What's worse? an airbnb which lacks a blowdryer, and ironing board, an iron (which I'm almost certain if I had asked, these things more than likely would have been produced), or a room which great maid service, but a lousy view, bed, ceiling. On the one hand, there's nothing to do in this town I'm in and I can't believe that I decided to forgo an extra day in #telluride to investigate the Aztec ruins in New Mexico and get to the bottom of the mystery of why weeds grow everywhere else, but not in between the stacked bricks/stones. I took beautiful pictures there, however; yet hardly had time to take/find subject matter to photograph in #telluride.
What with last minute programming disclosures, not having a 'pass' to see any screening I wanted in any of the screening rooms, and not know what any of the films that are being showed are about, I didn't have the energy to sit myself down (in a café or something) to read up on what I would definitely be interested in watching. I downloaded e-books for this vacation and I wasn't about to cram for what all falls under the Rico movie requirements: must be rated R, must have preferred music score, an actor or two that I'm familiar with and basically about the shit I write about in #tmtwngm or #highschool.
So as I walk around #telluride in awe of the small shops and people out and about more than likely participating in the film fest themselves, the thrash metal embedded in my head serves as background music to my own personal mini series about being a virgin film festival enthusiast. Darn, I didn't get to see a single show, but I have better memories of walking and walking and walking until I couldn't walk anymore. Did I lose weight? I wish.
Most of the peeps I managed to converse with were tourists. There was this one guy who I swear looked like a director (but I can't recall his name.) I even said, 'you look like a big director' but do you think if he really was one he would divulge this information to me? I'm basically a nobody. I even had difficulty introducing myself because I couldn't remember to tell people my name was Henry. Then, at the Enterprise, a dive bar, when I finally came clean about how weird it feels to be named just like the town I was staying at — a town of what couldn't be more than 1,000 population — that might've had some influence in my decision to leave.
I woke up at 3 o'clock in the A.M. to hear coyotes howling. At first I thought they were wolves, but after chatting it up with some of the Mine Shaft Inn tenants, I was set straight. Wolves only habitat Yellowstone. Still, hearing their song made me feel like the poor creatures were howling at how cold it was that morning. Oh, speaking of animals, I killed a bird on my drive back to New Mexico. I still feel bad. Like, had I decided to stay another day, the bird wouldn't have flowing into my rental which was traveling at 60MPH. Poor bird. Was it even a good thing that it was a quick death? I tell myself, the bird was probably slowly going blind and stupidly made a suicidal sprint, the way they do when you see them fly directly across the front of your car and escape a collision while you, the driver, ask yourself, "If I could fly, I so wouldn't risk crossing the street that way. I would simply fly over the vehicle."
It made me think of my ludicrous idea of practicing guitar AND influencing the songbirds within earshot with the melody of the songs I try to learn. If my wrist permits, it is most definitely the first thing I'll be doing when I return home. Otherwise, I feel like the grim reaper of birds. I remember feeling like this when I had a pet cat. Every winter, out of sympathy of the cold, I'd go out and buy bird seeds which would bring around the wild finches, wrens, etc. And once in a blue moon, the cat might've caught a bird. Regardless of whether the kill was done as a direct result of a bird feeding on the seeds I leave out for them, or some other scenario, I always felt at fault.
Been going around town looking for jewelers to fix my gold chain. All of them say that their jeweler is not available and the item needing fixing would need to be sent out. It might be nice to be window shopping rings, a fantasy of mine as I don't see myself deciding on an engagement ring by myself and later proposing marriage to s.b. There is nobody. I'm doomed, it would seem, to be lonely forever. The bird killing dirty old man is what my fate holds for me. It's sad, but it's also a long story. It's supposed to be explained in #tmtwngm and #highschool but because the subject matter is so personal, it's hard to write without feeling suicidal (or maybe just destructive.)
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I started to feel inspired when I convinced myself of a major character in the plot reaching out in a #highschool reunion sorta way. She was the main cause for heartbreak in my life, yet somebody I always considered too good for me. and because I've been cautious all my love life, after being raised by a crazy woman and two older crazy sisters, and reflecting on my own urchin habits as a child thru adolescence, a lot of the girls/women in my life always end in physical pain. Now, I'm almost convinced that I'm sadistic, but I only think this because one has to be labeled as such if they love their heavy metal music.
Aside from the howling coyotes, I saw no ghosts. Maybe an apparition, but I'm always seeing things, and this time it wasn't at the hotel but within the town of Rico, Colorado very near the Mine Shaft Inn. A woman's face I think it was. And, to icing on the cake is the way this major character in the plot for the screenplay I'm putting together is being transfixed on passersby everywhere. But wait! These old acquaintances that I once knew have a passion for art it would seem, something I didn't know about when we were friends. Could it be that my downfall from high school made some impact on their lives and they chose to devote their lives in aesthetics because they knew it was my goal to be a cartoonist, a commercial artist, movie director, or something similar? So I really can't bring myself to make an effort to clear the air with her because what if? What if I'm really damaged goods?
I have a good job, though it can be challenging at times. It's hard to believe somebody who is off kilter would be able to maintain a gig like that. It's like where does the creativity stop? All these half baked theories I come up with are only good for creative writing, IMO because if I tried to act upon them, it would lead to nowhere. Probably more sadistic treatment until everything collapses. And so, I stand on the sidelines and it sucks.
One day, when I die of natural causes, perhaps I will be discovered and all those who outlived me and knew me might come across a puzzle in a publication attributed to my writings/illustration. That's all I have going for me. Imagine? Nothing to look forward to until I'm dead and have no say in it whatsoever. It's not a modesty thing either. It's more, I've accustomed myself to passive behavior (in a nutshell: disappointment) and if anything good/positive ever came my way, I wouldn't know how to act. It's kinda like going thru life perfecting one's poker face and covering up any hint of emotion.
It doesn't work. I went to church to thank god for the safe arrive into New Mexico and for fucks sake, I could not stop the tears. They say [Christians do] that crying is a sign of receive the Lord as one's personal savior. WTF? That's the main reason I don't play into christianity. I was raised catholic and mass was alway a chore. Maybe it was suggested that I hate going to mass from my older siblings. Maybe I just didn't understand what the pastor was going on about, but at Rico, Colorado, Sunday mass touched me. So all that practice in life of not showing my true feelings it BS.
Among other faces that I mentally impose on passersby, like the director dude are all people who I follow on social media. I've either replied to their tweets, like their instagram, subscribed to their facebook, etc. so that would explain the infatuation. Really I didn't see so-and-so, even if I always seem to see the bearded fellow she takes selfies with after the celebrity encounter. One would think if anybody could approach a celebrity with the question "Aren't you so-and-so?" it would be at a film festival. Sadly, like in the game of chess where a good player is always several moves ahead in his head, I'm reluctant to ask such questions because it is the reality of crossing paths with a well known celebrity which could involve a confrontation with a bodyguard or just peer pressure reaction from their real friends. It's difficult for me to shift from glad-to-see-you to oh-I-get-it. Maybe it's not politically correct to think, that's okay. Actors and actresses take a lot of shit in their work. And for that reason, their privacy should be respected, and all urban legends about how celebs enjoy being recognized in public because it gives them confidence that they're producing good work goes right out the window.
It rained at #telluride and I juxtaposed this with tears of a plot I'm determined to get out even if it kills me.
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