I got where I am today through a fundamental lack of focus. That’s how I fell into film. What a perfect environment for those despisers of authority incapable of holding down any form of solid work for any extended period of time – and by “extended”, I mean more than five months, essentially.
I always fucking hated high-school – following their petty systems; dressing in their uniforms; hiding in their shadows. God bless those cocksuckers, really, for it was in high-school that my rebellious streak was fully defined and honed; becoming the precision instrument it is today. These days merely fitting in has become a fuck you to convention. If convention knew my name it’d cast me out, and rightly so. I step into convention with a purpose – an agenda – and it is this agenda I exercise here today.
Film is like a dirty slut with a tight little asshole. Eat a piece of cardboard and see clearly her toxic innards spill their torrents of blistering filth into the soil beneath your feet. I’ve seen things swept under rugs you wouldn’t even know existed. I’ve discovered the toxic history to some of the most infertile grounds to ever be defiled by the likes of industrialised man. Film has been an odyssey into the anti-hive – subterranean hideout to the termite people and public toilet to the uneducated and unemployable.
I like to get up into the gantry and watch them shoot our sets. The other side of the coin has been polished – that’s what catering will do for you. We’re merely the dregs of society in construction. We’re the ones hiding in the toilets while the silence light is flashing trying to quietly snort a line of coke or conceal the crack of our lighters behind a cough or a well-timed fart. I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination. I’ll merely allude – if alluding means flashing your genitals in a public place, that is.
Film is a place for the bipolar. If you’re not insane you won’t receive an invite, unless you have an insane mate and you’re braindead – we need the deaf-posts to earth the madness or we start hearing one another’s voices in our heads. Nobody likes to be that close – not when they’re bent. We can leave that until the transpersonality of humanity finally ascends. I can almost guarantee you that won’t be a drug induced experience, but rather one born of sobriety and meticulous dedication. It is for this reason that I have stopped abusing drugs and begun taking my health seriously. There comes a time when a burnt-out car is no longer a comfortable place to sleep. The bums and the rats woke me up. I can’t go back to sleep now; I’ve come too far. This place is as addictive as crystal meth – more so. The creative space finally sucked me in and rubbed my nose in all the half-finished jobs I’d left choking the feng shui. Christ, what a mess I’ve disinherited.