Prufrock is a putz

Uncorrected stills from my recent short film:
A deep, introspective, brooding moment for our hero, the writer. Get out your filterless cigarettes and black turtlenecks.

Ooo, pretty.

The lovebirds enjoy a moment of fantasy before the crushing iron boot of reality destroys everything. Or something like that. Oh, wait, I'm talking about my life, not the movie. Ahem. Next picture please.

The great Tucker Steinmetz. If I had my way, he would be in every movie I make.

Special effects shot. Turned out pretty well. Note, however, the camera bag in the corner, which I'll have to crop out of the final version. Few LCDs on video cameras show the entire picture. If you're a filmmaker, err on the side of caution. Don't trust your LCD. It lies.

Special effects shot. The light shifted so this was a pain to deal with. See if you can find the line where the footage was matted together. It's there.

The film should hopefully premiere at the local art theater on December 6th. I have no idea how people will react to it. I'm just hoping that no one throws rotten fruit and vegetables at me.

Ghostworld, St. Louis

Pictures from a recent business trip. From my balcony on the 20+ floor, a little bit south of God.

Nights like this makes me contemplate the most ephemeral things: spirits, old memories, and of course, most predictable of all, the red emotions. Everything seems sacred again.

Directly across from me, the hive is silent. Hundreds of dreams with their wings folded in, sleeping.

The city is haunted by slow shutter ghosts.