Spent some of Monday driving around the city looking at Theatrical Performance spaces sent to me as possible shooting and workshop locations.

Every single space I looked at (4) were in horrifying parts of Los Angeles. And it was daylight outside.

None of them had parking. None of them had working bathrooms. None of them had lighting, though one had sunlight coming through the large hole in the ceiling. There was not one that wasn't next to an automotive repair garage with air-ratchets blasting.

Still, the price seemed right on a couple of them.

But would I feel comfortable asking hot looking actresses and models to come work for me in these dangerous places?

And who would protect me?

I'm thinking more about turning my apartment into a movie studio instead.

The bathroom becomes the makeup/dressing room.

The kitchen becomes the break room.

The living room becomes the Green Screen stage.

The closet becomes the editing room.

The bedroom is where I would shoot the porn and or cast the actresses.

But living where you work can be a drag.

It's so early in the morning now, I've been reading the poetry of Christina and Dante Rossetti hoping they will help me sleep.

I've always found their work essentially elegiac, being that their melancholy poetry is of hard unfulfilled longing, of unrealized promise, and of great sad loss.

It is an emotional malaise characteristic of many of the Pre-Raphaelite poets and one I find myself returning to again and again.

I find as I read more, that the personae prompts most of them eventually to renounce the quest for satisfaction in this world in favor of gaining it in a solidly realized afterlife, or in some alternate form, usually a dream, or in art itself.

Sometimes I feel this way myself. I sometimes think I may be sabotaging myself, by thinking, "I'll do that, or worry about that later after I'm dead."

It's a cop-out I'm sure, but my dreams also are so great and waking only brings me sadness that the dream has ended, the prize is lost, the love has withered away into the loneliness of reality.

I feel a slipping into a warm tar of aesthetic withdrawal, where every movement leads me to suffocation.

But I look forward to seeing, "The Bourne Supremacy" since it was number one this last weekend. After I catch the first one whatever it was called... "The Bourne... Something." I dunno...