I admit I have an unhealthy fetish for abandoned and crumbling buildings. When we were together, K & I used to have an amazing time exploring (often by breaking in) dilapidated hunks of urban blight all over the world

It should come as no surprise, then, how exciting it was for me that we spent the day yesterday shooting in a disused cold war bunker built by Stalin to house the Politburo members and their families in the even of a US nuclear strike.

As it stands now, the structure is privately owned, and being repurposed for many uses; airsoft games, tours (complete with a mock nuclear attack), a haunted house, even a karaoke bar and nightclub. Still, the fucking thing is HUGE, and most of it is a waterlogged ruin.

In it’s day, however, a tunnel ran directly to the bunker from the Kremlin, and at more than 300 feet below ground, it’s likely the beast would have survived anything we threw at Moscow.

The pictures I posted here are from my phone, but I have great shots – and even better video – that will be going up once I get home. For now, let me just say yesterday was unassailably cool.

I promise, there’s a proper blog coming with pictures, and an update on the events of last week. Very quickly, though, as I begin my first full day in Moscow, these two thoughts:

1: I am very much the world traveler K taught me to be, and I still follow her tips; Always unpack. You’ll feel more at home; Make the time, because you might never come back; when they give you fixings for tea in your room, make the tea; and most of all, It’s All Part of the Adventure.

2: I just had this awesome discussion with Viktoria, the steely blonde desk clerk downstairs…

“You are here making movie?”

“Yes. We’re here shooting a documentary.”

“Ah. This is why you don’t bring wife.”

“No, I didn’t bring the wife because I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have wife?”

“I don’t have wife.”

“Why you don’t have wife?”

“Because I’m bitter, angry, hateful and impossible to live with and no woman will have me.”

“I see. So, you are Russian.”

I had several errands to run today, a grand circle tour of the Valley. I always try to plan these things out so I can backtrack as little as possible, and do it all in one day. My first stop was to drop a toy I had been selling for my friend Rob that he sold directly; the second was to loan some tools to K for an art project.

Both things should have been in the garage. Alas, I discovered that someone who had the combination to the padlock (meaning an employee of the management company, or someone the Gas Company meter reader gave the combo to) had come in and removed all my power tools, and all the collectible toys from the box they were in. I believe they knew I was gone (implying the property maintenance) because they took their time.

So now I owe Rob a shitload of money for his toys, and am out about $1,500 worth of tools it’s going to be a pain-in-the-ass to replace. Needless to say, I didn’t start the day happy. Looking on the bright side, though… it saved me two stops.

Professionally, things are moving, albeit slowly. I’m now talking to four different companies about directing. Something has to give. On the mainstream side, a lot is going on, all of it nebulous, most not worth talking about yet.

TQO seems to have blown me off completely, at least for now. I think she’s in love with her ex or something, from what I can glean off Twitter. Saturday night, I went to K&A’s art show in West Hollywood. It was good getting out to see people, something I need to do more often. I’m a lot like an animal. Left alone too long, I eventually cease being domesticated, and it takes a long time to get socialized again. I think I need to make the effort to travel down to ComicCon for a couple days, just for that purpose. I also had lunch with James Deen yesterday, mostly to get the scoop on The Canyons, the Paul Shrader-directed, Bret Easton Ellis-written film he’s starring in, but also to discuss one of those nebulous mainstream projects.

After the art show Saturday, I went to see Vega. Although it’s customary on a girl’s first blog appearance to explain her nom de voyage, in this case, it’s far too convoluted so I’m gonna skip it. I’ll tell you she’s 22, in the business, smarter than most people think, extremely sarcastic, and a filthy whore. When I fucked her in the ass with a knife to her throat, I think she was a little disappointed I didn’t actually cut her. Just a little.

Much to my surprise, she asked me to stay. I was even more surprised that I agreed. She woke me up with a blowjob that turned into buttsex with her squirting all over both of us, which I think is about the best start to a Sunday I’ve had in a long, long time. She asked me to come back last night, but I was in the middle of too many things, and declined. Vega did everything she could to talk me into coming, but I stood firm which led to her response that I have more willpower than sense.

We were supposed to get together tomorrow, but I’m going to Palm Springs with Hollywood to shoot some footage of a private investigator. Don’t ask.

Other than that, I have a date with a girl I’m going to call Ink (she looks like a Burning Angel girl) later in the week that I’m excited about, and I’m sure I’ll see Vega before then.

Meanwhile, about every third night, I wake from a dream in which a particular Girl I’m no longer seeing does or says something to convince me she finds me pathetic, annoying or foolish. This morning, I woke up at 4:30 afterI dreamed I was walking along a cliffside with said Girl when I slipped. I knew I had broken my ankle, and suddenly (dream logic) there was bottomless abyss underneath me. Instead of helping, Girl turned, expressed disappointment, then chuckled to herself as I lost my grip and fell.

Either I need a better mattress, or my subconscious is trying to tell me something.

For those who don’t get the reference, it’s from Star Trek. A “dunsel” is a part which serves no useful purpose.

As I near the end of my interminable, self-imposed exile in the wilds of Alabama, I’ve been reflecting on my life. Being on the wrong side of forty, this tends to happen more often than it should. Contemplating the accumulated consequence of my life’s work to date, the words “insignificant,” “trivial,” and “irrelevant” come to mind.

As a filmmaker, my career consists of bad, unfinished, or embarrassing mainstream films, and a laundry list of inconsequential porn films. My career as an actor stalled years ago. As a writer, well… I write a lot of porn scripts. Case closed.

As a person, I’m not doing much better. I recently had another girl I was banging (that’s five in two years for those of you playing the home game) decide to stop seeing me because she was falling for me. In this particular girl’s case, I would never have dated her. But the two previous girls who made this same decision were absolutely girls I would date, so it isn’t a commitment issue, at least on my part. Apparently, the consensus is I’m just unworthy of affection. It’s like a scarlet letter, but in reverse.

That might be the worst analogy ever coined in the English language. But you take my point.

To make matters worse, lately I’ve been a truly miserable fuck. Yes, I’m always bitter and angry, but this has been bad. I’ve been avoiding contact with my friends as much as possible because I don’t want to inflict myself on them. Alice has made a creditable attempt at reaching out, but I know I’ve been driving her insane. And Mischief, if she understood me better, would do anything to make me happy, but I would never let her because she’s supposed to be gaining distance from me.

Until very recently I was actually formulating a plan to simply vanish when the Alabama job was finished, starting a new life under a new name (don’t ask how… I have my ways) and beginning again. Except for cats, and several girls who don’t want to fuck me lest they catch a bad case of the Bryn, there is very little tying me to L.A.

I think the idea sprouted out of the hurt stemming from this (seemingly) constant rejection of me as both a worthy companion (whether I want to be or not), and the more recent, implicit, rejection of my worth on a professional level. I got replaced as the DP on two porn gigs a few weeks ago, and not only did the shoots go smoothly, several people were genuinely relieved to be rid of me.

Given my current mindset, it was an easy leap to make from there to just removing myself from the entire equation, because the fact is, I really wouldn’t be missed. Not for long. I’m not being melodramatic, I’m being logical. People adapt, and move on.

K has her own life and a budding career as an artist. Hollywood, like me, is a pragmatist, and after some initial angst, would conclude it was my decision to make. Alice would feel obligated to miss me, but it would pass pretty quickly (I’d like to think her feelings wouldn’t become actual relief, but it’s possible). Red recently told me to go fuck myself. Blue and D and the rest would mentally shrug and get on with life, as would my old friends and exes. Mischief would be more crushed by my disappearance than anyone, but frankly, my absence would be the best thing for her.

But I can’t. As tantalizing as the notion of running away from home is, I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s cowardly. It also wouldn’t solve anything; as I said to Alice, my biggest problem is myself, and I’d just be schlepping that around with me.

So, instead, I’m going to not give up.

Here’s the new plan: Unpack in my “new” apartment and make a fucking life there. Focus on the steampunk short, Cowboys & Engines, I’m going to be doing at the end of the summer with CM50 (a moviemaking colleague) producing, which is something I’m really excited about. I’ve got lines on getting both The Blood of Virgins and Director’s Cut off the ground that I’m going to pursue. I’m hoping REDACTED, the micro-budget horror film I shot last November, will open some mainstream doors. I’m going to start submitting to auditions again. And I’m going to re-establish myself as a porn director, because that chapter of my life has been pretty good to me, and I need to begin respecting it.

In short, I’m going to try… try… to be happy. It’s not my best talent, but I’m gonna have a lash at it anyway.

And maybe, along the way, I’ll find some filthy little hooker who likes dirty old men. And maybe she’ll want to hang around for a while.

Just a thought.

To Captain Dunsel.

I keep telling myself I haven’t backslid. I just finished day 4 of a three-week gig working as an electrician on an independent movie in Alabama. I needed the money, and my friend Hollywood made this happen for me.

Yours Truly On Set in Alabama

But here’s the thing; I haven’t worked as a juicer (movie slang) in years. A lot of them. And when I did, it was on much smaller movies, with much smaller lighting packages, than this one. So, essentially, I’ve got training wheels on for a lot of this shit… and I really hate feeling like I’m not pulling my weight.

Also, though, I had forgotten how tedious it is to work on a movie in a non-creative capacity. I’m simply manual labor; a remote-controlled pair of hands realizing someone else’s ideas. It beats digging ditches, but creatively, it’s just as satisfying. The fact that we drive past Dykes Road every morning on the way to set helps only slightly.

Not that I would want my name attached in a position of authority to this pile of shit. We’re working on a Christian movie (no, they don’t know they have an award-winning pornographer in their midst) with a horrible script, written by the spoiled-rotten executive producer, who wrangled the money out of the owner of a Christian camp, which is our primary location.

The director is an utter hack who did a lot of bad television, the DP is a nice-enough steadicam operator who frames shots as if he’s still on a steadicam (i.e., sloppy and too bright), and the aforementioned EP is doing everything he can to direct the movie himself. It’s a fucking disaster in the making. As of today, we’re a day-and-a-half behind schedule.

I’m also fighting off the malaise I mentioned in the previous post. I think it simply stems from the fact I haven’t worked a gig like this that took me away from home for such a stretch in a long time, and I just miss my people. Other than texting and the occasional phone call, I’m completely out of touch. I want to see K&A, Alice, Red (even though she’s being a cunt right now), Mischief, John & Brusta, my MTG group, my cats…

This weekend, I have several things I have to write; proposals for movies and websites, script breakdowns, etc. And it will be difficult, because I’m very unmotivated.

I’m dissolute and disconnected. But I’m working, and that’s not nothing.

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