I don’t chase dreams.
I drag ‘em out of hiding, pour ‘em a double shot of espresso, and write and draw until they scream.
I see the world as it is —
then I put down what it’s too afraid to show.
You’ve got a vision — or maybe just a half-sane hallucination sketched on the back of a diner receipt at 3AM.
Good. That’s where the best ones start.
I can help.
I draw. Not polite doodles or pretty little portraits. I mean the good stuff — the kind of visual voodoo that grabs your eyeballs, rattles your molars, and whispers secrets in your sleep.
I write. Like a man possessed. Like I found the Holy Grail in a truck stop bathroom and decided to turn it into a screenplay. First drafts? I don’t do first drafts. I do first storms. Buckle your seatbelt and pass the matches.
But listen — don’t take creative advice from a guy who’s been holed up in his own digital asylum for years, muttering about structure while mainlining espresso and sketching things that’d make Hieronymus Bosch say, “You okay, buddy?”
There’s an IMDb page. It’s real. I swear.
And if the proof’s in the pudding, this one’s laced with bourbon, battery acid, and something the chem lab still can’t identify.
I’ve rolled with titans:
Producers who’ve seen too much.
Directors who eat chaos for breakfast.
Cinematographers who light the shot like they’re setting fire to the last sunset.
I’ve lived in every genre like a fugitive with ten fake passports and a typewriter full of sins.
SO LET’S MAKE SOME ART.
RAISE HELL.
KISS THE MUSE FULL ON THE MOUTH.
And leave something behind that’ll either win an award or get banned in five countries.
—Paulo
on IMDB
