The Howl Of A 3-Legged Dog

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

We Are All Weak Or In Denial

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

 

Stuck In The Bowels Of Rock Bottom

Square one or rock bottom is a terrible place to be, never mind all the clichés about “the only way on being up.”

Up is too far away.

Square one is more like the plughole at the bottom of the bath, where it feels like the life us draining away from your soul.

Anyone whose ever visited square one doesn’t bother with “positive thinking clichés” when they meet another unfortunate visitor. Usually they just stop and listen.

Tell me about your rock bottom in the comments section below.

For me rock bottom, visit number 1, was the death of the 20 million dollar dream, but little did I know that salvation was coming in the form of a three-legged dog.

 

P:S: This is the 14th  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

Why I Said No To 20 Million Dollars

Some people say that the metal of a man is defined by what he will say no to.

Sometimes your “no” may cost you everything you have. But will you still say “no?”

I said “no” to the men with their $20 Million dollars. I said no to them because they were not truthful men.

I said “no” because they behaved like a fickle hearted women, who loves to date but refuses to commit to anything more serious. That kind of women (or man) numbs your heart and steals your dreams.

 

P:S: This is the 13th  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

Why Won’t They Tell Me the Truth?

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

Are They Angels Or Demons?

I’ve discovered that I actually know people pretty well. My first impressions are usually the right, but I don’t always listen to my first impressions, especially when my heart is involved.

I guess I’m saying that something inside me knew instantly that these men from the Henley on Thames were crooks. Perhaps I was confused, I couldn’t tell whether they were simply incompetent or just totally dishonest, or perhaps, just maybe they were both?

I was like a virgin at the dance and my ability to listen to my gut was severely inhibited by my burning ambition for romance (money).

The optimistic side me wanted so much to believe that they were lucky fools who had stumbled upon their own little gold mine, from which they would fund my movies.

But as I followed them down the crooked path, the trees closed over and darkness began to fall, and I began to smell a strange and peculiar stench, we were not heading to a gold mine, we were descending straight into a sewer.

 

P:S: This is the eleventh  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

Is It Wrong To Take Bad Money

In a previous blog I had said that I was raped by the men with the money (read here), the truth is I wasn’t raped, I kicked them off before they had the opportunity to plant their greedy seed inside of me.

I had met them many months earlier at a quaint pub on the Henley of Thames in the south of England. They were loud, uncouth and obvious from the very beginning.

But they claimed to have something that I wanted very badly; they claimed that they had access to significant amounts of money. They also said that they liked me and that they wanted to make my films.

That’s the crazy thing with the film industry, it’s hard to tell the difference between the demons and the angels; sometimes the money comes from very strange sources.

Is it wrong to take bad money to make a good film?

 

P:S: This is the tenth  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