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Think I’ll Pack it in and Buy a Pick-Up, Take it Down to L.A.

photo courtesy Josh Hittleman

There Comes a Time when Everybody Knows This is Nowhere. You have to Bite the Bullet, Hold Back the Tears, and bust out of there Like a Hurricane. My Cinnamon Girl keeps saying, I Believe in You, so we had to “take it down to L.A.” I’ve been listening to a lot (some may say a wee-bit-too-much) Neil Young these days. Though it could be worse… I could be going through my dark madness featuring highlights and low tides by THE CURE.  I’m starring down the barrel of my 34th birthday and the gunpowder is doing little to blacken my hair.  There has been a rebellion of gray and the infection is spreading.  Though I do have a grande scheme to document an event four years in the making.  If I’m successful, there will be a short film to share.  If I fail, then just chalk it up to all of my unfinished business lost in the fog of the Bay Area.  I will miss my beloved San Francisco… but I’m going to have to find that fuel that brought me here in the first place.  Somewhere along the way I lost my drive, and I’ve been coasting in neutral for far too long.  Perhaps it’s the magic siren song of the sea.  Perhaps it’s too much California herbal-hospitality.  Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps.  The creative output is still there.  Now let’s point the nose of this bitch in the right direction and head out to sea. Los Angeles will make you, break you, and then applaud as you rise from the ashes, or crush you up with the rest of the junkies and leave you there to wallow in your own SoCal misery.  I’ve longed to make a living making film since the age of 8.  I guess it took me 26 years to do it.  It seems like an eternity… but then again, everything seems like an eternity at this point because I’ve been packing up my house for two weeks and living in what I can only assume resembles a meth cookhouse.  Pieces of my former (or soon to be) life are scattered around the house like a wind blown sunday morning newspaper, and an overwhelming sense of “I don’t even know where to start” takes over.  I hate boxes and painting and packing and moving in general.  I have a half a mind to keep everything boxed up and live like this for an entire year, just so I don’t get used to having comforts. So, L.A. this Dreamin Man is gonna’ Journey Through the Past and hope that someone gives him the opportunity to Sell Out. ‘because I’m going to be unemployed until then.
-B

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