Troy Vs. Jobo

Whats up 'Steve Jobo'. What is possibly the worst thing I could do to smite you? Yeah, I'm mad at you. See my last post, but for real -- Macintoshers are naming their computer systems after animals and food, and not PEOPLE. That is what happened in T2. I don't want a robot in my head, telling me WHAT TO DO and WHAT NOT TO DO. Thats why I have to make a statement. Even tho I utlize hella tight radicon eqiptment such as the Macer 10 and Quick Times Pro, I had to make a statement. Yes, I know you've contacted me and asked that I sign an exclusive contract to promote the new MacBook Pros, especially when I start press junkets in late 07, early 08 for the film-- but, I have to make a point, Jobo. I have to make a point...so, here it is. As Oscar Wild said 'To each his own, choose a mobile phone, a tailored suit, a luxury home..." Right now wizards at ILM are affixing the following tatty to my chest for Episode 2...

TOP SECRET: Animated Concept?

While rumors of the 'Troy' animated series are circulating throughout the 'inner realm', an associate dog of mine e-mailed me something very interesting indeed. Yo, check it. This right here, if it isn't a fake is THE FIRST glipse off the artists table of concept art for my animated adventures. Below is what he sent me, for your eyes only!

TROY. CALL ME 'HACK MASTER 5000'. I AM AN INTERN INSIDE A CERTAIN ARTISTS STUDIO WHO HAVE DONE SOME VERY IMPORTANT ANIMATED WORK, INCLUDING 'KID VIDEO' AND OTHER. SAID ARTIST IS WORKING ON A 'TOP SECRET' PROJECT SUB TITLED 'ROCKET SHIP'. WHEN HE WENT TO LUNCH, I WAS ABLE TO SNEAK INTO HIS OFFICE AND TAKE A SNAP OF HIS DRAWING BOARD WITH MY CELL PHONE CAM. I HAD MY BLUE TOOTH ON, AND STILL DO EVEN THOUGH I'M ABOUT TO GOTO BED. CALL ME 'HACK MASTER 5000'.

A Brief History Of Troy: My Art, Part One.

Why does an apple taste so sweet? Why does a Clown hide tears behind his white, plastery, make-up? Does a clown lie? Perhaps, yo. According to Wikipedia, there is no such thing as clowns, no such thing as life, no such thing as love. I sit here, a drink of Ginko Baloba nested in a nice ceramic mug, one of misshapen parts, a sad handle. Outside my window are movie trailers, moving here and there, going for they own, doing what they do. Up in this, I think thoughts of brilliant white stars, constellations, god made creations -- Sharon, an angel -- not from these parts. Her better half resting on my lap, well, in my dreams.


My art. Thats why you all came here, millions, hella waiting to hear the finna correctly taught words that flow forth from my boca (mouth in Spanish, check babelfish if you think I'm a liar, ass). My art. Photographs, photography if you will. Life is not dissimilar to KODACHROME or ILLFORD brand films. Are we then, yo, not unlike a camera? We being human-beings? Is my eye not like an apeture? My finger not like a shutter? My back not like a film-plate holding the film of life against my heart, lungs, thorax?

One day we will be able to capture our images as fast as the human eye captures a tear of sorrow, as fast as our hearts capture the flutter of love. Well, love can be taken from you...quite.

Set Report : Trailer Life

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?