July 2014 Week Five Part 3

touch

July 2014 Week Five Part 3

 

girl with the green eyes

July 2014 Week Five Part 2

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July 2014 Week Five Part 2

 

Sleeping Beauty #1

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Sleeping Beauty

(excerpt)

THE GATE

It was as if she were blind. Her eyes could see nothing but white. There was nowhere to go, no there to head toward or flee from, no sense of being in a place. Looking down she saw her legs dissolving in the white mist. She raised her hands in front of her eyes. Which direction should she head? The question made her laugh.

She heard something, something faint. Water. A trickle of water. But from where? The sound appeared to be coming from some place deep inside her head, growing louder and louder. The trickle grew into a roar until she could stand it no longer, falling to her knees, and crying out, as the roar seemed to explode from her head.

The pain was gone. The sound of running water appeared before her. As the mist began to thin she could make out the faint outline of a brook. She moved forward toward the brook, making out the wispy outline of an opposite shore. Stones were so laid in the brook as to allow one to cross. The water was shallow and slow moving. She put her foot on the first rock. It tilted slightly but held firm. She moved forward.

The opposite shore was no different in appearance from the bank she had just departed, no different except for an old man sitting on a wooden milking stool, fishing. He was an odd-looking fellow with his mop of thick white hair, stubby white goatee and Bavarian mountain climbing gear. She approached him cautiously and introduced herself.

The old man did not respond and, thinking him deaf, she stepped around and into his field of vision and spoke again.

“I’ve just arrived by plane,” she said, speaking loudly, enunciating each syllable distinctly.

The old man turned, almost tumbling off the stool that he balanced precariously upon. He looked up at her with anger in his chocolate eyes.

“You’ll frighten the damn fish off!” he shrieked, spittle spraying out of his mouth.

She said. “I’m lost. I’ve come to find my grandfather and I’m...” The old man barked, “Is he lost?”

“No, I don’t think so. I want to find him. I believe he’s living in a village in these parts. Could you give me directions? I would be awfully grateful.”

“How grateful?” the old man glowered, the chocolate of his eyes melting as they fondled the girl’s figure.

“Well, I...” the girl stumbled.

The old man shook his head in disgust and muttered something inaudible under his breath.

“Sir...” she pleaded.

The old man looked up at her, and then spat into the river.

“I should have stayed on the ferry. At least I had the company of the dog.”

Putting down his pole, the old man rubbed his neck.

The girl pleaded once again. “If you could just give me directions to the village.”

“Any direction but the direction you came from should do,” the old man grumbled as he picked up his pole and returned to his fishing. “Thank you,” the girl smiled, and then hesitatingly moved on.

Out of the fog the rough outline of buildings began to assemble in detail. The mist that she had been walking through seemed to give off its own light so that one could almost have believed it was midday. Now that the mist was rising, darkness replaced it as if night were another type of fog. Looking down the girl noticed that she was walking on cobblestones.

A man appeared on the road ahead. He was busy repairing the road, lifting the round bread shaped cobblestones with the use of a long metal bar and tossing them onto a pile. Some of the cobblestones had cracked open like eggs, their yoke spewing out over the pile. The man was singing in a tongue she didn’t recognize. So involved was the man with his work that he did not hear the girl approach.

“Good morning,” she said.

He looked up at her, startled, his hands trembling, a quiver in his voice.

“Excuse me?” the girl smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I just wanted to enquire if this was the way to the village.”

The man shook his head and stared at the girl in silence for a few more moments before the terror began to lift from his eyes. He smiled and then laughed. He laughed so hard, tears came into his eyes and holding his stomach he was forced to take a seat on the pile of stones. The girl remained still, silenced by his reaction. When he had regained his wits, he pointed the girl in the direction she should follow. She moved on.

Buildings began to appear along the way. They were strange structures, almost organic in their design. The houses were huddled very closely together so that there were no lanes or alleys separating them. And they were bent, hanging over the street like trees over a well-worn path. The tops of the buildings almost touched at places giving the street the appearance of a tunnel. Flags hung periodically from the houses on either side of the street though it was still too dark to make out what was written on them.

All of the houses were boarded up with shutters, The doors of the houses were very short, so short that one had to conclude that either the residents were very short or it was the custom of the village to ­enter a building bent over at the waist. As for the street itself, it

rolled up and down, twisted and turned like a river in a deep sleep. Occasionally there were street lamps fastened to the sides of houses casting strange willowy shadows across the cobblestones. In between the lamps, the street seemed to fall off into pools of darkness. There were narrow sidewalks on the street; so narrow in places that one was forced to walk on the street itself. Occasionally there were bars that resembled handles, jutting out from the walls of the buildings. The only sound to be heard on the street was the clap of the girl’s feet on the cobblestones. The silence was broken by an ambulance siren or what she took for an ambulance siren for she saw no ambulance. She breathed a sigh of relief; silence made her feel vulnerable.

A black cat crossed her path. It stopped and looked at her. All she could see were its green flickering eyes as it moved across the cobblestones. Under a street lamp she noticed that it wasn’t black at all, but copper in color. The creature moved slowly down the street until it reached a ladder that was leaning against a house which the cat nimbly climbed until she disappeared into an open second floor window.

By now the mist had almost vanished. Looking up between the rooftops at the stars, she found the big dipper. Sunlight poured out of it, down the darkened sky and over a great golden statue on a church steeple. As the street turned she lost sight of the statue. Ahead of her she heard laughter and singing.

July 2014 Week Five Part 1

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cha cha cha

an incident in Wisconsin...

July 2014 Week Four Part 3

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July 2014 Week Four Part 3

 

July 2014 Week Four Part 2

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an awkward encounter

July 2014 Week Four Part 1

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July 2014 Week Four Part 1

 

The Contract

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Making Movies 

(excerpt) 

The Contract

SAMUEL BREMMER: American culture, the film industry, Hollywood has introduced two new mythic figures into the human psyche. They are the cowboy and the gangster, the representative of goodness or innocence, and the representative of evil or corruption. Both are characters who seek that highest of all American ideals freedom. Besides representing good and evil, they also represent the country and the city. Americans have always had a distaste for urban life. It represents rules, law, restrictions. In a way I suppose the cowboy represents what most Americans would like to be, while the gangster represents what they fear they might be. Simplistic, I know, but it is the American mentality. Being a Canadian I have been both attracted and repelled by the American vision. It is highly romantic and simplistic. So what am I getting at? Well, the Canadian, being a spectator at close range, cannot keep a straight face. We are born sceptics. We laugh. And so that is why, to answer your question, we made a light comedy out of this gangster film.

I.

CHICAGO, 1920’S

2.

black limousine skids a round a corner

a man hangs out of a window

sets off the sidewalk with machine gun fire

two men fall down

a dog bleeds with barks

an old gentleman comforts his heart

two little girls drop their dolls

the dolls scream out

a woman pushing a baby carriage abandons it for shelter

the sun seeks cover behind a cloud

July 2014 Week Three Part 3

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July 2014 Week Three Part 3

 

a cauldron of witches

July 2014 Week Three Part 2

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July 2014 Week Three Part 2

 

July 2014 Week Three Part 1

and there's more

July 2014 Week Three Part 1

 

waiting for the interview

July 2014 Week Two Part 3

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July 2014 Week Two Part 3

 

restless leg syndrome

July 2014 Week Two Part 2

all is revealed

July 2014 Week Two Part 2

 

July 2014 Week Two Part 1

all is revealed at

July 2014 Week Two Part 1

 

July 2014 Week One Part 2

all is revealed

July 2014 Week One Part 2

 

Supreme Courting

July 2014 Week One Part 1

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July 2014 Week One Part 1

 

Making Movies #1

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Making Movies

(excerpt)
ANTHONY WHALE: I suppose I forced myself into the company. I was thirty years old and still doing commercials on television for toothpaste and laundry detergent. If I was going to make it as a professional actor I knew I’d have to make my move soon. I didn’t want to be a big name actor, no star or anything like that. I just wanted to act. I love it. Before an audience, a camera, a mirror. My wife says I just haven’t grown up. Perhaps. I tried to kick it once. Took a civilian job. Insurance agent. Drove me its. Sure, financially we did all right. I was good at selling insurance. And I had two kids and a wife to feed and clothe. But I started to drink. I was miserable. And I think I was going a little crazy. I began to see things. Not see things but believe things. For example one day I’d believe that it as raining out so I’d leave the house with an umbrella and it would be a bright sunny day. Or else I’d get the feeling while reading the newspaper that a cat was rubbing its back up against my leg. We didn’t have any pets. I’d rush to the office only to find that it was closed. It was Saturday. The wife and I had some long conversations about this and it was decided at I should return to acting. The wife’s only condition was that I get some permanent ongoing type of work and not do commercials. I heard about this company Sam was forming. I got an interview. I just layed it all it for him. He swallowed my story. I was always good at selling things…

restless leg syndrome

June 2014 Week Four Part 3

all is revealed... click

June 2014 Week Four Part 3

 

June 2014 Week Four Part 2

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outside my window...

murder 4

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murder

(excerpt)
police at the scene of the crime
snow white skin
blue ice eyes
pink trout lips
granite jaw
lieutenant elliot gritted his teeth
hid his fingers in a fist
mumbling
staring at the sky
that looked hollow, and shattered, and guilty.
His eyes were pulled
down to the grass
where the victim has been addressed.
he read over the facts:
blonde and twenty-four
raped and female
murdered alone
fingers chewed off.
the killer, nervous.

June 2014 Week Three Part 3

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June 2014 Week Three Part 3

Life in L.A. #7 Actors emoting

June 2014 Week Three Part 1

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June 2014 Week Three Part 1

 

June 2014 Week Two Part 2

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June 2014 Week Two Part 2

 

homeless in an office

a model takes a break

June 2014 Week Two Part 1

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June 2014 Week Two Part 1

 

June 2014 Week One

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June 2014 Week One

 

murder 3

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murder

(excerpt)
at the funeral
the ground yawned
like a beast
who has lost his taste but not his craving
they lowered the brown
plywood box
(with mahogany veneer)
the minister
related her tragedy

but emphasized
it made little real difference
since none of us was built to survive
her parents
pinched each other
with glances, the service
ended in whispers.
the chief of detectives was the first to leave
taking notes he waited by the cemetery gate
examining each face like an usher
checking tickets
to make certain
that everyone who has attended was living.
and as the mourners left
and stepped into their limousines

their heads were turned;
the earth was heard to belch
as the body rose up

evaporated.
 

May 2014 Week Four Part 3

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May 2014 Week Four Part 3

 

there will be no further contact between us...

May 2014 Week Four Part 2

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May 2014 Week Four Part 2

 

murder #2

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murder

(excerpt)
about the hanging
the courthouse poured out the crowd
who carried the accused
upon
their finger tips……………beneath
………………………………….cracked plaster sky
a violin and the moon passed
twisted shaken trees

a sailor trembling on the beach
handcuff’d peasants on their knees
crystal tears silver smiles in a cage
haunting wailing choirs
a french girl
pointed………………………… to the flag pole
the mob unraveled him
and hung him
from the
top
where he waved in the wind
‘IT WASN’T ME.’

May 2014 Week Four Part 1

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May 2014 Week Four Part 1

 

the girl at the end of the couch…

May 2014 Week Three Part 2

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May 2014 Week Three Part 2

 

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murder

(excerpt)
a report on the victim

NAME:
Holly Magdalen

ADDRESS
home no fixed address
mailing city morgue

BIRTH DATE
the day U2 Gary Powers fell off
the sky

RACE
potpourri

SEX
for medicinal purposes only
RELIGION
attends church every Sunday
all statutory holidays

OCCUPATION
actress in short art films

CRIMINAL RECORD
talks in her sleep
writes left handed
leaves her blinds open


OTHER
bad dream:
an angel appears unto her
and announces
‘you shall be the mother of GOD
but when the curtain rises
she is giving birth to twins.

May 2014 Week Three Part 1

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May 2014 Week Three Part 1

 

passengers