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Susan Sontag, from As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks, 1964-1980; February 17th, 1970

Text ID: I’m chasing myself (I have been for years).

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OLIVER JACKSON-COHEN as James in SURFACE (1.05)

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tilman ,

It was most fascinating being around Jack Harley. Tilman saw through him, he was a grifter, and a cheat, but damn did that make him interesting. He could see the way he smiled and held his body as a way to invite Tilman in. The way he shifted to seem so dazzling, and Tilman’s own eyes raked over him as he did so. He wanted more, he wanted to see how far deep this all went. Tilman grinned, lapping up Jack Harley’s words, even if they were a farce. “I don’t believe for a second that you missed me, darling.” He purred. “I think you missed my attention.” His back straightens and he gives an open gesture. “But we both know I am more than happy to give it to you now.” His hands fold together in his lap, eyes burning, giving Jack a challenge.

            “ alright, ” jack admitted in a round about way. “ let’s say i did. ” a gestured shrug of his shoulders fell into a slouched over seated position, one that wasn’t at all considered proper and far too relaxed for the given environment. “ that’s still only something you can give me. ” and how was that any different from what he’d said earlier? he reached for the glass soon enough, the overpriced alcohol something he’d grown far too expectant of the past few months. “ speaking of, ” a pause came about mid sentence to taste the wine he found far too dry, “ i’m going to want your attention next weekend. ” the details would remain unspecified, something tilman would come to find out about eventually but there was something to be said about the mystery of it all that gave way to far more excitement. the unexpected. “ or this weekend, ” he slipped in. the drink nearly untouched had been abandoned back on the table between them. “ dinner. i’ll even let you pick where. ”

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wren ,

location / mirage country club golf course closed starter / @revivcls​

with a hat and some sunglasses on, wren is hoping to go by largely unnoticed on the course. the mirage is known for being fairly private thanks to its long list of high profile clientele, but with those wide range lenses these days, you never know who will be snapping your picture. wren had hoped that with more time having passed, the news cycle would blow over. bigger scandals had happened, sexier stories had been leaked. but now every time he managed to get poorly photographed by some scum bag paparazzi, it typically followed with something along the lines of wren whitaker makes a rare outing, like he was some kind of hermit. and maybe he was — but that’s why he’d called jack to join him for a morning of golf, and maybe spitball some ideas past him. he’d spent the last fourteen years tirelessly churning out films, that now after a year of doing nothing he was itching to get his hands back on a camera. 

“fuck,” he mutters to himself after another terrible hit, placing his hand above his brow to shade his eyes as he squints in search of yet another missing golf ball. “shit,” he shakes his head, dropping his hand as he leans his weight on the golf club in his other hand. “you know i never really got into golf. why did this become the game of class?” he tuts as he looks over at jack. 

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           “ oh, i can tell. you’re absolutely terrible at this. ” the nonchalant comment came complete with a grin most would intend to cushion the direct insult, but not jack. his left palm pressed against the rounded top of the golf club handle, an object used to support his weight leaned against it. “ rich men hitting around balls all day. ” he said nothing further to elaborate. the moments that had passed rendered jack’s own memory of where his ball had been shot to a best guess, hopefully by the target. with the club secured, his right hand reached for the bag of golf clubs, the strap slung over his shoulder with a weighted difference the moment he took a step. “ have you seen julia yet? ” since her impromptu arrival back to los angeles from italy, jack's interactions had even been brief, the quiet bit he hadn’t said aloud when a brow quirked became his response to wren’s attire. “ mate, you look like someone who is trying to hide from someone. ” in other words, like every celebrity who wanted to hide from the paparazzi, or the ones who wanted their public perception to appear that way when in reality they had every tmz and fast news magazine on speed dial.

“ have you ever called the pap on yourself? ” he would have. if jack were anyone other than a plus one with a semblance of talent that wasn’t of the illegal sort. jack would have made sure every time he stepped out of a shop someone was there and in a way, he already had. untraceable back to him, but stories with his name in small font under an a-listers leaked for his own favor. 

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eady ,

She needed this. It was, admittedly, one of the luxuries she had come to take for granted, and the idea of not having this escape seemed unthinkable. What an odd junction, to be amongst the elite-- to be one of them, but to have seen how quickly it can all be lost. It creates a sort of guilt, a sort of desperation if not careful, and Eady did her best to counterpoise the feeling.

Strangely enough, that included indulging in the splendors of her status. Namely, the Ruby Resort. She needed this. The quiet, the escape, the anonymity. It reset her in a way she had come to rely on.

The woman had swam, and was now headed towards the Finnish Sauna to detoxify. It had taken her months to learn that Tuesdays were the optimal, and lease busy day at the resort, and she was pleased to find that the sauna was empty as she entered.

After throwing some water on the hot stones, Eady situated herself near the top, leaned back, and closed her eyes.

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            “ morning. ” the breathless word was uttered the moment jack harley had made eye contact with the only other person in the sauna. a shared space that would become rather intimate regardless of who also came to occupy the sauna. he took the seat opposite and two steps down, enough space that acknowledgment wasn’t necessary, but it was. “ it’s not morning, ” he corrected, a chuckle followed in jack’s own unsettlement. he eased his back against the wall, head tilted back and eyes caught hers once more. “ afternoon. ” yet, even the physical exchange of words hadn’t seemed to give way to the memory of flirtatious messages from not even a week ago. it wasn’t to say that she appeared different from her photo but hadn’t one of them meant to be out of the country? hadn’t he? a way to save face if his escapades ever caught up to him, which appeared to be the case. 

another glance stolen, this time with an expression that could only be likened to curious, but he shouldn’t stare ( not in a sauna ) but he did. 

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Cary Grant as T. R. Devlin in Notorious (1946) dir. Alfred Hitchcock

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tilman ,

The startle of Tilman being told to purchase a bottle brought him out of his book, looking up to find a dazzling, familiar face before him. He looked over then to the waiter who looked for conformation. He nodded, wanting to give Jack Harley the thing he desired. Tilman would have a hard time saying no to that handsome face. “Jack.” He beamed, putting down his book.

“Darling, I’ve never picked up a club in my life.” He waves the sentiment off. “But if I could spend my time in a place with beautiful rich people being beautiful and rich? Then who am I to stay away.” He takes in a deep breath, looking over Jack, who hadn’t been in front of him in what felt like an eternity. A whole marriage prior. “Seems you’ve felt the same.”

            “ hmm? ” his gaze lifted from empty pockets and a desire left unfulfilled. “ about golfing? you’d be correct. ” the reveal of attention parted between tilman and the craved oral fixation couldn’t have been more apparent then and ill-timed as jack harley hadn’t waltzed over to john for just any reason. an ulterior motive was as tied to jack as the title of author was to tilman’s name, and the other likely knew as much. “ it’s good to see you. ” blue eyes found tilman’s own, it was better that way, to make eye contact so that the words that left his lips next were delivered in such a way that it felt intimate. personal. “ it’s been a minute, new york. ” he clarified. “ i missed you. ” the words accompanied a grin, the sort that jack so often held. a bottle of wine offered up to tilman for inspection disrupted the heart-to-heart, only placed down once approval had been given and wine poured before the waiters departure; gone as quickly as a houdini act. “ and your parties, if we’d call them as such. ”

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murderer lifehack: manipulate people by admitting you're good at lying and manipulating

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yesenia ,

@revivcls​​   /   production company lot

She didn’t enjoy meeting with film executives much these days. Sure, she tossed some money at a couple films here and there in the last ten years but it was more of a passion of the content than it was for a passion over films. Still, it meant she had contact, and when Jack Harley mentioned wanting to get into the business, she put his butt in a seat.

Should she be doing it? Absolutely not. Yesenia should be denying his calls and telling him to ‘get a life’ or whatever it is you do for your friends. But Yesenia is terrible at these things, and she actively knows what she is doing is wrong, but here she is, standing in a parking lot, waiting for Jack to come out of his meeting as if she has skin in the game.

The door opens, and she readjusts her sunglasses, turning around. “Well? You use that dastardly charm on them enough to get what you want?”

            a faux smile met with indifference, maybe even disdain, all alluded to by way of the door pulled open with a brutish tug left jack with a sensation that pooled in the pit of his stomach. he’d dispersed in a rush. the hot pavement stained with oil and littered with cigarette butts had become a welcome sight, and that alone confirmed what he already knew. what he already felt. “ you make it sound like a bad thing, ” jack quipped with a glance back, just once, just enough to confirm what the beady eyed man behind the glass had already, he wasn’t welcome back. he’d entered a new world with hollywood, one where people could read the lies on his lips before they were ever uttered. one where the liars were professional, paid handsomely and adorned expensive garments as they walked down crimson red carpets. by this standard alone, he was not that, not to the professionals who sat in air conditioned rooms with suits perfectly tailored to reflect their debt card balance.

 “ i think i’ll leave the acting jobs to julia. ” this was a set back, he’d assure himself later alone at night with a glass of scotch in one hand and fingers pressing each digit of a shared credit card on the number pad of his phone with the other. late night infomercials would be the bane of many an argument once the credit card statements came in. “ maybe i’ll leave it to you too, if you do that anymore. ”

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alessandra ,

𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.          on  set. 𝚏𝚘𝚛.          @revivcls​​.

sylph  like  silhouette  perches  comfortably  in  cast  chair  ,    surname  slanted  neatly  on  fabric  of  backing  to  signify  level  of  importance  to  project  .    concentration  focuses  solely  on  the  scalding  hot  espresso  nestled  between  spindly  digits  ,    barely  registering  the  flurry  of  people  flitting  past  that  was  until  familiarity  of  masculine  slinks  into  peripherals  ,    gaining  a  lift  of  cognac  optics  ,    studying  for  a  moment  before  voice  slices  through  hum  of  set  .    “  jack  ,    isn’t  it  ?  ”    a   quizzical  lift  of  groomed  brow  ensues  before  yet  another  sip  is  taken  from  acrid  contents  of  cup  .    “  how  are  you  finding  set  life  ?    ready  to  tear  your  hair  out  yet  ?  ”    certain  brand  of  humour  lilts  with  deadpanned  sarcasm  .    curiosity  piques  at  his  presence  ,    observations  are  in  question  ,    hoping  this  fleeting  interaction  will  provide  some  semblance  of  insight  .

            “ it’s exceptional. ” it was as if he’d conjured up the word from a dictionary intended for that very question with every other adjective flat in comparison. a lackluster response couldn’t bear the outcome he’d intended — the appreciation jack would wear on his sleeve for the remainder of that day, no, that interaction. he’d squeeze every last opportunity out until forcibly discarded, like a tree that could no longer produce fruit. he used people. he’d try to use her. “ give me a few years and i’ll let you know, ” he chimed in half-heartedly. “ right now i’m just insanely jealous of you. ” pocketed hands and tall stature turned towards the woman in the physically identified highest ranked seat. “ when i was younger, ” shoulders shrugged and eyes turned to the scene enclosed by cameras. “ i thought i would have been like that one actor, the good looking guy with the blonde hair. ” a hand ran through his own light strands. “ he got discovered in a pub or something, so i used to go to try to go to places i thought casting agents would be and start a scene to get attention. ” he didn’t. not entirely, but the curated image it created was charming enough that the truth seemed . . . trivial. 

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julia ,

  childish?  julia’s  come  to  use  her  words  sparingly  around  jack  —   it  isn’t  entirely  his  fault,  merely  the  muscle  memory  she’s  taken  on  after  husband  number  three.  every  syllable  exchanged  is  a  weapon,  and  julia  has  long  chosen  her  battles  wisely  …  or  so  she  thinks.  an  arched  brow  and  narrowed  gaze  quietly  conveys  simmering  irritation,  but  even  the  sly  actress  knows  that  she’ll  have  to  face  the  inevitable.  “certainly  no  more  childish  than  refusing  to  sign  a  simple  piece  of  paper,”  she  hums,  slender  digit  circling  the  rim  of  her  merlot  that  a  dutiful  assistant  had  on  standby  upon  her  arrival  ——  god  bless  ‘em.  “you  certainly  knew  how  to  sign  quite  quickly  when  it  came  to  our  marriage  license,  after  all.”  she  refuses  to  allow  herself  to  fall  victim  to  cynicism,  a  herculean  task  in  the  entertainment  industry,  but  the  whispers  that  her  newest  husband  had  a  dollar  signs  in  his  eyes  in  lieu  of  genuine  affection  seem  to  have  grown  louder  and  impossible  to  ignore.  his  question  briefly  colors  her  cheeks,  recoiling  her  hand  and  averting  her  gaze.  “with  the  rest  of  my  novelty  jewelry,”  she  demurs,  lips  curving  upwards  slightly.  “does  it  really  matter,  jack?  it’s  symbolic  of  nothing  at  this  point,  and  i  don’t  like  to  play  pretend  off  the  clock.”  she  pauses,  hoping  they  can  find  some  amicable  resolution  to  this  charade.  “it  doesn’t  have  to  be  this  difficult,  you  know.  lots   of  beautiful  people  in  this  town,  you’ll  be  set  on  your  second  marriage  by  spring.”

           he smiled, not because her answers were somehow comedically timed, but simply the theatrics of it all. everything about julia made way for the camera. she may have not expressed enjoyment for the charade behind closed doors, but the woman was nothing, if not short of a performer. “ it’d be easier. ” calloused fingertips pressed against the creased lines on his forehead, the unspoken indication to the onset of a headache. the credit was entirely hers to claim. “ if i wanted them and not you. ” and he did, didn’t he? certainly his john hancock had claimed so, but julia had her friends, those who didn’t care for jack; those who whispered in her ear like a siren’s call to leave, again. sometimes those whispers were louder than his clamor could ever be. personal space disregarded, jack reached a hand to the curvature of her waist and by way of a slight pull, inched his wife closer if she’d allow it. “ i signed that license because i wanted to marry you. ” a softened tone had been as fleeting as the words he spoke and as quick as the temper quelled. “ and i thought you did too. ” corners of his lips fell to a frown that dared to be permanently etched across his features. a delayed reaction pressed the pad of his thumb across her cheek, a ghost-like hover. “ maybe, just maybe, you’re a better actress than even you think. ”

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𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 :   𝙵𝙴𝚁𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚉𝙰  ,    𝙻𝙾𝚂  𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂    𝙵𝚃 :   @avangelines​​​

            he looked at her the way every man did, and that was the problem. avageline castro was a conjured-up fantasy from a film. by nature of that fact, every assumption he had of the actress was already placed upon her the moment she stepped foot over the threshold. he’d done the same to the scarlet-haired woman he now called his wife, but a lesson was seldom learned by way of his own actions. he couldn’t have been the only one, and he wasn’t; but jack had been the most obvious. the most shameless. present company was left abandoned, much like the lit cigarette between two fingers that’d only called to his attention by way of the smoke that climbed the air. a strange likeness to the way jack had encountered every relationship he’d come across amongst the elite; a thin veil that’d vanish, but once acknowledged, was ever present. ‘ do you know her? ’ the question finally caught jack’s ear. “ as much as you do. ” maybe as much as most did.

a silver screen siren yet to be blemished, until the moment she would fail the image of perfection. this was the reason to gaze from afar instead of the approach that beckoned him to push past those who’d gathered in the plaza lobby. and what then? jack liked to think fantasies would come to fruition, but even he knew confidence was a facade, vanished by proximity of her presence. 

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nick ,

     as  it  is,  this  thing  called  ‘  home  ’  does  little  more  than  provide  table  space  and  a  bed  to  collapse  into.  the  furniture  and  decoration  had  been  organized  by  his  bird-in-a-hand  assistant,  meaning  nick  had  scarcely  looked  at  it  since  moving  in.   knick-knacks  he’d  never  seen  set  on  top  of  books  he’d  never  read  placed  in  shelving  designed  by  swedes  and  built  by  even  less  fastidious  hands.  had  they  secured  it  to  the  wall ?  he  should  be  concerned  about  that  sort  of  thing,  anyway,  and  he  would  be  if  he  weren’t  completely  affronted  by  his  surroundings  in  general.  los  angeles.  devastatingly  impractical,  impatient;  his  second  night  here  a  fire  had  torn  through  half  a  neighborhood  just  over  the  hill.  still,  when  he  steps  outside,  the  heady  smell  of  carbon-burning  smoke  hangs  on  the  air.  

     all  that  said,  nick  doesn’t  need  to  look  up  to  know  what  jack’s  referring  to.  that  photo  —  he’d  put  that  up  his  first  night.  sees  it  just  about  every  morning  while  he  drinks  his  coffee.  thinks  about  her  having  coffee  with  the  man  who  loves  her  better  than  he  did.  turns  away  and  finishes  his  coffee.   ‘  i  never  really  understood  the  saying,  let  dead  dogs  die.  or  maybe  i’ve  just  never  been  any  good  at  it.  ’   nick  says  with  a  shrug,  glancing  up  from  the  cutting  board  to  catch  jack’s  eye.  looks  back  down;  carefully  slices  open  the  flesh  of  a  jalapeño.   ‘  how  are  you  with  spice ?  ’   he  fills  the  dead  air,  scraping  back  the  seeds,  noisily  knocking  them  into  a  plastic-lined  garbage  bin.  then  he  dices,  and  the  spice  prickles  at  the  inner  corners  of  his  eyes;  blinks  hard,  wiping  one  eye  with  the  back  of  his  hand.   ‘  how’d  i  know  —  ’  he  starts,  then  looks  back  up.  pauses,  sensing  the  fundamental  shift  in  their  casual  conversation,  one  he  isn’t  exactly  prepared  for.  so  he  sets  the  knife  down,  washes  his  hands,  and  dries  them  on  the  towel  over  his  shoulder.   ‘  that’s  …  ’   exhale,   ‘  a  long  story,  ’   he’s  pouring  two  healthy  glasses  of  wine,  a  gift  from  john.   ‘  why  do  you  ask ?  ’

            spice? the question seems arbitrary amongst the more intrusive thoughts he’d allowed to infest his mind. “ fine. ” jack’s answer was blunt and to the point, saved detail he’d go into later about childhood venturers with games that dared him to push past the bodily warnings of his tolerance; the ciaro hospital story would wait, or would it? the pleading knock on nick kovalsky’s door had been calculated, not a stop by to play catch up over a bottle of gifted wine, though the forced smile when the door had been pulled open said otherwise. “ ju - ” he wasn’t ready. her name caught on his tongue, unable to be uttered again at that moment. “ just curious. ” the man’s form shifted against the warmed leather of the seat that gave way to every single movement however slight by way of the sound. jack found himself taking another glance over his shoulder at the photo. unnecessary comparisons conjured up from a photograph would soon find their way to his own marriage. did they smile like that? or did the permanent frown seep through every photo he’d taken with julia? “ you looked happy. ” how deceiving appearances could be. 

the friction of the leather announced another movement, jack rose to his feet. long legs stretched out and a single turn had him faced towards the man in the kitchen. “ i’ll consider myself lucky then, ” the words were noted with a breathy tone, “ i’ve got nothing but time for a long story. ” momentarily, his gaze had turned to the wooden floorboards below. “ until you kick want to me out. ” and as if to ease the reality of it all, he smiled. for once jack had finally admitted to someone his intentions; what he’d use them for before he actually did. in nick’s case, time. 

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𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 :   𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝚄𝚁  ,    𝙻𝙾𝚂  𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂   𝙵𝚃 :   @antonlapis​​

            red velvet drapes pulled together, extinguishing the stage spotlight as dim house lights illuminated the onlookers of the audience. everything was reveled then and there. one show had ended, but as a tall figure stood by proxy of one of the tables nearest the stage with hands shoved into the pockets of his dress trousers, another had begun. there was no coincidence as to why jack had slowed heavy footed steps to arrive where he did. anton might have been without accompaniment, for now, but he had never been so easily missed. “ is the mrs. making an appearance? ” he called to the designer’s attention with a voice that was gruff, as if he hadn’t spoken all day, or on the contrary spoken ( or dare say shouted ) far too much in the past few hours. unfortunately, that was a tell in itself. but an invitation hardly needed be presented for jack to take the presumed empty seat to anton’s left as if his name were written across it etched on the seat backing. “ whiskey. neat, ” he uttered to whoever would listen and turned to face the designer front on with nothing more than a smile, the usual one saved for people like anton — people he didn’t trust because they all played the same game. 

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— Sylvia Plath

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𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 :   𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙻𝚈𝚆𝙾𝙾𝙳  𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚂  𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙴  ,    𝙻𝙾𝚂  𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂   𝙵𝚃 :   @tinseltowns​​

            ‘ go smoke outside, ’ he could hear it now. not in that cinematic tone that was like honey if such a thing could be imagined to be heard, but the tone julia had specifically curated for husband number five. jack watched her, out of the corner of his eye, the way she moved about the room. there was something calculated about it or at least he came to assume as such because he knew her; he liked to think he did. “ the funny thing is you think this is punishment. ” he paused to await the response he knew wouldn’t come. the lit cigarette came to rest on the corner of a lead crystal ashtray, now abandoned in favor of his wife whose hand he reached for once he’d crossed over to the actress. “ but don’t you think the silent treatment is a bit childish? ” jack let out a haughty chuckle, disbelief seemed to have come over him that she could be so dramatic about everything; it was her profession after all. “ the divorce paper stunt when you were a whole continent away and now — ” he’d noticed. jack harley had finally noticed. unsettled eyes darted up from julia’s left ring finger. “ where’s your wedding ring? ”