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monaboyd Apr. 23rd, 2005 12:53 pm)
slashfairy.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Apr. 23rd, 2005 12:53 pm)Transcribed from pirated tape: Reporter for local TV, and Dom Monaghan. Set of 'Lost.'
Reporter: I always think it must have been a shock for an eleven year old Dom- moving from green Berlin where environment is a huge concern as it is in the rest of Germany, and every house has three recycle bins, and moving to Manchester- where the environment is broken bottles in hedges and about one recycle bin in the entire city, and smog in the air and factories killing the atmosphere.
DM: I had an absolutely fantastic childhood in Germany, and then moving to Manchester was kind of like...oh. Germany has a kind of grace to it, but, and I'm sorry, but Manchester? No grace: not an ounce of it. It's a shit hole.
Reporter: You have strong feelings about it.
DM: Yeah. (Inhale, exhale, sigh)
The first year was just shock, like. Where were the trees? Just not in our neighborhood, I thought. Then I got older, taking the bus, walking, and not a bloody tree in the whole slagheap. Plenty of broken glass, broken windows, bottles, people, but not a feckin tree in the whole bloody sodding mess. By 14 I just thought, 'the world has ended. this is it, the world's ended, and it's over. Fuck it. Started drinking, fucking, lost it all.'
Reporter: Depressing, then.
DM: Yeah.
No wonder I was not a virgin by 14. World felt it was ending. Pulled myself together a little, got Geoff, but... (sigh, inhale, exhale, tap)
Reporter: Then, New Zealand.
DM: Yeah, New Zealand. Heaven on earth. And Boyd, green, and gold, and mint, and heather, and alive, and I could breathe again, live and move and have my being, with him. He retains something of old forests and fields and the old mysteries of nature. My little Ent, Billy. (laugh). Thought it would last forever.
(Inhale, exhale. sigh)
Never meant a year in Los Angeles to be descent into hell. concrete, closed doors, phones off, smokes and bottles. alone.
Reporter: Alone. But not now: Now, Hawaii.
DM: Yeah, now, sand and waves, drifting, floating. Film eight days a week, always wondering where it's going. Just show up, do it, surf. No green forest, lots of trees, but no life.
(sound of chair being pushed back) Y'know, it's odd.
(pause)
He calls, oxygen bursts through the line, lights up everything. Maybe in hiatus, I'll go home.
(whisper)
Home to Billy. Home to the trees.
Reporter: Dom Monaghan, 'Lost'.
Written in IM with Em. Love you, sweetie.
This is a blessing for Dom's head, and his 'demons'.
You have a family, Dom. We love you.
Reporter: I always think it must have been a shock for an eleven year old Dom- moving from green Berlin where environment is a huge concern as it is in the rest of Germany, and every house has three recycle bins, and moving to Manchester- where the environment is broken bottles in hedges and about one recycle bin in the entire city, and smog in the air and factories killing the atmosphere.
DM: I had an absolutely fantastic childhood in Germany, and then moving to Manchester was kind of like...oh. Germany has a kind of grace to it, but, and I'm sorry, but Manchester? No grace: not an ounce of it. It's a shit hole.
Reporter: You have strong feelings about it.
DM: Yeah. (Inhale, exhale, sigh)
The first year was just shock, like. Where were the trees? Just not in our neighborhood, I thought. Then I got older, taking the bus, walking, and not a bloody tree in the whole slagheap. Plenty of broken glass, broken windows, bottles, people, but not a feckin tree in the whole bloody sodding mess. By 14 I just thought, 'the world has ended. this is it, the world's ended, and it's over. Fuck it. Started drinking, fucking, lost it all.'
Reporter: Depressing, then.
DM: Yeah.
No wonder I was not a virgin by 14. World felt it was ending. Pulled myself together a little, got Geoff, but... (sigh, inhale, exhale, tap)
Reporter: Then, New Zealand.
DM: Yeah, New Zealand. Heaven on earth. And Boyd, green, and gold, and mint, and heather, and alive, and I could breathe again, live and move and have my being, with him. He retains something of old forests and fields and the old mysteries of nature. My little Ent, Billy. (laugh). Thought it would last forever.
(Inhale, exhale. sigh)
Never meant a year in Los Angeles to be descent into hell. concrete, closed doors, phones off, smokes and bottles. alone.
Reporter: Alone. But not now: Now, Hawaii.
DM: Yeah, now, sand and waves, drifting, floating. Film eight days a week, always wondering where it's going. Just show up, do it, surf. No green forest, lots of trees, but no life.
(sound of chair being pushed back) Y'know, it's odd.
(pause)
He calls, oxygen bursts through the line, lights up everything. Maybe in hiatus, I'll go home.
(whisper)
Home to Billy. Home to the trees.
Reporter: Dom Monaghan, 'Lost'.
Written in IM with Em. Love you, sweetie.
This is a blessing for Dom's head, and his 'demons'.
You have a family, Dom. We love you.
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So very beautiful.
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I think your laying it on Manchester there pretty hard though.
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