Monday, August 7, 2017

Mitchner Gorenick as the postman.

Gorenick as mailman in little postal jeep
looks in back of jeep, in darkness at a medium-sized box
CU on Rochelle's name on label
Gorenick runs in his own house with box
naked, pulling dress from box
with towel on head, in dress, obvious erection
serious "I toy with the hearts of men.  I can just take my pick."
swirling around the room, looking in mirror,
soundtrack goes from whimsical to heavy
Gorenick silently screaming into mirror, mirror cracks

Rochelle on phone, smiling
aunt: "I sent you a birthday cake.  Sour Cream.  Your favorite!"
Gorenick drives up, looks in back.
"maybe its a damn bomb and she'll just die!"
picks up package, sees "perishable" tag.
MUSIC: Smile a Little Smile
dust flying, dirt road in forest
packaging on ground, candles
Gorenick fucking cake
drives into post office,
helmeted postmaster on dock
shakes head in disapproval

screenplay: the bitter tea of Mitchner Gorenick.

(music: Year of the Cat)
Car dealer.
Rochelle posing with old GMC.
Getting hot in sun.
Camera follows a leg up, from the open-toe heels to the thighs,
then cut to:
thigh in theaterhouse, theaterdark broken by screenlight.
she is being suspended on a sea of her friend's hands.

Touch of Evil is on the screen. 
(long seen of heston's wife harassed, following man, then speaking)
(sound is in bg)
(heston and welles meeting)

Gorenick watching in projection booth.
Appears in theater proper.
Asks her to leave.
Has to try several times to get her attention first.

Gorenick looks from lobby, sees her outside, under marquee, walking away with an entourage.
Rochelle, head back, laughing with delight.
slow to a stop on that frame, then:

Cut to:
cigarette ad, beautiful woman smiling just like Rochelle.
big lashes, blue eyes, red rosy cheeks, a spit of lipstick, perfect teeth
(music: Brandy, You're A Fine Girl)

pull out to see:
wrecker station
Gorenick drinking a glass-bottle soda.(Nugrape)
walks outside, hunkers down behind wrecker.

parade is happening on the street outside.

gorenick spits on pavement.  it sizzles.

Rochelle sitting on a Monte Carlo, smiling, waving
everyone waving back.  emphasize number of waves.  EVERYONE.

Saturday, August 5, 2017

Little Devil and that mean old mongoose.

Little Devil heard the mail order houseware salesman before he saw him.  He ran out to the big Buick 8, ready for a stick of candy from the fat man.  But the salesman had something else in the back of his car.

A mongoose.

The mongoose became incensed when it saw the rooster embroidered on the back of Little Devil's jeans.  That thing chased the boy all around the yard, chased him until the mongoose got tired and went to hurt some water to drink.

When the dust settled, we could all hear Uncle Dog laughing from his bed in the front room.  Uncle Dog had been bedridden since grade school, when his lady love shot him, and the wound had been slowly killing him since.  He bled little by little from the wound.  One would think it would infect and then kill him, but that would be merciful.

It was some bad mojo letting him live and suffer, and now the bitter old man was laughing at his little nephew.

We didn't order any dinner plates that particular day, but we did catch the mongoose around back drinking rainwater from a discarded milkglass gravy boat.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

a day in sweater and slacks near the surf.

I took my walking stick out for a day in sweater and slacks.  I had picked up two empty soda bottles and put them in my pockets to discard later.  When I got near the shore, I heard an awful little squeal.  It was an egret, injured, in the shallows where the water is stale and murky, on the verge of turning green, completely stagnant.

I picked up the egret and felt its little weight against my breast.  It shook with fear, but I stroked it gently and whispered to it that I was it's new good friend.  I stifled back a sneeze, inside me, knowing the violence of a sneeze just then would probably stop the egret's little heart.  I took it home to the parlor where I chewed up some worms and gently spit them into the birds mouth, where the bird gobbled them up with delight!

Later, I put on a film of movie, not Lucio Fulci fare, but an old exploitation vehicle nonetheless.  On the screen:

"YOU BE LIS'NIN' TO SPACE WILLIE!  I AM THE RULER OF THE NIGHTTIME WORLD!"

And, of course, there was one white girl in the crowd.

You know that.

Saturday, July 29, 2017

Modern-day alchemy: waste-to-energy

I tell you.  They were dreamers.  Some had high intentions, while others were subversive.  The alchemists of old.  They sought a childish dream: to turn waste into gold.

I was a student(and still am) in the dawn of the conservation push.  We, as seven-year-olds were shown VHS films of large front-end-loaders trudging around the landfill.  Trash, as far as the eye could see.  We were being told this was our future.

Thirty years later it hasn't happened.  We have not become overrun by garbage, yet.

In the Back To The Future sequel, Doc Brown needed fuel for the fusion reactor in his time-traveling exotic(and highly customized) automobile.  He had a slot on the back of the car labelled "Mr. Fusion", into which he put anything he could find, like in the film he put common garbage from an alley, banana peels, empty potato chip bags, anything.

The trick to waste-to-energy is take the approach of making it a zero-waste proposition, like carbonized material being made into inks or something, preferably something that need not be sanitary, or sewn/hewn into building materials, something of a carbon fiber, instead of "wood products", which are our nice trees.

We don't appreciate the trees until they are gone, you know.

Whoever finds a usage for the waste gases will be declared the winner of the whole thing, I guess.

Friday, July 28, 2017

Movie idea: The Three Loves Of Charlie Earl.

First: It was a whirlwind. Dance and drinks. Few weeks in the apartment, then its off to a house, co-signed and all. Charlie Earl cuts grass outside with his self-propelled pushmow, meaning he just walks behind it with a hand touching it, like a dum-dum. Laura in upstairs bath, meaning to climb out of the tub, but slips. Her head goes through the window and is severed CLEAN-OFF by the glass. Her head rolls outside across the backyard and stops of front of Charlie Earl's self-propelled pushmow. Charlie is completely confused.

An end to confusion.

Title Card: Given over to waste.

Second love. It goes slower this time. Charlie is gun-shy about co-habitating. They have sleepovers though, and brunches in their underoos. It's good. Charlie leaves one morning in his British Racing Green MGB. She runs alongside the car. Charlie makes a game of it, grabbing hold of her hand, Helen's hand. His grip slips. She grabs hold more firmly. She trips over a root, and falls, before Charlie Earl can let go. Her body is pulled beneath the back wheel of the car.

Charlie stops the car in the next forty feet and looks back incredulously at another ruined love.

Title Card: Succumbed to Ruin.

Third Love: Angela the angelic goth girl. Things are more subdued this time. Charlie Earl just kinds of lets it happen. He's becoming jaded. He leaves her in the truck at the discount superstore while he goes inside for vitamins, underwear and a USB flashdrive. Back in the car, the engine is running and the air-conditioning is blaring, which happens to be filling the car with carbon monoxide. Angela peacefully goes to sleep, like an unwanted kitten.

Title Card: "Blessed Are The Sleepy, For They Soon Drop Off."

World goes to hell in a hand basket. The dead are coming back to life. Kristinna Lokken gets her American flag bikini. She rigid-mounts a high-caliber automatic on the back of a 2-ton flatbed truck. Finally, she puts on her open-toed heels.

Charlie Earl is consulting with his pastor, a Methodist of many years. One of Lokken's stray bullets hits the ESV in the pastor's hand and pages go EVERYWHERE. They scatter, babies. Charlie ducks until the truck is gone and goes in the sanctuary, where Angela's dead body lies in the coffin.

BUMP.

From the coffin.

The coffin falls and Angela crawls out and gets to her feet. From the back, we see that her dress has been cut by the mortician, to aid in dressing an immobile corpse. She has a nice lily white butt. But that's besides the point.

She stands there, pupil-less, and puts her head down, angelic, almost penitent, waiting for Charlie Earl.

He comes to her side and we pull back to see a wedding tableaux, with Charlie and the dead girl centermass and the sanctuary now full of people.

Midnight. Charlie Earl climbs off of Angela and lays down on his back. She nestles up to him and nibbles at his ear. He begins to muse how his life has finally turned around. We hear crunching suddenly.

She's eating into his brains.

FIN.

Friday, July 21, 2017

Sioux Schnell and Brickbart Schnell, a modern-day Castor and Pollux.

Sioux Schnell earned her masters degree in literature and married a degenerate lifeform:  a published poet.  He was an inconsolable moody marginally-functional alcoholic, and during his hard mood swings, he liked to lay hands on Sioux.  It was fire and ice.  Tender touches one hour, then beatings.

Sioux would hide from him.

He even coaxed her into drinking with him, trying to pull her into his void of emotional chaos.  It was funny because he wrote poems about trees and leaves.

But man was he an asshole.

Meanwhile Sioux's brother Brickbart read something on the internet.  Which, reading on the internet, is like putting a gun to your head, sometimes.

He played a lady.  Made her think he was in love with her, so she would become his girlfriend.  He had no hopes of closing the deal with her, so, at her behest, he went to a physician and was prescribed Viarga(tm).

The pretense had worked.

He crushed the pills and snorted them up his nose!  Instantly, he was like an omniscient, all-knowing superman!  But there was one problem.  The act rendered his eyes useless.  He was completely blind!

But now he knew too much.  Everything made sense.  In his mind, there were no questions, no worlds to conquer, and suddenly there was not a sense of wonder in anything.

So he committed sepaku.  By waiting, sitting in his lonesome bedroom for the next eighty years, in nature reclaimed him.