While filming the opening credits for The Sheepdog Show I got into a conversation with a homeless lady. She told me she was tired of people assuming she was a drug addict. “I’m addicted to food,” she said with a laugh, and then shrugging, she added, “Oh, and I smoke cigarettes.”
About this time, a friend expressed concern to me about my relentless pursuit of artistic endeavors. He told me he was seriously worried I might end up in the streets trying to produce these projects. (Ironically, this was the same conversation where he was trying to convince me to pay him for helping, but I digress.)
From late 2011 until very recently I have been struggling financially. It has made it very difficult to get things done. I mean, PayDay was my last major accomplishment, and thay was 2012. My eyes have always been bigger than my wallot, and in America, when a risk doesn’t pay off with financial gain, you are labeled a loser. Between the struggle, the “failures,” society’s pressures of success, and the slow churn of results measured against the relentless rolling clock, some may say I am put of my mind for continuing down a pathway of all or nothing total ruin, and I suppose when looking at Einstein’s definition of insanity (doing the same thing and expecting different reaults), they’d be right. After all, how long before I’m selling my body on the streets for an imdb credit?
But I assure you, I don’t have a drug habit, just an art one.