Last night, there was a beautiful, beautiful sunset over the mountains. I decided to take beautiful, beautiful pictures of the beautiful sunset, the kind of beautiful pictures that bore the hell out of others but make you feel like some Adamsey photographic genius. I love how people take responsibility for the sunset, as though they had something to do with it. Granted, the amount of cigarros I smoke here may have contributed to the technicolour puke of wonder in the sky over Santiago last night.
Anyhow.
My neighbour, the filmmaker, Manuel, shared a similar sentiment, in video. We chatted. I found myself in his studio, and then, again, in his movie.
I was the token gringo friend at an art-fag party. Talk about fucking method acting. They dressed me in a ludicrous orange sombrero and a black-and-white polka dot scarf, and I had to yell at a painter who´s work disappointed me. Again, very out of my element. (Lies.)
My lines:
¨¿What the fuck is this? ¿I flew all the way for THIS? Tabernac! Est TERRIBLE! ¿¡¿¡QUE PASSA BRASSI?!?!¨
Integrating ¨tabernac?¨ My idea. Oh yes.
So it begins.
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