A 3-Legged Dog is a very strange creature; I have met several of them in my previous career as a Veterinary surgeon. What has always surprised me the most about a tripod is how quickly they can recover from losing a beloved limb.

I’ve never seen one angry and I’ve never seen one obsessed with finding the prick that stole their leg; I’ve never met one full of self-loathing or pity.

A 3-legged dog doesn’t spend their years living in regret eternally mourning the leg that they’ve lost, they get back up on their three good feet and keeping looking to make friends whereever they go.

We can learn a lot from 3-legged dogs.

It’s safe to say that a 3-legged dog saved my life. His name was Scrap, and he was living rough on the streets of Europe, he was also a character in one of my screenplays.

P:S: This is the 16th  in a series of blogs chronicling my adventures in Los Angeles. See “How the F@*k Did I Get Here” to begin the adventure.

2012 Copyright Seven Sentences – Geoff Talbots Story

So now I found myself sitting at the bottom of the plughole (read yesterday), without a film deal and without a dream.

Actually I was dwelling in a cheap hostel on the border of little Mexico and Korea Town and this particular little death had mixed itself with a particular sickening obsession.

I would comfort my wounded soul by walking for miles upon mile in the acrid LA heat; I remember the feel of the dust and grime of the filthy city as it clung to my forehead, mixing with beads my own sweat and rolling dirty black tears down my sun burnt cheeks.

I would find solace in ice cream, tub after tub of Ben & Jerry’s (big tubs) devoured as I walked, eating it until I felt sick enough to throw it all back up.

It was the strangest yet most necessary time.

For if square one does not destroy a man, it most certainly reveals him (or her), peelings back the thick layers of culture, the thick shells of entitlement, the bravado of false optimism and the piety of religious faith.

It reveals him, as he truly is, mortal and dependent, king of nothing, owner of not even his own breath.

P:S: This is the 15th  in a series of blogs chronicling my adventures in Los Angeles . See “How the F@*k Did I Get Here” to begin the adventure.

2012 Copyright Seven Sentences – Geoff Talbots Story

The stench I could smell was the peculiar odor of men who have no particular talent other than lying for a living.  It is the stench or the wheeler and dealer, the foul smell of the middleman.

Middlemen in the film industry position themselves between the creative’s and the investors and they try to cut a deal; typically a middleman will take up to 5% of the production budget as a fee.

I am sure there are honest hardworking middlemen in the entertainment business; I just haven’t met any yet.

In this case they were telling the creative’s that they had the money and they were telling the money they had the creative rights to film projects), when really they had neither.

I don’t hate their position, in fact if the dudes had been honest from the start, I still would have gone with them, to this day I am unsure of the reason for their deception… it was all smoke and mirrors.

Their lies broke my heart.

P:S: This is the 12th  in a series of blogs chronicling my adventures in Los Angeles over the last 3 years. See “How the F@*k Did I Get Here” to begin the adventure.

 2012 Copyright Seven Sentences – Geoff Talbots Story

It was 3am and I was awoken again by the raspy hacking cough of a tall skinny man lying on the beer stained carpet next to me .  I wasn’t sure whether it was the acid, the dope or the cigarettes that caused the dude to retch up sputum like some kind of rumbling volcano.

Have you ever had a moment in life when you suddenly stopped the charade  and asked yourself the time honored question, “how the f*#k did I get here? ”

Well, the more the dude coughed, the more I asked that question.

I mean I had been a Veterinary Surgeon working in plush clinics on the south coast of England less than five months earlier. How did I end up sleeping on that beer stained carpet in a sleazy one bedroom apartment in Burbank, California?

Faithfully following your dream, doesn’t guarantee you  any kind of success, but it does promise you an adventure.

P:S: This is the first in a series of blogs chronicling my adventures in Los Angeles over the last 3 years.

2012 Copyright Seven Sentences – Geoff Talbots Story

Two weeks later and I am still waiting for my frigin meeting. That’s the thing about LA, it can take forever to meet with anybody unless you are somebody.

I could be somebody, whatever the hell that means. You should see the lights go on in the eyes of strangers, when I tell them that I have a $20 Million dollar film funded 100%; the illusion of success lights a fake friendly fire in the eyes of the most ambitious souls.

If greed is good and fame will satisfy you; then where are the good and greedy influential souls in LA? Probably on the front cover of variety but they aren’t walking with the grime on the pavements of Hollywood Boulevard.

Therein lies the broken illusion of Hollywood, the homeless line the streets, and the rich and famous are barely spotted, as they avoid the sparse concrete lair that has become the home to so many failed dreams.

 P:S: This is the fourth in a series of blogs chronicling my adventures in Los Angeles over the last 3 years. See “How the F@*k Did I Get Here” to begin the adventure.

2012 Copyright Seven Sentences – Geoff Talbots Story

Some days are made in heaven; the kind of day where every step you take appears to have been arranged by the kind finger of God.

I don’t have many of those days; there is a general un-holiness about me that dictates that I must search for my own gold signet ring in a mountain of shit.

I’m not pissed about it; I learnt a long time ago that real life is full of blood, sweat and broken fingernails. Toil is not all bad, for it sharpens and prunes the soul.

Okay I admit it, some days I am pissed about it, how about you?

So why was today the best day of my life? I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.

P:S: This is the fifth  in a series of blogs chronicling my adventures in Los Angeles over the last 3 years. See “How the F@*k Did I Get Here” to begin the adventure.

2012 Copyright Seven Sentences – Geoff Talbots Story