended;  it’s  just  nice  to  give  the  man  hell.  she  puts  on  her  best  jimmy  stewart  accent,  “you  look  swell,  julia,  just  darling,  but  you’re  not  the  star  of  the  evening,  are  ya?”  after  witnessing  enough  oscar  mayhem  over  the  years,  it  goes  without  saying  that  being  the  main  character  of  the  academy  awards  should  never  be  the  goal  of  the  night.  “more  mistakes,”  she  adds  on  around  a  sip  of  her  drink,  but  she  grins  at  the  notion.  “i’ve  heard  they  build  character.  i  think  i’ve  got  enough  character  to  populate  several  lifetimes  at  this  point.”  it’s  all  relative,  and  her  curiosity  is  actually  piqued.  “you  know  i  love  a  hard - sell.  what’s  cooking  up  there?”

“  mm,  just a rat in a sewer,  tellin’ stories.  a badly dressed raconteur,  trying to slip  by unnoticed while the camera checks out a woman’s shoes that probably took  days  of blood sweat and tears to craft and cost even more,  but will rob you of the ability to walk comfortably in the end which defeats the purpose of what shoes were invented for anyway  —  need i go on ?  ”   he is not badly dressed,  simple is a better word for it,  the embellishment is necessary,  it is the hallmark of his own work.  he knows what to underline, keep it from becoming meaningless drivel.

“  more experience.  the word robust comes to mind, but maybe i’m just craving for a good thick ghoulash.  ”  probably not a good idea to say any louder, the academy would balk at the ingredients,  a dead animal as the main star ? gasp !   “  just an idea. script’s still being developed. haven’t even started thinking of the cast.  ”   the first time he’d tried to describe the genre to his manager she’d blinked at him, then laughed.  “  but zimmerman’s already on board. i can say it’ll carry a heavy price tag, location scouts, actual location, sets, ensemble, all of it.  ”

[pvlshd]

avangelines​:

“easel or tongue?” palette or palate, is the joke, and it’s an easy witticism for her to find. she’d spent the first few years of their relationship leaning the ear of her heart too far forward, trying to read something meaningful in every one of his responses, so the double meaning gives itself up naturally. eyebrows are raised slightly, chin canting outward. she’s no longer the girl twisting endlessly in order to catch the light, hoping he’ll look a little longer, but she is a woman who still wants to make him smile. 

“thank you,” she still adds, “it’s always good to see you, louis.” so different from the flattery happening indoors, it’s not a fan to his ego but a single feather added to the scales as ava strays closer to the railing. the balance stays perfectly even. we read this as true. it’s spoken gently and not a single nominee inside could make it sound more genuine. it’s simply how it is. those birdlike shoulders rise up and fall, a slight little gesture, as she comes to rest next to him.

“you know how i am at these things,” a set of fingers run absently over the jut of her collarbone, knuckles brushing against cool diamond as she notes that he smells the same. ava had, previously, refused to look at the bottle of his cologne when it was on the nightstand, a pointed game of ignorance in order to pretend it was a not scent bottled and sold, but one unique to louis alone. funnily enough, she never seemed to catch the smell on anybody else. “it’s all gorgeous, really. and i can see all these people separately, but somehow once they’re all together…” her eyes go to the distance as she trails off. the skyline is familiar, and so is the rest of her sentiment. he knows, so there’s no point in repeating it. she’s a thoroughbred filly, made to fit the room but sensitive and high-strung once it’s packed, unable to figure out whether to shine or sit in the dark. similarly, she holds off on asking are you enjoying yourself in return, because he isn’t. she knows that too. “when we were here in twenty eighteen,” she says instead, reverie drawing something fond into her mouth, shaping it into a distant smile. “that was the only year it wasn’t like that.”

there’s a twitch in his jaw, visual crossbeats straining against its edge, movement discernible under the skin. his hum underlines her question, brief, but low. the look he tosses her is amused, but pointed. this is how it’s always been, he’s the one toting  caution  at her like he is its very own posterchild  —  a position he resents. risks  matter.  he has to believe he knows better what the right ones are.

“  boring damned people, all over the earth, propagating more boring damned people, what a horror show,  ”   the quote spills listlessly like a rote continuation of where she leaves off. bukowski’s words have a propensity to sound profound, until you remember that he was a bitter man who couldn’t even cope with his own misogyny, a man who’d reject first for fear of potential rejection.   oddly, it parallels their participation in the hollywood system perfectly. hamsters in a wheel,  the aspiration towards some higher moral consciousness, recognising the plight of the people they perform for,  claiming to empower and yet there’s still a fucking red carpet camera that pans downward for only the women.

his eyes follow the trail of her fingers. delicate. controlled. a little different from what he remembers, but the eyes. the eyes are the same.   “  were we that obnoxious ?   ”

[pvlshd]

there's a good reason for caution: whatever you can say 'off the record' to a good number of these people that slash tires with a few strokes of a pen ( these days, better served as a few clunky fingertaps into a keyboard, but the metaphor flows better with a pen, it pictures better in his mind ), might not end up getting printed, but it does get out. one way or another, untraceable, gossip that codifies far off smoke you can barely see over a hill, and there's no smoke without fire, they'll say — conveniently. the smug fuckers.

" can't say i watch much scheduled programming — is that on CBS ? "

chicago fire. he can't tell if it's some television show about firefighters, cops or doctors in chicago. the guy definitely doesn't look like a firefighter, but maybe he wouldn't have looked out of place in kristen wiig's ghostbusters, instead of the blonde australian ken doll to fulfill stereotypes everywhere. " you here with the network ? "

HE'S NOT AN ACTOR, BUT HE VERY WELL COULD BE, kiran thinks, very privately, to himself. but as it so happens, he does know who he is, has known for a while now, and if he'd had more to drink than a few of those glasses of champagne skinnier than a hollywood starlet — a shot or five sounds like an attractive option, if he weren't being so careful about his sobriety — he'd be a lot more vocal about how much he admires louis' work. but he'd already done his research, see, and the guy doesn't appear to do well with compliments, with gushing fans, names up in lights, the whole shtick. it's all very new york, how he sometimes has his foot in his mouth. kiran just eats that shit up.

"some sorta something," kiran answers with a light shrug, a hand slipping into his pocket — the warrior pose of networking in hollywood. the last thing he wants is to oversell. "you ever watch a show called chicago fire?"