just outside this trailer....Yo. You would think that being on a movie set would be all of that, and potentially more. Wrong. I'm sitting in my too small trailer, barely able to stretch my newly shorn legs across the room. I asked for a few items, this is mah movie about me, for real. This was my doing. If it wasn't for me, this peice of filmic art, historic art, would be another whack ass Hollyweird yarn. Nah, no way, dog. Why are my pants even on? It so hella hot in here, I feel like I just took a shower (due to the sweat). I believe the yomen invented a little something called AIR CONDITIONING. I mean, who runs this crap set? "Air Condition this", I think as I take several soft clicks with my Nikon F2. I think about a cat I saw outside. This is too soon for me to be recounting this, I realize. I read my script, and I found it difficult. Is this how Jesus felt? Perhaps, indeed, this film right ere might be my cross to bare. This is reality, this is reality. I once had the soft fur of my precious Boo Boo betwixt my fingers. The silken hairs of Sharon resting across my alabaster arm. Now I have to recount it, the pain. All I want is a bigger trailer...something where I can stretch out, be cool. You want me to die for you on this fucking set and you motherfuckers can't even give me a nice trailer?? Is that too hard for yah?
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