lumara smells like burnt sugar and regret (an indie film scout’s diary)
lumara smells like burnt sugar and regret today. i just checked and it’s crisp enough to make your nose tingle but won’t melt your film stock-24°C with humidity lower than my chances of finding a decent espresso here. *alchemist’s alley was crawling with lo-fi cinematographers when i stumbled in, all muttering about golden hour light bending weird over the rusted observatory.
someone told me the midnight market in old towne sells bootleg recordings of lost arthouse films. smells like bullshit, but i’ll risk it. meanwhile, the cantina on third serves rye coffee so bitter it could double as developer fluid. if you get antsy, zalurra and vyntessa are spitting distance west-heard zalurra’s got a 24-hour puppet theater run by a guy who claims he shot b-roll for fellini.
overheard two gutter punks arguing whether the grnd_level 960 pressure here ‘vibrates at the frequency of tarkovsky’s stash.’ whatever that means. a local warned me not to pet the feral cats near the sea_level 1015* docks unless i want fleas and existential dread. valid.
pro tip: the feverdream hostel charges by how many film reels you’re carrying. their rooftop’s good for splicing together bad decisions and worse footage. bring your own gaff tape.
today’s agenda: find out why the lumara underground cinema collective keeps referencing ‘the 1276509 incident’ in their manifestos. smells like a bad sequel waiting to happen.
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