here i am at the "graveground," while filming part of the video element of my adaptation of sartre's "No Exit."
while there, a priest came out of the church--yes, a catholic church--and asked, "What are you doing?"
"filming for this play," i answered.
"What kind of play?"
"Oh, it's by a frenchman named Sartre..."
The priest leans out of the door, his white overrobe blowing in the breeze. he asks,
"Well, it's not...sacreligious, is it?"
now why would he think a thing like that.
"Well, it's not...sacrilegious, is it?"
"Well, no...I'd really say it's more satanic than sacrilegious..."
here's another bit of sacrilege for all you motherfuckers:
i kill you.
love luz.
while there, a priest came out of the church--yes, a catholic church--and asked, "What are you doing?"
"filming for this play," i answered.
"What kind of play?"
"Oh, it's by a frenchman named Sartre..."
The priest leans out of the door, his white overrobe blowing in the breeze. he asks,
"Well, it's not...sacreligious, is it?"
now why would he think a thing like that.
"Well, it's not...sacrilegious, is it?"
"Well, no...I'd really say it's more satanic than sacrilegious..."
here's another bit of sacrilege for all you motherfuckers:
i kill you.
love luz.
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So I think Ill go running up hills again tomorrow, to see if I can get them back
Im having marsipan piggies for dinner. What are you having?