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Carrie part 2.
Pardon my lack of posts… I’ve been in rural Utah for the last 2 weeks shooting a film where there is no reception of any kind. I’ve had a WONDERFUL time eating The Whispering Sands Motel’s cinnamon buns and wilted bacon then turning on Hip Hop Abs Workout Program on TV so I could “work that shit off” or whatever. Whatever.
We’ve been shooting the film “127 Hours” which is the true story of rock climber Aron Ralston, the guy who had to cut his own arm off after it got stuck under a rock. You may have heard of this story– it’s a crazy one. When this movie started, I and the rest of the cast got to have dinner with Aron. He’s a very interesting guy. I’m hoping to write a more in depth account of this poetry-inspiring experience soon and share it here. But first I want to finish what I started.
I’ve received a few great poems in regards to my past post about Carrie from City Bank. (Quick digression: People are peeved about not being able to comment here anymore!) If you didn’t get to read the post because it disappeared too quickly off the main page, if you feel inclined to jump on the poetry bandwagon, here’s the link to the story:
I’m out of the sand dunes of Blue John now and back to the fancy sand dunes of Venice Beach. During my travels, I met a poet named Al who lived in a Teepee behind the Whispering Sands. Who drinks beer at noon and wears shirts like, “Where in the hell is Hanksville?!” He gave me his poetry cd entitled, Who Makes Angels Cry?
I’m about to find out.
(Keep sending me poems for Carrie please. I’m loving what I’ve gotten so far.)