Do not question the contents,|
or the road on which we walk,
The celestial vision, or the exuberant talk.
Language to the universe,
Speaking the actions,
dying for words of uninterrupted distractions.
Overlooking the minds functions,
straight to the point, the road on which we travel,
leads to pursue and shows us the view....
to which our infancy already knew,
instinctive knowledge, vast and askew,
soon they departed.
It was inspired, this red thread,
Us to vicious praise,
leaving behind the essence,
of negatively charged days.
Pushing it we shall obtain,
what once did remain,
hearing child like happiness of the same,
only now shall we comprehend and begin to name.
This luminous wonder, wills me to bow,
only to be taught, what was once known and how.
The innocence is so pure, and it is the connections we learn,
as we grow it is the intellect that results in the burn.... the loss.
My brothers fight the feeling, too scared to let it go,
if they would just allow the fear to encapsulate,
instead of hide and as a result, forcefully defenestrate.
My love grows more, and the more I endure, the more love spawns,
and the more I endure, the more my heart expands and my love turns pure.
Atom upon atom, I place my soul in a precise point in time,
spinning the positive, while directing my mind.
Weary to avoid and observe, only the effects I can view and curve.
My heart imprints its mark, and as you try and catch your breath,
your eyes open offering thanks, to the sub mental death....
...and your trans celestial birth.
Your free to be, who ever you see.
And when I help you to the mirror, keep in your soul that it wasn't me.
Give thanks for you, its you; and you live only for you, because you and only you will ever have the will to will it to.
Your decisions are in your hands, not the hands of any other deity or man,
put that in your pipe and understand you control, and hold the upper hand.
Live at your will, and do not blame the circumstance, or chance.
React with that, only never to look back.
The red thread was merely a tool,
you made the push, you made the fool.
Ursula was also called Gripey Stripey. She was a little fucking brat, constantly making this pissed-off sound: "mehhhh". |
She was a total runt; she never got much bigger than kitten-sized. She had an excellent pelt; silver and black with orange tones. Her face communicated the darkness in her soul; she hated people, she hated cats, she hated her food, she hated everything and everyone except for Kerry Thornley who was a tenant of mine for a while (google him and know that he was far, far more insane and cool than any stupid bio has ever nailed down so far). She'd ride Kerry's shoulder around, and loved to watch him wash dishes. She'd stand on top of the door to the kitchen and wait for Kerry, then put her trembly little runt-paw on his shoulder so that he'd know to obediently wait while she situated herself on his shoulder.
She didn't live a very long life despite never doing anything dangerous. She inherited some health problems from her mom, a good girl named Boutros Boutros Kali (a calico). It was obvious that Ursula was in pain all her life. When it was time for her to die, she made no real fuss about it; she ambled off and hissed at anyone that tried to follow her, and just died under a nice-enough bush; a holly. I had certainly appreciated the little beast, loved her as much as it's possible to love a cat that hated everything and everyone under the sun.
Lately I find myself hissing at anyone that tries to follow me and wanting to just be alone. I don't have the strength to deal with kids anymore. I don't want to hear about my friends' troubles. I really don't want anything but the space in which to fade away, without guilt, without pain - I want people to stop wanting me to be alive. I was graceful and handsome, now I'm rail-thin and hobbled. I was alive, sexually powerful, physically able and dexterous. When the body stopped being as useful for a wide range of stuff, I took comfort and refuge in my more sedentary interests - animation and music.
Then my house got robbed, the insurance is bust / fucking useless, and now I have nothing left to attach me to this world, really. I don't want to be here anymore. It's not depression, per se, because I'm not sad / catatonic / pointlessly numb - it's really a pragmatic kind of acceptance. Even if I were to be magically healed - always a possibility, certainly - my money is all gone. There isn't any real hope for rebuilding. I don't see any realistic hope of pulling together, say, $13G, to reacquire the tools that would allow me to start recreating so many years of foundational work. It was the last stop on my hope-train. It's not painful to have lost this hope - not truly painful - but it does limit my ability to point at something and say "for this, I will live". I'm just a nasty hassle for my wife to deal with. My students are, let's be honest, not evoking love for life in me, not filling me with hope for the future.
Fuck the future. It's an illusion.
Now, it's true that I'm being morose here, but let me just relate that I'm not 'hurting'; I'm not looking for any sympathy or advice. There's not much that a healthy person with options can reveal to me. So, let me tell you something, you fucking dumb ass:
Life is a exploding titty-flower and you're a complete idiot if you don't grab onto it and start sucking with everything you've got. Understand?
Don't like your situation? Boo hoo. Cash out and move to Thailand. Do it; go; do it now. There's nothing stopping you. Don't be an ass. Don't cry about petty bullshit. Unless you're missing legs and you're allergic to your own blood, I really don't fucking care. Can you stand up? Fuck you. Cash out and move to Thailand.
Special thanks to the mighty DQ for the Thailand meme.
It is natural that cultures change and the everyday language of living changes with it. A friend recently sent me some things that he heard around the place when he was growing up and that he thinks are extinct or nearly so in our culture today. I have adopted all of the things that he listed and have added a few more that were maybe unique to my family history (but I donít think they were). If you are under fifty I doubt that you have heard many of these things.|
Be sure and fill the ice trays, the ladies are coming for a devotional this afternoon.
Watch for the postman this morning. I have a letter for Aunt Mary that I want her to get on the afternoon delivery. Get three cents from my purse to pay the postage.
Quit slamming that screen door when you go outside.
Be sure and pull the windows down before we leave. It looks like a shower is coming.
Donít forget to wind the clock before you go to bed.
Be sure to wash your feet before you go to bed, they are dirty from you playing outside barefooted.
Be careful opening that fifty pound sugar sack. I intend to make underwear for the children with that sack.
Why canít you remember to roll up your pants leg when you get on that bicycle. You have the leg so torn from getting it caught in the chain that I can hardly repair it.
Donít you go outside with your good school clothes on!
Go comb your hair. It looks like the rats nested in it last night.
Be sure and pour the cream off the milk when you open the bottle.
Put the empty milk bottles on the front porch so Mr. __________ will know how much to leave today.
Put the ice card in the window turned for 50 pounds.
Take that empty soda pop bottle to the store with you so we wonít have to pay a deposit on a new one.
Put a dish towel over the cake so the flies wonít get on it.
Quit jumping on the floor! I have a cake in the oven and you are going to make it fall.
Let me know when the Fuller Brush Man or the Watkins Products man comes by. I need a few things from both of them.
You boys stay close by. The car may not start and I will need you to crank it.
There is a dollar in my purse, go by and get five gallons of gas with it when you go to town.
Open the back door and let us see if we can get a breeze blowing through here. It is getting hot !
You can walk to Aiken. It is only four miles.
If you pull that stunt again I am going to wear you out! (No empty threat)
Donít lose that button. Iíll sew it back on in a minute.
Let me see your hands. Go back and wash under your neck. You have beads of sweat and dirt under there. You donít sit to a meal with a dirty neck.
Get out from under that sewing machine. When you press it on that treadle you mess up the thread in the bobbin.
Donít forget to wash the lamp chimneys then shine them with a piece of newspaper. Then fill up all the lamp bowls with coal oil and trim the wicks if they need it.
Here take this old Sears catalog with you to the privy. We are almost out of paper out there.
Put the butter in the well. On the north side remember.
Go out to the windmill and get me a big bucket of water so I can wash these dishes.
We are about to run out of soap and hog killing is at least two months away.
That dog is not coming in this house! I donít care how cold it is outside dogs just donít come in houses.
Soak your foot in this pan of coal oil so that bad cut wonít get infected.
Youíve got a splinter in that foot. Weíll; tie a piece of fat meat over that to draw it out.
Hush your mouth! You know better than to say words like that. If I hear it again Iíll wash your mouth out with lie soap.
No you canít get a barber shop haircut. They cost a quarter now and that is too much!
You look a little piqued. Hear take this spoon full of Black Draught. It will help clean out your system.
If you get a spanking at school and I find out about it you will get another one when you get home.
If you get a fever keep your bowels open and drink lots of water.
Quit crossing your eyes. They might get hung up that way.
It is "Yes Sir" and "No Sir" to me young man and donít you forget it again. And donít say "huh" to me when I ask you a question.
While we are at Aunt Maryís and Uncle Johnís you kids eat at second table after the adults get through and I donít want to hear any "I donít like-----". You eat what is put on your plate and you eat it all and you donít ask for more. Do you understand that?
Get your hat off that bed young man. Men never put there hat on a bed. Ladies do. Men donít.
Hang that snake on a fence or it wonít die until sundown.
I want you boys to come turn the ice cream freezer. There is a church social tonight.
You kids stay away from that dead snake. Its mate may come to revenge its death.
Milk and fish at the same meal are poison.
No one leaves a meal at table without asking Fatherís permission to leave.
Go put some gasoline in the washer. I have a world of laundry to do today.
You put on clean underwear before you go to town. You might be in a wreck.
We will see about getting you one next Saturday when Grandad goes to town.
Tomorrow is haying time. You boys will get up at 4 am eat breakfast at 4:30 and have teams harnessed to the pick-up rakes by 5:30 and will be in the field to follow the buck rakes by 6:00. So you had better get to sleep.
Don't ever let me hear you say that word again!
I have some more but you are probably already to sleep. You may assume from this list of things that my parents and grandparents and I were just naturally backward and stupid and uneducated. Such is not the case. Both of my parents had some college after graduating with honors from high school. My Dad was one of the most effective construction managers I ever knew. My mother taught Sunday school for twenty five years and was dearly beloved by her class. It was just a different world then and our minds were on different things.
At The Doctorís Office|
All my life I have been blessed with a very stable temper and a wonderful loving concept of my fellow human beings. I hardly ever lose my temper. I try to be kind, considerate, faithful, true, just, and reverent but never accusatory or condescending to my fellow companions on this astral globe. But today I lost it------my temper that is. I had gone to the office of my cardiologist but not to meet with a physician. He had asked me to meet with a dietician who would go over my recent blood test when they had extracted about Ĺ gallon of blood from my emaciated body and to consult with this dietician as to the best improvements that could be made to my diet which would improve my blood chemistry. Even though I was meeting with the dietician from the Cardiovascular Laboratory I was told to come to my Cardiologistís office and the dietician would meet with me there. My appointment was at 10.30 AM and by the clock on the cardiologists wall (carefully placed so that it was not visible from the patientís waiting room) I arrived at 0957 hours.
Trouble started right away. The only communication between the waiting room and the office staff was a tiny window placed on the wall for the benefit of those six feet nine inches or taller to talk to the secretary. There was a man standing there and he was arguing about how much money he owed the doctor. He had a sheaf of checks, bills, and scraps of paper which he was going over one at a time with the little airheaded girl who between buffing her nails with an emery board would whine " I can only go by this statement." Having been to this office many times I recognized that the clerk was new. So I did a rude thing. After waiting ten minutes or so I entered the sacred confines of the clinic and turned to the much larger window inside where I could see everyone in the office including the three office personnel who were lounging against the file cabinet and sipping coffee. I brusquely summoned one of them over and said "I just want to sign in. " One of them asked my "Which Doctor do you wish to see?" "None of the above", I replied "I am just here to see a dietician from some laboratory". "Well we just work for the doctors. I donít think that the dietician is here yet?" It was now 10:25AM. The coffee drinking secretary did reach over and get a form which listed several dozen disabilities and system conditions and asked me to check the ones from which I suffered. I told her that it was still the same as it had been when I was there three days ago and just to go by the one I had filled out then which was in my folder. Then she offered me a privacy statement and asked me to sign it. Since it was easier to sign the statement than it was to explain that I had signed one of those three days ago also I signed it. Then she said, "Please sit down in the lobby and I will see if the Dietician is here yet.
Now the lobby at the Cardiologists office has 17 chairs in it counting one bench with three butt depressions as three chairs. All of them were full and one waiting patient (or patient accompanyer) was leaning against the wall wi th his nose in a newspaper. The man who owed the money was still fighting the good fight at the patientís check-in window. I was considering taking up smoking again and going out on the porch when in walked a living doll in the tightest slacks you ever saw and one inoperative button on the top of her blouse. I said that she walked in but really it was more like a dance. When she walked she rotated each foot slightly just as it struck the groundóprobably an old Comanche trick to obliterate her tracks. As she came into the lobby she announced "Is Mr T--------- here?" I admitted to the charge and she said, "I know that I have an appointment with you at 10:30 dear man, but Mrs. W. here WAS first you know and we made a mistake and scheduled both of you for 10.30 . Now I am sure that you wonít mind waiting just a bit while I go over Mrs. W--------Ďs lab report with her and then you and I can sit down and study your "Diet" and she made "diet" sound like something forbidden by the missionaries. By the way I had seen Mrs W. Come in after I arrived. The Dietician was about 22 I would estimate. She patted my arm., Before I could get my mouth closed and make a statement she had vanished into the white halls of the cardiac clinic. There was still no chair in the lobby. I tried the elevated hearth to the fireplace but the Gilbert Pit Limestone was too hard and sharp for me to sit onĖeven with a magazine under me. By this time two preschool kids were screaming at each other and chasing around the room. I assumed that their parent was inside. Certainly no one in the lobby looked young enough to have children that age-----or grandchildren either.
Finally about 11:30 little miss powderpuff came back and got me by the hand and led me back into A room where she went over my very detailed blood chemistry and then handed me a telephone number written on a piece of paper and said "When you get home call this number after a few days and ask for the Dietician and she will have a diet all laid out for you and some advice about what you should eat and what you should not".
"I thought that you were the----"
"The Dietician, Oh no. I am a "helper" for the man who owns the laboratory. The Dietician was all tied up this morning and just couldnít get away to meet with you but we had fun didnít we?"
Sara would not speak to me when I got home.
Iíll let my blood chemistry be the subject of a separate letter after I study it with Best and Taylor in hand and my Medical Dictionary on my knee. But it ainít really bad.
the soviet souffle hunter raises his hand to ask a question|
EXT. NORTHERN HEMISPHERE SKY - NIGHT
Like a celestial wave, ribbons of light roll through the night sky...
The AURORA BOREALIS.
GLOWING METEOR DUST falls from the atmosphere and onto...
EXT. DELANEY FARM
...an empty field like a glittering carpet of jewels.
METAL CHRISTMAS TREE ORNAMENTS decorate the ASPEN and ELM TREES bordering the periphery of the field. Sporadic jolts of electrical current leap from ornament to ornament, tree to tree.
EXT. ROCKY MOUNTAINS - DAY
DAWN. A four-foot high STATIONARY CAMERA mounted on it's own RAIL CAR. A PHOTOGRAPHER works at the back of the camera, underneath the DARK CLOTH.
SET IT OFF!
A 500-foot line of POWDER runs parallel to a TRAIN on a track. The powder IGNITES!
Touristy, garishishly hand-painted STILL PHOTOGRAPH of the GRAND TETONS of Wyoming.
EXT. GREAT PLAINS
Another 500-foot line of powder ignites.
Another touristy, hand-painted Still photograph of the MISSOURI RIVER.
EXT. DELANEY FARM
Crystalline, quartz THUNDEREGGS flash on the slopes of a horse-shoe-shaped ridge which surrounds an abnormally lush valley. The 1000-acre parcel yields exotic FLORA and stands in stark contrast to the adjoining, decimated county lands.
A MAN pulls a RICKSHAW, with a PASSENGER, on a twisty road which runs through the landscape. Rugged redhead, LIAM KIRKPATRICK (45)puffs like a steam engine as he draws the carriage along the heavily grooved road.
EXT. ANOTHER AREA OF DELANEY FARM
A scratchy record of an IRISH REEL plays across opulent cropfields.
A lone smack of LIGHTENING races across the sky and ORIENTAL POPPIES answer the display with flashes of their own.
Electric currents jump from one ornament to the next as the morning sky turns gloomy. Sprinkles of rain plop into LABYRINTHIAN STREAMS supplying irrigation to the fields.
In the middle of a newly-plowed field, lanky middle-ager, JOHN DELANEY dances and flays his arms in ritualistic celebration. He stomps down upturned lumps of soil, oblivious to Liam and by-the-book executive, DEVIN HAFFNER (35), who stand at the edge of the field.
New type of fertilizer?
Liam laughs politely. He slips on a metal head restraint which looks like a BRANKS DEVICE, but without the mouth piece.
John's a homeopath.
They walk towards the dancing Delaney.
Prefers plants over women,
He believes humans can influence
plants and that, in turn, a
plant can affect the human
John sees them, stops his ritual, and walks towards the edge of the field.
I've seen him place a daffodil
petal on his tongue and not
only tell you what county it
came from, but even through
who's garden gate it had passed.
John rubs his badly contracted hands.
Hands giving you trouble?
(with an Irish accent)
Aye, when company's unexpected.
You come up to the house, I've
some ointment which may hurt,
I mean, help.
Devin cuts off the neighbourly exchange by forcing his 'greeting' hand towards John.
John Delaney, Devin Haffner.
(to Devin) This property has
been in the Delaney family
since the Civil War.
Sir, it's a pleasure. Your farm
really is quite extraordinary.
Such lush land in the middle of
granite and limestone. Indeed,
it seems to be the ONLY flour-
ishing parcel in the county.
Ta. (to Liam) What brings you?
Mr. Haffner thinks he may be able
to bring a high-speed rail through
Sweetwater. It would move coal
four days faster from Powder Horn
to the east.
AYE...aye, and did the coal express
the desire to arrive in Boston
four days sooner?
Devin laughs, but Liam recognizes the sarcasm.
Devin cuts him off.
Mr. Delaney, DE & W would like
to make you a very generous
John interupts to address Liam.
The SAME RAIL which used up
Sweetwater's 10,000 year coal
supply in half a century?
Liam twists the screws on the head device. He cringes in pain.
John, everyone's goal is to
see our town prosper again.
Sweetwater needs long-range,
With improved rail service,
this town would see vast econ-
omic benefits. You, of course,
would be nicely compensated.
Liam is slightly embarrassed as John reaches for a HOE. Devin notices.
You do realize that if the gov-
ernment believes your parcel is
critical for interstate trades
transportation, then you WILL
receive what they think your land
is worth. DE & W will end up
with the land either way.
John can barely hold the hoe above his head, but swipes it at Devin. Devin throws his arms up in mock surrender.
A CRACK OF THUNDER.
If I want a rail through, I
will get it. I'm the 'D' in
DE & W, and that makes me a
very persuasive lobbiest.
Devin trots away as Liam, reluctantly, follows. John yells after them.
HELL WILL FREEZE OVER BEFORE
Devin turns around as the skies burst with dime-sized HAIL. The ice rocks clank as they hit Liam's head restraint.
Well, Mr. Delaney, when it does,
you can bet Mephistopheles will
be enjoying a cozy fire provided
by coal from a DE & W line.
INT. RUN-DOWN CHURCH
A FIRE flickers in a fireplace as the storm rages outside. A MAN holds a CHALICE before the flames. Steam rises from the cup as a grotesque, PURPLE MOUTH drinks from it. GOLD FLAKES cover the tongue as the Purple Mouth speaks.
I'll be bowling tonight.
QUASIFIELD (25) shuffles, like a man of 80, to a SIDEBOARD. He picks up a mirror, but in place of the reflective plate there is an ARTIST'S TABLET.
He walks towards the hearth, then holds the 'mirror' up. He flickers through the pages of the 'flipbook'. IMAGES of a young, beautiful man flash through a series of self-approving gestures.
Quasifield peeks over the top of the pseudo-mirror and sees the primping MONSIGNOR (2000) in all his hideous, Nosferatu glory. He wears the CROWNS OF UPPER AND LOWER EGYPT.
(not really surprised)
Ah, Monsignor, those are the
crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt.
The Monsignor whips an ornately decorated CHUSABLE around his shoulder.
IN TIME Quasifield, in time.
Electrical interference mars the radio broadcast of jazz music. In an ornately decorated penthouse, a GROUP OF MEN, holding MACHINE GUNS, watch AL CAPONE humiliate a BLOODIED MAN on his knees.
Light shines through a PINHOLE and projects an inverted image of Capone, his minions, and his victim onto a vertical surface.
A CAMERA OBSCURA.
A SET OF EYES.
World-worn PLEIADES ISABELLA ETOR (35) has seen many things, some good, some bad, and a small, yet dense, clouding over her right eye suggests she's witnessed even worse.
To scandal, and getting
it on film. Ready to roll?
ANGLE-SILHOUETTE of a woman stuffed into a small, dark space. SOPHIE DELACROIX (65) cranks a handle on a CAMERA, it clatters for a few seconds, then stops.
(with a French accent)
Alas, we are all simply
silver halides radiating on
a celluloid stage.
A spotlight falls upon the face of HELLO BAKER (25). She takes a swig from a silver FLASK. A BOWLER HAT falls off her head as she invokes the name of an idol.
She produces a camera from thin air, then places the lens through a...
The lens pops out of the pupil. A second lens pushes through a second, paper-mache eye.
A ray of light sits on the face of DZIGA KAUFMAN (40). Alot of living has worn away most of this 'New Faces' competition winner's natural grace. He speaks and it sounds like it originates from the bottom of a well.
Dirt on Capone, how fockin'original.
Ze only true, original action
was ze Big Bang. Everything
since zhen has been ze re-mixing
of it's molecules.
You would know, Citizen Zero,
being around SINCE the begin-
ning of time an everythin'.
Teenager BOING-BOING FITZGERALD pulls back from two 'spyholes'. Light pours through and paints her young face in high contrast.
You still here, Dziga? Thought
you went down with the Luisitania.
Givin' me a hard-on, Boing-Boing.
Your muse gets any younger and
you'll be screwing a strand of
DNA in a G-string.
I haven't worn g-strings since
the epic chafing of 1925.
A verbal BRAWL. Pleiades has heard it all before.
I should have taken the hint
from the Flaherty fiasco. I
COULD be lying on a beach in
Hello stops her tirade long enough to respond.
OH-NO, sister. Don't be blaming
me for not marking on mineral.
'Nanook of the North' came
pretty damn close to being,
'Nanook of an ICE SHEET
drifting through Baffin Bay,
down Davis Strait, and into
Hell, if I, truly, had any
foresight we could have been
the authors of a new genre,
the 3-week single shot. I
gotta great idea, an 8-hour
zoom of the Eifel Tower.
Sophie pipes up at the 'insult'.
Why do you always make fun
of ze French.
You guys ARE Gauls.
(tired of it)
I've been Dame Fortune's per-
sonal piss pot for over a
decade. You guys ruin this, and
you're going back to ridgerunner
country. Now, job at hand, incendiary
expose on a fat gangster.
Y'all ignore Dziga, he's just
cheesed 'cause he's the butt
INT. URBAN STREET
RAIN pummels the painted, splintered face of a 30-foot tall WOODEN STATUE OF AL CAPONE standing on the pavement in front of the HAWTHORNE HOTEL. The statue rocks back and forth.
Kiss my ass.
The statue 'watches' through the window of the room as the merriment continues.
EXT. URBAN STREET
A HAND reaches through the statue's ZIPPER and presses a DOORBELL.
INSERT: A BELL RINGS...
...and captures the attention of Capone who spots the statue. The libation stops.
HA-HAAA, Poor Boy Noonan's
mama's been reading him the
Machine guns in hand, the gang takes aim. Capone barks an order. A cigar, barely, hangs on the edge of his lips.
BURN IT A NECKLACE, BOYS!
INT. CAPONE STATUE
Pleiades' POV- the minions scope the effigy.
Can't anyone graciously accept
a gift these days? (screaming)
Four figures tumble through the small squeezed space. GUNFIRE BURSTS rip HOLES through the top section of the statue and SPEARS OF LIGHT thrust through.
EXT. URBAN STREET
The wounded statue stands silent.
You guys oka....what th..
ROAR of a train approaches.
KA-BAMMMM! A TORNADO blindsides the effigy.
Screams blare from the statue as it is driven to the top of the funnel. 'Capone' rides the twister like 'Pecos Bill' down drenched city streets.
BUT, I AM ZE GRANDDAUGHTER OF
The 'train roar' dopplers away and evolves into...
INT. FUNERAL HOME
...screaming PEOPLE run for the exit doors of a FUNERAL HOME knocking COFFINS and CORPSES onto dirty floors. The room empties of the living except for teenager, LUCY DELANEY. She looks slightly out of focus from the PROJECTOR LIGHT dancing across her face and into GREEN EYES.
On a SCREEN of stitched together SHROUDS, Lucy watches the Lumiere Brothers' short film, 'TRAIN PULLING INTO A STATION'.
EXT. CHANGING LANDSCAPE
'Pecos Al' barrels through the storm, down city streets, and into a suburban landscape.
WHERE THE HELL IS THE RUDDER?
Did it look like I was building
the Yankee Clipper?
The Capone tornado bullets through the thundering landscape, from rural plains to hilly regions. The funnel picks up man-made OBJECTS, FLORA, and FAUNA, dropping some and smashing others. Sophie screams from the effigy.
I AM ZEE GRANDDAUGHTER OF
EUGENE DELACROIX AND I 'AVE
BEEN DESCRIBED IN PUBLICATION!
EXT. DEVIL'S TOWER
Sweating WORKERS stand before a steaming LOCOMOTIVE with a 'W' painted on it's side. The orange glow of the coal burning engine backlights a monster of a MAN holding a SLEDGEHAMMER. He pounds the hammer in his hand, counting off time passing.
EXT. GREAT PLAINS
The storm rolls in around the second engine with a painted 'E' on it's side. The red glow of the furnace backlights another monster of a MAN holding a PIC AXE. He is unfazed, even bored, by the storm and twirls the axe restlessly.
WORKERS cower under the train as sixty-mile per hour winds blow debris everywhere. The Camera Man remains stationed at the viewfinder while an ASSISTANT fights to lay a long, PAPER STRIP beside the tracks. Pieces of the coated paper whip up as he tries to light it.
(screaming over the wind)
WE'VE GOT A FINE, FINE HELL
The fire burns horizontally from the gusts.
Panoramic photograph of SEVEN furious TORNADOES ripping up the landscape.
EXT. CHANGING LANDSCAPE
The Capone tornado rips through the wind and rain. Trees, cattle, billboards, and houses weave through the funnel.
DO SOMETHING, FLYER!
Oh, okay Pleiades, hold on, just
let me press this big, red button,
for a LEFT AT ALBEQUERQUE!
TAPPING SOUNDS on wood.
The statue blasts from the funnel and hurtles towards the earth with it's screaming passengers.
EXT. DELANEY FARM
The statue spirals down from the monster storm cell. It hurtles through a forest of 80-foot PONDEROSA PINE TREES, some tied with RIBBONS around their trunks, and crashes through the Elm windbreaks, lobbing ornaments everywhere.
Barreling at a 45 degree angle, the FEET of the effigy carve parallel tracks through the cropfields, spraying ravaged produce everywhere. They burn off from the friction, and the statue comes to a rest on it's knees in the cornfield. It bobbles back and forth, then a little less, until finally, silence.
The storm moves from the area and a starry night backlights the still statue.
EXT. MAIN STREET, SWEETWATER - NIGHT
A luxury 1928 SUIZA CABRIOLET cruises down the wet Main Street. The sedan is the only vehicle on the road. CITIZENS watch as the posh vehicle splashes by.
Sweetwater is a typical American town of the late 1920's; a Woolworths, Standard Oil, Safeway Grocery, a soda fountain, and all the amenities which make up a small community. Sweetwater just ain't as 'perty' as it's name suggests. It's a sepia-stained village slowly fading into history under a layer of coal dust, 50 years thick.
The car drives towards a BOWLING HALL.
INT. BOWLING ALLEY
A GROUP OF RICHLY-ATTIRED MEN bowl.
Liam, with a BOWLING BALL chained to each leg, sits at a table with Devin. Devin spins a PAPER DISC, with images of a CROSSBILL BIRD and a CAGE on either side, on the table. As it rotates, the bird appears to be caged.
It'll take nothing short of an
Inquisition to get the Delaney
Liam moves uncomfortably in his chair as a bowling ball rolls away. He powers the shackled leg back under the table.
Ah, I think the federal policy
of eminent domain will be suf-
ficient. (laughing uneasily)
Certainly it would mean less
Yes...just. W and E are on my
ass. We gotta move fast before
the gov annexes it for BN.
FLASH OF LIGHTENING.
CRASH OF THUNDER.
The Monsignor places his petite size six BOWLING SHOES on a bench. Devin greets him.
Devin gestures for the Monsignor to sit. He obliges and puts his bowling shoes on.
Thank-you, Mr. Haffner. I
hear I'm in for quite the
Devin snaps his fingers and the group of Men shuffle over carrying a giant table holding something covered by a TARP. Liam cannot see past the group as Devin performs his best snake-oil salesman impersonation.
Constantine had Constantinople,
Charlemagne had Aixla-Chappele,
Jerome...had Rome. The citizens
of Sweetwater DESERVE the pat-
ronage of a GREAT MAN!
The Monsignor appears cautious.
Mr. Haffner, while I've no doubt
you're exceptional in your field...
Devin cuts him off.
Devin rips the tarp off. The Monsignor gasps.
THE LOURDES OF THE NEW WORLD!
The Monsignor rises from the bench as a wash of DIVINE LIGHT falls upon his ecstatic face.
It's, it's beauty manifest,
it's the WORD made...
Liam tries to see through the crowd but cannot. He appreciates the Monsignor's aesthetic arrest, so Liam gently offers.
A TEAR runs down the Monsignor's cheek.
A hugh crystal, gold, and ruby MODEL of a sanctified Disneyland flouresces atop the table. Liam is confused and slides over to get a closer look. There is complete silence except for the sound of Liam's bowling balls roll-arcing around his ankle.
Is it mine?
The good book does promise
His kingdom to come, but I
can deliver this one now, for
a price, or in this case, a
The Monsignor devours the model as he runs his hands erotically over its' surface. Devin stands close behind the Monsignor, the many faceted jewels reflect only Devin's image.
One manservant, ruins to live
in and daily deliveries of red
humor, to my door no less. With
this, I'd be the Patriarch of
The Monsignor walks around the table contemplating the palace. He faces Devin and extends his dealmaking hand.
Think of me as a business part-
ner in a chusable.
And you may consider me a
shaman with an expense account.
EXT. DELANEY FARM - DAY
DAWN. The sun rises from behind a range of hills.Ornaments, organic debris, and squashed CATTLE litter the landscape.
SUNRAYS illuminate the storm-ravaged face of the cigar-chomping statue. It rocks a little, then a little more, then alot.
Exhausted rumblings of 'yep'.
My nuts, dammit.
KNOCKING ON WOOD
The statue rocks tumultously.
A fierce kick sends a PLANK falling down between the effigy's legs.
A MONSTER PHALLUS
Pleiades slides down the plank and lands with finesse. She brushes dirt off her baggy black clothes then slaps away encroaching cornstalks.
Dziga rushes down the plank and takes a deep breath. He sees the forest of maize.
Unless Capone's got a SHUCKING
fetish, this ain't his sitting
A SILVER FLASK tumbles down the ramp. Hello rolls down after the treasure, snapping it up as a river of sweat rolls down her face. Pleiades rushes to her side.
GET THE KIT, SHE'S IN SHOCK!
Hello pulls off her Bowler hat and reveals a sweating BAG OF ICE on her head.
Naw, just one helluva hangover.
She takes a swig from the flask, passes it to Dziga then takes out a CIGARETTE LIGHTER, flicks it open and hands it to Pleiades.
Ah, thanks, but I'll take the
Hello hands her a LIPSTICK TUBE and Pleiades sips from the small object.
They venture into the cornfield. The Capone statue 'lords' over the field as three paths of rustling crops move away from the effigy.
SOMETHING tumbles down and lands on top of the stalks.
I am zee granddaughter of...
EXT. DELANEY COMPOUND-MOMENTS LATER
The Delaney compound comes into view.
A GARDEN OF EDEN
Winded, Sophie emerges from the corn curtain. She has seen it all, until now.
Zis is some sort of botanical
ONLY if there's a bathtub
Sophie pulls out a BROWNIE CAMERA.
I must document these specimans!
You got 15 minutes 'cause I'm
betting tresspassing in hill-
billy country is tried in their
Pleiades explores the odd, yet beautiful homestead. Dziga lights up a cigarette and tosses the match into some BUSHES, it ignites. A beautiful blue flame surrounds the flower cluster, Dziga jumps back. Sophie runs over.
It fuckin' scorched my leather.
Ze plants' defense mechanism,
The flame snuffs out. Dziga rips the plant out of the soil and holds it up, a trophy kill.
Not a very successful strategy
now, is it?
Boing-Boing shouts from afar.
EXT. ANOTHER AREA OF DELANEY FARM
Boing-Boing kneels over something as Pleiades stands behind her. Sophie walks up behind them. They all look quizzically towards the ground.
Last I heard, those topped
the tip of Gabriel's sceptar.
The French haven't come up
with a new hybrid, have they?
Sophie bends over to a BED OF FLORIC ODDITIES which look like crystal Fleur-de-lis'. She picks one.
There are no such things as
organic fleur-de-lis', ze are
a stylistic representation of
either a lily or an iris.
Sophie examines the prismatic 'flower' closely.
Seems pretty real to me.
(a little surprised)
Considering that crystalline
silicates are the most abun-
dant minerals on earth, it is
not surprising to come across
lifeforms which appropriate these
substances in peculiar ways.
Sophie hands the sample back to Pleiades who holds it up as the sun rises, fully, over a distant hill and illuminates the whole valley.
The light hits the fleur-de-lis, refracts across the area and sends rainbow rays traveling to a nearby FENCE where a ROOSTER sleeps.
The light hits the Rooster.
Amongst boxes and jars of FOODSTUFFS, a variety of painted PORTRAITS hang or lie against the walls.
John and Lucy, both asleep on the floor, wake up, distinguishing themselves from the static paintings.
INT. DELANEY HOUSE
John and Lucy walk through the house checking for storm damage. He peers out the window and sees the Capone Statue, then the carved 'tracks' as a result of the effigy's arrival. He pulls back, angry.
LUCY! GET ME FIGHTEN' GLOVES!
Lucy grabs a pair of BOXING GLOVES hanging from a NAIL in the wall. She runs over and hands them to John who slaps them from her hands.
John reaches towards a SHELF and grabs a pair of BRONZED BOXING GLOVES.
This morning about eight thirty AM I took an untouched half of one of the best watermelons I ever tasted out to the chicken pen and set it down there for the chickens|
to eat. I almost cried as they pounced on it and began as they always do by eating the seeds. I gave the watermelon to the chickens because my new sachrimeter that I just received had convinced me that I could no longer eat watermelon. Yesterday I ate a quarter of that melon and my blood sugar jumped from
136 mg/dl to 333 mg/dl and it has taken me until about right now to get the blood sugar back to a decent level. A few minutes ago it was back down to 116 mg/dl. So watermelon is not on my menu anymore. The real reason that tears came to my eyes however was not because I am to be deprived of watermelon from now until I die. I don't like that but I can live with it. The real reason is that the sight of watermelon brought to my mind my long gone maternal grandfather Walter Thomas Hamilton. He loved watermelon as no one else ever did and he could tell a good one and whether it was ripe at thirty paces.
My grandfather was a very poor man. He was a tenant farmer during the depression near the town of Plainview, Texas. He farmed 160 acres of good rich loam that was watered from the Ogallala aquifer that underlies most of the Texas Panhandle and was pumped up to the surface at the rate of 1200 gallons per minute and reached the surface at a constant 55 degrees Fahrenheit. Best water I ever tasted. The farm was owned by the Texas Land And Development Company who dictated what he should plant and who received as rent 3/5ths of the income from the farm produce he grew. TL&D also controlled how many acres he planted in what crop. Grandad grew cotton, sugar beets (for seed), alfalfa for hay, milo maize or kafir korn and maybe a little wheat or oats. He was allowed to have cattle, horses, hogs and chickens on the land and got to keep all the increase from these animals. But when all was said and done the 2/5th share of the money crops that he sold was all of the money that he got out of the farm and it went to reduce the debt incurred in buying seed, diesel oil to run the irrigation well and the necessities of life such as clothes. So Grandad throughout the year had to watch every penny. Gasoline was 13 cents per gallon and on Saturday morning Grandad would buy one gallon at the station in Aiken. That would get his car to Plainview and back and the family to church at Aiken on Sunday and Wednesday nights. I'll bet that old car never had a full tank in its life
Each Saturday morning Grandad would take about forty dozen eggs into town and about six to eight gallons of pure Jersey cream. He would sell the eggs to several grocery stores in town. I don't know what he received for them but I would guess that ten or twelve cents per dozen would have been tops and the cream he sold at the creamery for some small amount of money. It was this weekly income from eggs and cream that Grandad lived on and supported his family of wife, daughter, son , and me part of the year and that after paying his tithe of ten percent to the church. It was not an easy life. Prior to coming to town he had carefully studied the ads from the grocery stores in town and knew just where the prices were lowest. He was certainly not an impulse buyer. He did not believe that store bought bread or breakfast cereal was fit to eat nor did he ever buy meat other than bacon, and salt pork. He bought flour, coffee, tea, salt, pepper, sugar and meal. Just about everything else we ate had to come from the garden or the barn.
Grandad loved watermelon above all things. It was very rare however for him to buy one. He simply did not have the money. I paid five dollars and ninety eight cents for that melon I fed to the chickens this morning and I bet Grandad would have considered that price sinful. It was very seldom that he ever bought one but when he did I would be willing to wager that he never paid more than about fifty cents for a big melon and I think that he would have considered that extravagant.
So when I gave the watermelon to the chickens I thought long and hard about Walter Thomas Hamilton. When we were hoeing the cotton together he would tell me how beautiful the plains were where he lived and how happy he was to be a farmer. He taught me more about life than he knew. Among other things he taught me to lie on top of the barn and make images of the gulf clouds floating high above. He was a grand man.
dad, grandad, ami
I have been reading a book called "Comanches" by T. R. Fehrenbach and like everything else I have ever read by this author I am utterly fascinated by it.|
Fehrenbach paints a very detailed picture of the Comanche and points out that they were part of the Shoshone group of Amerindians but that they were very different indeed from other Indians in America and even very different from others in the Shoshone linguistic group. The Comanche referred to themselves as "the Nermenuh" which in their language means "The People".
We really shouldn't be too surprised that the Comanche are so different from the Apache, the Navajo, the Arapahoe or any of the other Amerindians. I think that Fehrenbach may well have coined the expression "Amerindian". I use it in lieu of "Native American" because the American Indians were very definitely not "native" to America. They came from Asia just as Ponce de Leon came from Europe. There are about 140 different linguistic stocks among the Amerindians that have no common root word for water, mother, father, sun or moon. Compare that to Europe where all of the European languages (with the possible exception of Finnish-Magyar) are derived from the basic Indo-European root stock and there are a flood of cognates from language to language. The European invaders had a hard time defining the "natural behavior" of the Amerindian and never fully realized that among the Indians what was "natural" was only within the confines of one tribe or possibly even one small group
I was very interested in what Fehrenbach had to say about the religion and the spiritual beliefs of the Nermenuh. The cosmic view of the Comanche did not seek to connect cause and effect in their lives but rather believed that their lives were controlled and manipulated by magic and by the powers of certain natural forces which were without form or substance and which were never personified as dieties. The Nermenuh were not given to empirical thinking. Some of the other tribes which had developed a primitive agriculture or a very restrictive gathering mode did indeed envision a set of deities in their religious thinking. Not so the Comanche. The typical Comanche was a great individualist and it is very likely that the religious views and dependencies of the Comanche varied greatly from group to group and even within the same family group.
The Nermenuh were also very secretive about their beliefs and believed that the efficacy of their "medicine" or powers derived from some natural force might well be eliminated or dimmed if discussed with or viewed by another. The Comanche did not have a coherent religion. They believed that many things in their surroundings had "powers" or "forces" that they might share in if they could just learn how to persuade the Sun, the Moon, the Buffalo or some other natural force to share a portion of their power. A totem or symbol of this power was then placed in their "Medicine pouch" around their neck and shared with nobody. But they did not believe that the sun was a god, nor the buffalo, nor the wolf. They were just creatures with power that they shared with certain human individuals when properly approached
With the Europeans that they began to meet in the 1500s they shared two and only two religous beliefs:
1. They believed in a life after death open to all ages and sexes. They referred to it as a Happy Hunting Ground. It was a place of abundant game and fruit and
was peopled only by the people they knew on earth and was never too hot or too cold and was eternal in nature. A Comanche did not have to be good or hold any beliefs to go there. The Nermenuh believed that death equalized all people. There were a few but very few exceptions. Persons scalped after death would not go there, persons dying of strangulation were forbidden entry and there were some Comanche who believed that persons who died after dark might not find their way to the Happy Hunting Ground.
2. The second belief that the Comanche shared with the invading Europeans was in the existence of a past flood that had covered the world. This belief is almost universal in some form among all of the Amerindians.
But the Comanche belief system conceived of no god or gods. To the Comanche the world was ful of forces and powers and even spirits but these forces, powers and spirits were not gods and they were not considered to be "beings". The buffalo was known to have great strength and endurance and if a Comanche warrior desired these attributes it was wise for him to study the ways of the buffalo and associate himself with them and see if he could derive some way to get one of them to share their power with him so that he would have "buffalo medicine" but he knew all along that the buffalo was just a buffalo---it was not a god. The sun was another source of power but never a diety. The owl was a malignant force and had a power to cause death or injury to humans but it was not a supernatural force it was just a natural force. The Nermenuh could pray to the Eagle pleading for a portion of its great strength or acute vision and on certain occasions the eagle might allow a feather to drop in the path of the warrior signifying a gift of "Eagle medicine" but there was nothing supernatural about it to the Comanche. Some of the other tribes did deify Father-Sun, Mother-Earth and Mother-Moon but not the Comanche.
The Comanche saw the world as random and without directed order and he believed it created purely by some magic which they did not understand or even care about very much. There was in the tribe no group dogma, no ritual. Each Comanche addressed himself to the taking of power from the "forces of nature" and learning how to address requests to these forces in his own way and for his own benefit. He considered his successes and failures to be his own secrets and no one elses' business. The first Europeans to reach the Comanche reported that they were Godless but failed to report that they were godless.
I have written the above from the masculine viewpoint. This is no accident. Women were not considered to be interested in religion by the Comanche nor were they allowed to seek their share of powers until after the menopause. After the menopause several women became famous Comanmche shamans but most did not live that long.
And that is more or less what I learned about Comanche religion today instead of washing clothes and mowing grass.