Prairie Oyster is an idea.
Or rather… was.
Before I was a film student, I was only a dreamer, dreaming and daydreaming of bringing my ideas to life. I never thought I’d get the chance. So I put everything I had into my dreams, into creating an original style. Hopelessly waiting.
Then the day came. The School of Journalism and I parted ways. I found myself standing alone, with only my hopes, and only my dreams to keep me afloat. The world’s entropy began to crush me, condensing my thoughts, dreams, personality into a solid state of matter. It was then that the spark occurred. It was a four-letter word. Something I had always dreamt of doing, but had never considered myself worthy. It was something glorious, illogical, beautiful and chaotic. I promised to myself, God and any other witnesses that would have me, that I would not relent. My dreams were all that were keeping me alive, and they would not be defeated. This spark could have started the Big Bang, and as far as I’m concerned, it did.
They call it film.
I began working on Prairie Oyster as I walked into my first film class, entitled “Japanese Film and Culture” … or something like that. I reserved a page just for it, and began to doodle and write. Everything that I wanted to do, I did. I shoved reality into the trunk and drove the Buick Skylark off of a cliff.
The idea formed over the next three years. It became a narrative about the same nostalgia and dreams that created it, but it lost all sense of reality. I put in in the prairie where I grew up, and where my dreams developed as a child. Anything I didn’t like I kept out, anything I hated, I put in only to be defeated. I drew the typical “Narrative Plot Arc” then I crossed it out using sound frequency modulation. I’m tired of letting the Universe win, letting it suck the humor and love out of life. This idea would fight reality the only way I think it could.
To put it succinctly, it would be fun.