Saturday, March 12, 2005

Beatnik Needs a Favour

And that's when I smoked the dried fingernails of Howard Hughes. Yeah, all dried and ground up and weird. Don't know how my man got 'em but I'm a beat poet so fuck you and all your company of squares with your questions that are like a pack of hungry dogs that gnash their fangs at each other. Dogs that race through poverty littered backalleys. Yeah those questions will some day come home to roost in your mouth and as you die you'll cough up a couple of feathers. Yeah dogs and birds and other fucking beasts.

Oh yeah and can I borrow five bucks ?

Friday, March 11, 2005

Elevated Smiles

One afternoon in an elevator Paul met that guy whose name he couldn't quite remember.

"Hey Paul !!" the guy smiled enormously with such a friendly spirit that all of Paul's concerns and worries were momentarily dispelled.

"Hey..." Paul resolved at that second that this time he would commit this fine gentleman's name to heart. "What was your name again ?"


And with that they fell into a brief elevator conversation as they went up, up, up.

Over the following three months, Paul caught neither hide nor hair of this cheerful young soul, but he waited everyday in non-sexual anticipation for Troy's friendly demeanor.

While arriving home with a not unattractive date one Saturday evening, Paul spotted Troy with a woman next to the familiar elevator and, hoping to impress upon his date the friendly nature of his neighbours, he shouted out with exuberance: "Hey Troy !!"

Troy's smile did little to inspire any notion of friendliness. In fact he couldn't at that moment in time recall this smiling asshole's name. He himself was on a date and felt the small sting of unrequited name-exchanging.

"Hey, guy."

Thursday, March 10, 2005

The Man who Wanted to Crawl into Julia Robert's Smile and Sleep Forever

The phone was ringing with a shrillness that drilled into my head, while someone was pounding on the door like they were tenderizing meat with a mallet on a vertical plane. Why would anyone want to beat the shit out of a steak on my door, I thought to myself, before I realized that this was just an image that flittered through my mind. I kicked myself for letting mental imagery get the better of me and then the ringing and pounding crashed right in again.

I'm not well.

I can snap at any moment as I have a very "porous membrain" that can't keep the outer world from seeping into the inner world and vica versa. I once played one of those ten-stressful-things-are-happening-at-the-same-time-and-what-would-you-do-first games which so freaked me out that an ambulance had to be called in. All of my quik dials on my phone are set to 9-1-1. It could happen anytime.

They keep pounding on that poor door and the phone keeps ringing. Could they be the same people ? Maybe they're on their cells. Maybe they're dialed my number and they're pounding on the door right now with their cell phones. They're smashing their cells to smithereens on my door. For what ?!

In moments of stress, I imagine that I'm only a couple of inches tall and that I'm next to Julia Roberts' sleeping face. I curl up into her mouth, like it's a great big red hammock. That's the only thing that keeps me grounded. That dream.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Drinking and Driving and Filming the Greatest Remake ever made

Christ, what a day. Our first set-up took forever because of a stupid key-grip who doesn't know his right elbow from his left nut. If he slips up again so help me god, I will personally send him up shit creek without the proverbial paddle. Blood is thicker than water !! My ass.

So after we get some momentum to the day my A.D. tells me at lunch that she's concerned about the health of some of our actors. She says they're starting to look a little pale around the gills. She says this to me knowing full well the very first conversation that we had about this project. "Von Triers' the Five Obstacles is a blueprint for a whole new approach to film-making and for our part we will keep the actors drunk for every shooting day to make a movie unlike anything ever seen before." But screw principles right, she's concerned about the "health" of some piss-ant actors who wouldn't know principles if they fucked them up the ass. We're half way through a month's filming and she's worried about actor's "health". How about the "health" of this project ?! And then she tells me that we should maybe think about using stunt drivers to do the driving scenes, in which case there would be no point in doing a remake, I remind her. Sister-in-law or not if she keeps up with these cry-baby laments, I will can her.

People jokingly said that any consideration of my project would be "gone in 60 seconds" after I opened my mouth for any pitch session. I proved the assholes wrong. I got financing for an all drunk version of what once was originally a classic action film and then that fucking Nicholas Cage remake come along and f.u.c.k.ed it up. I will right wrongs with my version. I will show the inner sickness of the Hollywood system and America.

Good fucking night.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

the poet who ate paper instead of putting it in the garbage

"I leak oblique rhymes times whatever the fuck you want." He reads this off a small scrap of paper, crumples it up and then swallows it. A girl in the front row of the class with tiny piranha teeth opens her eyes wide in surprise. It looks like she is going to swallow the preceedings in front of her, but she sits motionless.

"Ghosts' lips haunt my fingertips which you don't want." Again he crumples this up with much ado and then inserts it into his poetic mouth. The English teacher at the back of the class smiles the smile she's been smiling for twenty-two years, four months, and two days. Someday she'll retire.

"Cataracts compete with clouds of smog to get front row seats in the show of your life. Wants want you." Crumple. Swallow.

But to avoid reading this anymore you dear reader take up the piece of paper that this is written on, crumple it up and swallow.


Monday, March 07, 2005

Let Satanism Come Naturally Dear Children

A motley-crue of metal-headed young Norwegians stand in front of an old dilapidated church. A dead chicken lies in front of them.

"No you can't just kill the chicken, you have to eat it," says the scrawniest of the lot. "We make a little fire in the back of the church, cook it and eat it."

"You have to eat it raw, you shit-head," says the biggest of the group. His shirt, ballooning out in front from the fat beneath, reads RAW-CORE DEATH HUNGER.

A third opinion opines: "No, you cook it from the flames of the church, eat it and then throw that shit that comes from the chicken meal into the burning church. It totally says you should do that in one of the lost chapters of the Satanic Bible."

"Hey, shit for brains, how is that chicken going to digest before the fire goes out ?"

The group bursts out into shouts and accusations, when suddenly the Devil appears in long hair, sandles and a tie-died tie over a white t-shirt and torn jeans.

"Hey, hey, hey. How are you guys going to get anything done with these attitudes. Satanism isn't about rules, or doing something the "proper" way or even throwing your own feces into the fire of a burning church. It's about having a great time with some good friends. You dig ? Now don't you guys have a church to burn down or what ?!"

The five metal-heads stare in disbelief at the sight of their satanic savior. They start to cry.

Sunday, March 06, 2005

Full Contact Lenses

He yawns his way towards the bathroom while below his feet shuffle behind through a broken-down dance of defeat. A book is the only thing shielding his nudity from the world outside his giant bay windows. "Everything I Needed to Know I learned in the Womb" is his inspirational reading for the morning.
After stepping into the bathroom, he plops a contact into his right eye but it revolts against his plans and jumps out onto the edge of the sink. He picks it up and inserts it with greater care into his eye.
It leaps out again; this time landing dangerously close to the drain of the sink.
Sam shakes his head awake and rubs his eyes. He takes up the contact lens on his index finger and examines it carefully.
It jumps off his finger but this time Sam goes to grab it and that's when it punches him square in the face.