To paraphrase W. B. Yeats: rhetoric proceeds from the quarrel with others, poetry from the quarrel with ourselves.
Every once in a while, I like to take stock in terms of where my writing/creative work stands, usually under the influence of large amounts of tea at my favorite café (this is not it, but I would like to hang out here, and smoke, I don't know, like clove cigarettes, and read a book in Italian, even though I don't read Italian). I usually then stuff the manifesto in my desk (I still use a desk, now and then), and forget about it. But maybe publishing it will actually make me listen to my caffeine-addled self. So, here it is (blanks included to protect the innocent): Tea Manifesto #5/6 or 7 OK. Certain cold realities. No one of the upper film/TV echelon world is going to buy a screenplay from
