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I went to help out at a friend's set, who put all the valuables, wallets, documents, computer hard drives, and some of the footage taken in the previous week, in the bag in the car. As a result, the day before the shooting, the car was pried into and the bag was stolen.

I saw him with unkempt grass hair and appear on the set vigorously, and I admired him very much. It's really a good day, but the movie can't wait for anyone. The horses and losses I have suffered myself, and I am still willing to bow down to this comparison.

We were filming in a motel, and I was holding a recording device and hiding in a twisted pose under a checkout cabinet plastered with sticky notes. The friend and the lead actor sat at a vending machine that glowed green. The old-fashioned fan was dangling on the top, and I wanted to ask the director if he wanted to record the sound of the ceiling fan as well. I climbed out with the pole and heard him sigh and say to the actor: I don't know what we're filming now. My whole state of mind is very confused, you know? It's just that I don't know what to do except for the thing in front of me. You experience it, that's what it feels like. You just want to get change to do the laundry, and you have no idea what to do after that. You only know the one thing in front of you, and you don't have any direction other than the first time, you know?

Drama is like life, director, I think it's very easy to understand.

It's really fun to work on someone else's set, you just have to focus on what is in front of you, and you have something to eat, and everyone else has to worry about it. But at night, my helping mentality becomes a struggle to survive. I was so tired that I could barely open my eyes with the mixer, and I shivered in the cold wind of the early morning. It was finally over, and another friend drove me home. I looked at my watch, and at three o'clock in the morning, she was eighty miles away. When she got out of the car, she said, I bit my tongue all the way to stay awake.

It's so dangerous, I complained to another friend the next morning who was filming a night scene, that sleep-deprived film students are probably the most dangerous group in Los Angeles.

She said, "Hee-hee, I drove the delivery truck last night.

I said, "Do you have a certificate?"

She said, "I have it, but I just got it."

I said, "That's your driver's license, and I said do you have a truck license?" We don't know who drove back to our truck yesterday.

She said, "Hey, is that blue car we hit yesterday yours?"

Movie students who don't get enough sleep and drive 18-foot trucks without a license are really the most dangerous group in Los Angeles.

Actually, it's quite happy to be busy, but as soon as I stop, I feel a terrible emptiness. The questions about the journey of life poured up from beneath the rubble, and it was hard to breathe. I finished eating the teriyaki chicken rice on the set, sat down next to the mixer and sighed, feeling like I was going to vomit my lungs too. At the end of the first day of shooting, I went with the photographer to look at the footage of the day. I found that the lighting in some areas was not well controlled, and the faces were all black. The next day we found out that it was the problem with the display, but we didn't know it at the time. The two of us drove home in the early hours of the morning, and she gushed angrily, and I didn't say a word. Six hours later, the next day's shooting will begin. I don't know what else I can shoot or how I can shoot it. But the arranged shooting is like a winding machine, the days can not be over, but the film cannot stay.

The power system of the rented scene broke down the next day. Didn't fix it all morning. Soon it was two o'clock. I looked at my watch and said we might as well eat first. I walked out of the factory and took pictures and smoked there. She said don't panic. I said, well, it's okay, we just think it's a belated lesson in life, and we always have to compromise with failure.

But we finally finished filming, rewatched the footage, and found that it was not so bad. We went to eat late-night udon noodles with the lights. The waiter came over to get the menu and said are you all set? It's the same sentence we use on set, which is often to ask if the camera is ready. It scared the hell out of us all. Then everyone slapped the table and laughed for five minutes. Those 24 hours were like a huge black wing, gathering and spreading over our heads. Later, I said to my friend: I used to think that the biggest difficulty in making art was that you made a work of art that you liked, but it was not recognized by others. It was then that I realized that this kind of ordeal was fortunate enough for us to encounter. The real basic fear is that you've done your best, but what you make can be plain and bad.

When I wrote this, I felt a little hypocritical. Eventually, the depression will pass, and all we can do is continue to draw nourishment from our experiences. Looking back in a few years, maybe these are trivial things. Even now, I can feel the unspeakable hardship fading away from me. Today I lay in bed and felt the urge to write a story again. I really love them. Who else do I have besides my unborn story? In all that fades like the tide, what color is still with me? When I first started writing, I described myself as a lone traveler in the wilderness, drawing a little warmth from the reader's feedback to me. Now that I think of this metaphor, I am more like a beast running wild in the reckless jungle, desperately chasing the indescribable light in front of me. Every moment when the footsteps stopped, the cold tarsal body was born, and hunger penetrated the skin and bones. If you don't insist on creating, you can only be swallowed up by the nothingness that follows.

Alas, having said that, it is still necessary to eat. I found that there is a restaurant where the fried rice is particularly delicious, so let's eat this.

#停灯向晓