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I am no longer having a job after wolfgang puck's knifish hell and am waiting to put my new job plan into action. The beloved filmscript is having its like birthpangs and it is truly horrific but i feel its worth it. I moved back to a lower rent town from the yuppy town and can get coke bottles for a dollar and cans for fifty cents. I hang around a auto garage with spanish speaking types and am urged incessantly to be a prostitute in the street. I haven't been getting much exercise at all, so like unto a bloated toad i lounge amongst the auto fumes, plotting mise en scene and the film.It's the cultural desert I am familiar with and more; i am surrounded by people whom don't speak english well enough to talk about my ideas and have very miniscule interactions with english speakers that i don't know. I have come up with new interests in the place of things I actually like and depend on like records and books. I am putting my filmscript into a final draft and looking into the agent-type world. I think about the good and the beautiful and the crystal palace while walking in the mud. I like pot and think god almighty literally lives in the pot plant. I'm interested in the difference between the glamour of existence and the reality, and seeing that .