"CINEMATIC PAP" is a very special fast fiction based on work by the very talented
Josh Cochran.
So lean back in your theater seat, pull that blanket over your head, turn your flashlight on, read this story and enjoy...
Every waking hour of everyday my brother reminded me of why, as a young woman, I had wanted to move out of the house, but after he called me one night in the grips of despair over his wife's suicide, I couldn't help but take pity on him and made the wrongheaded decision to allow him to crash at my place. Crash land into my home. Crash into my marriage. Crash into my sanity. Crash, crash, crash, as he went through wall after wall after wall in my house.
My husband maintained a sense of positive composure through the whole ordeal. He also drank. Heavily. All the while my brother would blather on and on about the failings of modern cinema. He was a film critic.
"I had the darnedest dream the other night," Charles yawned, rubbing the sacks of black beneath his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I dreamt that I was flying over a village in the old country. Flying. A special dream. One of those dreams that just make you feel like you've swallowed a whole ocean of freedom." He kissed me on the cheek.
My brother sat at the table listening with apparently little interest but suddenly he started clapping: "While Charles Oberton's latest dream Flying, is ostensibly an exploration of the geography of freedom, it ultimately leaves one empty and dissatisfied. Where is it going ? Where does it take us ? What is the point ? I give it ten thumbs down."
Through the ensuing silence my husband went to the cupboard to put some Bailey's in his coffee while I mustered up the nerve to say something.
"You're going to have to leave," I said point blank.
"As Godard has opined, every film has to have a beginning, middle and an end but not necessarily in that order. Cindy Oberton's latest work Get Out labors under the false assumption that anyone is listening or cares, as she blithely ignores the entire notion of beginnings, middles or endings. I give it ten thumbs down."
And that's when we took matters into our own hands and killed him.
The end.
Josh Cochran.
So lean back in your theater seat, pull that blanket over your head, turn your flashlight on, read this story and enjoy...
CINEMATIC PAP
Every waking hour of everyday my brother reminded me of why, as a young woman, I had wanted to move out of the house, but after he called me one night in the grips of despair over his wife's suicide, I couldn't help but take pity on him and made the wrongheaded decision to allow him to crash at my place. Crash land into my home. Crash into my marriage. Crash into my sanity. Crash, crash, crash, as he went through wall after wall after wall in my house.
My husband maintained a sense of positive composure through the whole ordeal. He also drank. Heavily. All the while my brother would blather on and on about the failings of modern cinema. He was a film critic.
"I had the darnedest dream the other night," Charles yawned, rubbing the sacks of black beneath his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I dreamt that I was flying over a village in the old country. Flying. A special dream. One of those dreams that just make you feel like you've swallowed a whole ocean of freedom." He kissed me on the cheek.
My brother sat at the table listening with apparently little interest but suddenly he started clapping: "While Charles Oberton's latest dream Flying, is ostensibly an exploration of the geography of freedom, it ultimately leaves one empty and dissatisfied. Where is it going ? Where does it take us ? What is the point ? I give it ten thumbs down."
Through the ensuing silence my husband went to the cupboard to put some Bailey's in his coffee while I mustered up the nerve to say something.
"You're going to have to leave," I said point blank.
"As Godard has opined, every film has to have a beginning, middle and an end but not necessarily in that order. Cindy Oberton's latest work Get Out labors under the false assumption that anyone is listening or cares, as she blithely ignores the entire notion of beginnings, middles or endings. I give it ten thumbs down."
And that's when we took matters into our own hands and killed him.
The end.
posted by kevin spenst at 9:37 PM
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