First off, for all of one person (Alex Abbott by my guesses) who have read my previous blog, I've given up on the idea because that involves work. However, here is an outline for my "music video movie" idea for the of Montreal (that's "of Montreal" and not "Of Montreal" because they are absolute hipster garbage--and I love it) album Skeletal Lamping, which for those not familiar with the album, is a concept album revolving around the lurid subject of sex. I have an idea for making what is basically an extended music video that links together a poorly plotted story based around the progression and songs of the album. Something working in my favor (or quite easily against it as well) is that even within songs there are drastic melodic and mood changes that have absolutely no segueway. So, here is my basic idea so far, which will be forever expanded upon, especially when I dig through the entire album amd digest all it has to offer me creatively.
1 [Nonparial of Favor] -- Kevin Barnes (the singer and band leader) proposes on a date, followed by a plunge into the box that the engagement ring is kept in, which contains a tunnel instead. Follow cartoony path until we reach Kevin dressed silly and on the set of a strange children's television show set, with back-up vocals performed handpuppets (with subtle adult themes) popping out of boxes on the wall. Foam and bubbles are being expelled everywhere. When the song shifts to the "Calling your ass up at like three in the morning" part, Keving completely strips off his children's show uniform and is now in a full body lavender spandex outfit. He is walking on a constant track with ever-changing background where he answers a phone, hangs up, keeps walking, takes a seat on a subway with the scenery being portraits of country and city scape held by people running by. The sets are constantly being assembled and dismantled by stage hands. Finally he arrives at a shop window with the woman he proposed to on our side of the glass. "I'm crashing my sweet love" and he is pounding on the glass, pauses, and when the huge pounding interlude ensues, he and characters form the aforementioned children's show beat their fists against the glass until it shatters, and they fall into the tunnel that we went through before until the end up in...
2 [Wicked Wisdom] -- which is basically like the sexual deviant version of landing somewhere over the rainbow. Kevin is confronted by the Porn Queen (a drag queen)and it's minions which push him about. Final songshift brings forth the Ice Queen, a cold, hard bitch (protrayed by Kevin) who puts the Porn Queen in her place and then condemns Kevin to a confinement camp with bimbos and meat heads
3 [For Our Elegant Caste] -- which take him in and introduce to their leader, the Black She-Male, dosguised as a blind beggar full of wisdom. The beggar aks Kevin to join them in their inclement orgy. Kevin is troubled by the thought of cheating on his love who he had proposed to. The beggar asks him to call into mind the meaning of that relationship.
4 [Touched Something's Hollow] -- He pulls out his locket with her picture in it and begins asking why he is so troubled about the relationship and his desires.
5 [An Ellaurdian Instance] -- Flashback to the two of them zooming through the streets of Oslo or some other Norwegian city on a motorbike or scooter. Flashback to a summer on a beach in Sweden, which they talk as if what they are doing has already happened. Then Kevin flashes back to when they first met. Then back to the sped up shot of them zooming through Oslo on the scooter and again. The song shift is introduced by the sun setting and the moon rising. They pass a cafe at which Kevin is sitting, holding the locket as before, he accusing it hatingly and in a hurt manner. Zoom up of his eyes.
6 [Gallery Piece] -- Zoom out and he is dressed flamboyantly and loosely. He is back with the bimbos. He sings the song and teases all fo the prisoners. The beggar looks on pleased.
7 [Women's Studies Victim] -- Kevin finds the Eagle-Shaped Mirror and somehow knows to give it to the beggar, who transforms before their very eyes into the Black She-Male who uses the song has it's theme song. It turns on a television set that is playing its transformation into what it is today, the Black She-Male. It uses its fantastic powers to break free from the prison where it meets its partner on the outside, St. Exquisite.
8 [St. Exquisite's Confessions] == He then goes on to relate his backstory and how his status as a religious figure leaves him confined to watching others enjoying carnal pleasure.
I am a little foggy on the rest of the album, but some includes Kevin becoming a love guru for Beware Our Nubile Miscreants and helping out a high school crush in the past. In Triphallus, to Punctuate! he speaks to a girlfriend who used and cheated on him. Finally we get to
15 [Id Engager] -- in which a fully evolved Kevin, who has fused with the Black She-Male, makes his ultimate announcement, which could be the retraction of his proposal, seeing as he is more interested in the physical side of the relationship. He is sexually liberated and wishes to do the same for her. The only way he can love her is if she gets past her repression and becomes sexually free and ambitious as he is. The finale is a fision between the two dimensions in which every character met comes to see the two off on another adventure. Kevin throws a party in the altered version of the restaraunt in which he proposed to her in the beginning. The question mark melodic change in the end ios Kevin and possible-wife-to-be floating out the window into the bringht, blue sky.
I know, that's stupid and, for a lack of better words, gay. Right. Gotcha there. I agree. Though, I think with proper planning and fudning, and of course if the band would ever want to do the project four years from now when I plan on seeking them out, this could turn out very well. And if I flesh out the plot and eventually get their input and cooperation, this could be pretty badass.
My nervous tic is acting up, my neck hurts, I need sleep, it's sweltering in my house. That is how I end this tonight. Good night, Alex and anybody else who might be reading this.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Summer of Movies (Part 1)
So far I have posted one thing, part one of a story which I will not complete. So, here is my next attempt at a seriel, surely to be infrequent as the next. I have decided, for the sake of myself and my friends, to document all of the movies I see and my reactions to them on a weekly basis. For the sake of myself, because I get to talk and vent about movies. For the sake of my friends, because they don't have to listen to me talk and vent about movies. Get it? Got it? Good.
I began my summer at the exact moment I was handed my diploma-holder and shook my principal's hand. Maybe not. Probably once I got out of the awkward cap and gown for graduation and got into Max Bloodworth's car to venture off to White Castle. The next night ushered in my first movie of the summer and one of the first movies for me in about a month (barring Clerks which I saw for the first time a couple of days earlier). It was:
On a Tuesday, here is the date (5/19/09) Religulous - There is a part of me that loves smartass documentraries with charismatic, liberal-minded commentators who know how to incur both deep thought and a good amount of hilarity. Bill Maher, I believe, is chief among this surprisingly large chunk of documentarians. Religulous is, for those who can't pick up anything from it's title, about religion...and how it is ridiculous. 'nuff said. My only complaint about the movie is that he goes to the fringes of religious society painting an unfair portrait of the religious person, though I totally understand why. But still, nonetheless, I know several Mormons who are not into polygamy. I know Muslims who don't hate you if you say Mohammed. The why is because it is not about the moderate religious people I know. It is about the fringe, and how they pose a threat. Religion is not the problem, it is the people who cannot seperate themselves from being human and being religious. When the Jews for Jesus guy says he would be fine with the onslaught of human suffering and death that would come with "Armegedon," then I cannot help but feel a little frightened that there are many others out there just like him. I worry that someday somebody could believe that somebody else, an "infidel" if you would, wants to "sap and impurify" our "precious bodily fluids." That is what Religulous is about.
(5/20/09) The Breakfast Club - Classic teen movie at its best, without a doubt. My only problem with the film is not with the film itself but with the treatment of poor Anthony Michael Hall. The Jock and the Basketcase hook up. Bender and Claire hook up. The Nerd ends up writing the essay, he is conned by Claire. Everyone gets somebody, he is left all alone. Sound familiar? Yeah, 16 Candles, too. Man, one day Hall will get his revenge.
Fast Times at Ridgemont High - If John Hughes' 80s teen movie were made to actually reflect what teenagers are like, Fast Times would be that movie. It also helps that it came out before any of Hughes' films did, but whatever. I will kick 100% of your ass if you don't see this movie sometime.
Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure - Yeah, I had a theme going that day. I'm sick writing about 80s teen movies. Strange things are afoot at the Circle K. Be excellent to everyone. Party on, dude!
(5/21/09) Boondock Saints - Okay, so here is the summation of what I will say from in this review: It is good but not as good as people make it out to be. First, the bad. Here is a sample of dialouge: "Fuck, man, I mean, I was fucking going to, fuck, you know? Fuck. Anyway, yeah, so I was going to fuck him up like some fucking fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..." The gratuitous use of swearing, particularly "fuck," got super old. It had all of the skill and elegance of an 8th grader who just found out he won't be struck down for saying a cuss word. Other than that, there was the whole contrived ending which actually wasn't explained very well. I wasn't too sure what happened, but I found out what I thought to be true was right. The Tourette's-stricken bartender and Dafoe the gay-detective-who-does-drag seem to be thrown in for laughs but are ultimately taken too seriously to offer much comic relief. They end up seeing awkward and tagged-on. The entire script seems to read like a devoted Tarantino fan's attempt at emulating the man, but ultimately just falling shy. Now the good: It has a compelling story and likable characters, even though there are some faults in the character development and dialouge. The action sequences are pretty badass, and the entire concept is amazing. The story has plenty of room to grow, and unsurprisingly there is going to be a sequel that I anticipate. Let's hope they will have ironed out the problems from the first one when they give us All Saints Day.
(5/22/09) The Lion King - I revisited my old favorite movie from when I was a kid, and I have to say I love it more than I did back then. It perfectly blends humor, music, children's appeal, adult's appeal, and even a little Shakespeare to form one of Disney's best films ever. It is so strange to look back at the movie and pick up on the everything beyond the mind of a child. For example, the hyenas goose-step in a very Expressionistic German-looking elephant graveyard. Scar outright exclaims he will kill people and attempts to do so. Simba nestles underneath his dead father and ends up blaming himself for the death. Ye gods, this is from the company that kept out the first two Little Pigs getting devoured by the Big, Bad Wolf! Nonetheless, it not only entertained me, but it also delivered an epiphany of sorts. Adults and parents freak out over what we show children. When you take out all of the dark tones, harsh truths, and innuendos, you get more than a bored parent, you get a product the child will care very little about returning to when they grow up. Without the adult undertones that have been increasingly yanked out from our children's entertainment, we do not challenge the children in deep and complex ways. Either way, if you have Nazism references, the children won't consider them. They will accept them and only be startled, as I was, 11 years down the road when they revisit the movie.
(5/25/09) American Splendor - I know someone who claims, or at least claimed, that this was his favorite movie. I trust his opinion, because he pretty much just stole his brother's taste in music and movies. So, I finally saw it, and my initial reaction is as follows: Good, not great. Depressing as fuck. Funny, but in a painful way. You have to be in a good mood in order to take on this movie. In the end, you enjoyed the movie, but you will have to be jostled into seeing it again. It can be a tad painful at times. I do love how you get to see the main characters and their real life counterparts. If I have picked up one thing from this movie, it is that I want to read the comics very soon.
Return of the Jedi - This was, oddly enough, on MTV. It was, unforunately, the re-release so not only do you get lame, unnecessary CGI creatures (including the lamening of the pit-creature), but you also have the real Anakin Skywalker getting replaced by lame-ass Hayden Christensen. Ugh. Other than that, though, this movie and The Empire Strikes Back continually fight for my love as best Star Wars movie. It packs a whallop, whether or not you care for Ewoks. I, personally, am fine with them. Sure, they were for the kids and comic relief, but so were R2D2 and C3PO. Anywho, I almost cried watching the final scenes which offer an incredibly complex and terrifying scenario where Darth Vader is torn between his identity as the Emporer's servant and Luke's father, Anakin Skywalker. His selfless sacrifice is probably the most epic of them all and turn Darth Vader into an evil badass to a tormented, highly-layered character that is fleshed out into the Third Dimension. Kudos to Lucas for this film. A tube sock full of frozen oranges to Lucas for making the New Trilogy.
Being John Malkovich - Have I ever mentioned that I have a huge soft-spot for music video directors turned movie directors? Because I do. Mostly because I choose that as my course of life, for the time being. Spike Jonze is second only to the wonderful Michel Gondry, and Charlie Kaufman is probably better than the both. This depressing, real, and off-the-wall amazing and hilarious film will have you saying "Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich!" Not only is it creative and funny, but it also delves into some highly philosophical and interesting concepts. I really won't go into any of it, because if you haven't seen it yet, it will be cooler for the movie to explain itself to you. Trust me, you will like it, if not love it. And you will love John Malkovich all the more. Trust me.
Thank you for reading this, though I doubt anybody has or will. It serves as a nice, public diary of my life, which is simply watching movies. It also seves as a pleasant time-waster. Let's hope I don't buck the trend.
I began my summer at the exact moment I was handed my diploma-holder and shook my principal's hand. Maybe not. Probably once I got out of the awkward cap and gown for graduation and got into Max Bloodworth's car to venture off to White Castle. The next night ushered in my first movie of the summer and one of the first movies for me in about a month (barring Clerks which I saw for the first time a couple of days earlier). It was:
On a Tuesday, here is the date (5/19/09) Religulous - There is a part of me that loves smartass documentraries with charismatic, liberal-minded commentators who know how to incur both deep thought and a good amount of hilarity. Bill Maher, I believe, is chief among this surprisingly large chunk of documentarians. Religulous is, for those who can't pick up anything from it's title, about religion...and how it is ridiculous. 'nuff said. My only complaint about the movie is that he goes to the fringes of religious society painting an unfair portrait of the religious person, though I totally understand why. But still, nonetheless, I know several Mormons who are not into polygamy. I know Muslims who don't hate you if you say Mohammed. The why is because it is not about the moderate religious people I know. It is about the fringe, and how they pose a threat. Religion is not the problem, it is the people who cannot seperate themselves from being human and being religious. When the Jews for Jesus guy says he would be fine with the onslaught of human suffering and death that would come with "Armegedon," then I cannot help but feel a little frightened that there are many others out there just like him. I worry that someday somebody could believe that somebody else, an "infidel" if you would, wants to "sap and impurify" our "precious bodily fluids." That is what Religulous is about.
(5/20/09) The Breakfast Club - Classic teen movie at its best, without a doubt. My only problem with the film is not with the film itself but with the treatment of poor Anthony Michael Hall. The Jock and the Basketcase hook up. Bender and Claire hook up. The Nerd ends up writing the essay, he is conned by Claire. Everyone gets somebody, he is left all alone. Sound familiar? Yeah, 16 Candles, too. Man, one day Hall will get his revenge.
Fast Times at Ridgemont High - If John Hughes' 80s teen movie were made to actually reflect what teenagers are like, Fast Times would be that movie. It also helps that it came out before any of Hughes' films did, but whatever. I will kick 100% of your ass if you don't see this movie sometime.
Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure - Yeah, I had a theme going that day. I'm sick writing about 80s teen movies. Strange things are afoot at the Circle K. Be excellent to everyone. Party on, dude!
(5/21/09) Boondock Saints - Okay, so here is the summation of what I will say from in this review: It is good but not as good as people make it out to be. First, the bad. Here is a sample of dialouge: "Fuck, man, I mean, I was fucking going to, fuck, you know? Fuck. Anyway, yeah, so I was going to fuck him up like some fucking fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..." The gratuitous use of swearing, particularly "fuck," got super old. It had all of the skill and elegance of an 8th grader who just found out he won't be struck down for saying a cuss word. Other than that, there was the whole contrived ending which actually wasn't explained very well. I wasn't too sure what happened, but I found out what I thought to be true was right. The Tourette's-stricken bartender and Dafoe the gay-detective-who-does-drag seem to be thrown in for laughs but are ultimately taken too seriously to offer much comic relief. They end up seeing awkward and tagged-on. The entire script seems to read like a devoted Tarantino fan's attempt at emulating the man, but ultimately just falling shy. Now the good: It has a compelling story and likable characters, even though there are some faults in the character development and dialouge. The action sequences are pretty badass, and the entire concept is amazing. The story has plenty of room to grow, and unsurprisingly there is going to be a sequel that I anticipate. Let's hope they will have ironed out the problems from the first one when they give us All Saints Day.
(5/22/09) The Lion King - I revisited my old favorite movie from when I was a kid, and I have to say I love it more than I did back then. It perfectly blends humor, music, children's appeal, adult's appeal, and even a little Shakespeare to form one of Disney's best films ever. It is so strange to look back at the movie and pick up on the everything beyond the mind of a child. For example, the hyenas goose-step in a very Expressionistic German-looking elephant graveyard. Scar outright exclaims he will kill people and attempts to do so. Simba nestles underneath his dead father and ends up blaming himself for the death. Ye gods, this is from the company that kept out the first two Little Pigs getting devoured by the Big, Bad Wolf! Nonetheless, it not only entertained me, but it also delivered an epiphany of sorts. Adults and parents freak out over what we show children. When you take out all of the dark tones, harsh truths, and innuendos, you get more than a bored parent, you get a product the child will care very little about returning to when they grow up. Without the adult undertones that have been increasingly yanked out from our children's entertainment, we do not challenge the children in deep and complex ways. Either way, if you have Nazism references, the children won't consider them. They will accept them and only be startled, as I was, 11 years down the road when they revisit the movie.
(5/25/09) American Splendor - I know someone who claims, or at least claimed, that this was his favorite movie. I trust his opinion, because he pretty much just stole his brother's taste in music and movies. So, I finally saw it, and my initial reaction is as follows: Good, not great. Depressing as fuck. Funny, but in a painful way. You have to be in a good mood in order to take on this movie. In the end, you enjoyed the movie, but you will have to be jostled into seeing it again. It can be a tad painful at times. I do love how you get to see the main characters and their real life counterparts. If I have picked up one thing from this movie, it is that I want to read the comics very soon.
Return of the Jedi - This was, oddly enough, on MTV. It was, unforunately, the re-release so not only do you get lame, unnecessary CGI creatures (including the lamening of the pit-creature), but you also have the real Anakin Skywalker getting replaced by lame-ass Hayden Christensen. Ugh. Other than that, though, this movie and The Empire Strikes Back continually fight for my love as best Star Wars movie. It packs a whallop, whether or not you care for Ewoks. I, personally, am fine with them. Sure, they were for the kids and comic relief, but so were R2D2 and C3PO. Anywho, I almost cried watching the final scenes which offer an incredibly complex and terrifying scenario where Darth Vader is torn between his identity as the Emporer's servant and Luke's father, Anakin Skywalker. His selfless sacrifice is probably the most epic of them all and turn Darth Vader into an evil badass to a tormented, highly-layered character that is fleshed out into the Third Dimension. Kudos to Lucas for this film. A tube sock full of frozen oranges to Lucas for making the New Trilogy.
Being John Malkovich - Have I ever mentioned that I have a huge soft-spot for music video directors turned movie directors? Because I do. Mostly because I choose that as my course of life, for the time being. Spike Jonze is second only to the wonderful Michel Gondry, and Charlie Kaufman is probably better than the both. This depressing, real, and off-the-wall amazing and hilarious film will have you saying "Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich!" Not only is it creative and funny, but it also delves into some highly philosophical and interesting concepts. I really won't go into any of it, because if you haven't seen it yet, it will be cooler for the movie to explain itself to you. Trust me, you will like it, if not love it. And you will love John Malkovich all the more. Trust me.
Thank you for reading this, though I doubt anybody has or will. It serves as a nice, public diary of my life, which is simply watching movies. It also seves as a pleasant time-waster. Let's hope I don't buck the trend.
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Divisionist (or Brothers In Arms) (Part 1)
The following is the first part of my absurdist short story I wrote for my AP English class. I ended up pulling this one out from between two cheeks in one night.
__________________________________________________________________
Reform is something I heard about once. I’ve heard about it many times, actually. I’ve heard about it like I’ve heard about the common good. I’ve heard about it like I’ve heard about good will towards one’s fellow man. I’ve heard of it like I’ve heard of peace on Earth. To be honest, I’ve heard of a lot of things, and they all sounded nice. I just wish they hadn’t been in the abstract.
Today I leave the world that talks on and on and on about reform, about the common good, about peace on Earth, and about many other pleasant sounding things. I am sick of it. The world is nothing but crooked men and politicians, crooked politicians and men, sexism, racism, prejudice, narcissism, violence, perverts, brothels, prostitutes, pimps, and other nasty prospects. I want to never again see the vulgarities and vagrants of the world. I never want to see the duplicitous who put the Vs in their places. Never again shall I set eyes upon the self-serving and the human monsters that comprise the world. I will have no part in it.
That is why I am here now, at a harbor in Dublin, waiting for a vessel to come, with roughly forty other people. I suppose they are all here for the same reason I am. I haven’t bothered to ask them yet. I probably won’t. The vessel that is coming is called the Glocester II. She is called the Glocester II because she is the second ship to be called the Glocester, I presume. She is named after the district where she was made, Gloucester. By some random act of God, she lost her “u”. Maybe when whoever did the stenciling stenciled the name on, he accidentally left out the “u” out of spite, drunkenness, or maybe, just maybe, plain forgetfulness. Either way, he was intelligent enough to know that he had no choice but to leave it be. It dooms a ship to change her name, even if it is excepting a vowel. If you don’t believe me, take the Mary Celeste, formerly the Amazon. The formerly Amazon, on a routine shipping voyage under the new name of the Mary Celeste, disappeared for a brief time. When discovered by the Dei Gratia (a ship, I assure you, that did not change her name) discovered the Mary Celeste around the Straight of Gibraltar, they found the ship completely abandoned with no trace of people leaving or sign of strain. In place of people, they found an incredibly damp and soggy mess of a ship. Therefore, the Glocester and later the Glocester II are insured against such an event. I suppose something happened to the Glocester or maybe she was just retired, and they retained the name “Glocester” for the next ship out of respect for the original vessel. Either way, I find that their keeping in with tradition to be remarkably refreshing and empowering, for whatever strange reason.
The forty or so people that I am now standing with at this blustery harbor in Dublin are an assorted bunch. A couple of families, obviously lower class; some lower class men and women-some getting shyly close to each other in order to keep warm, most not-standing huddled into themselves; a couple of young men, who seem to have been wealthy at one time, but were repulsed or something of that nature with being who they were. You can tell the last few out the easiest because they are either the best looking men or the worst looking men. They rejected their upper crust upbringings, despite their caregivers and overseers telling them they should be proud of the money of their inheritance. The ones not dissuaded go on to relinquish all of their worldly possessions and start anew, like their common working-class man. The well-kept men are the ones who have not quite gotten the hang of letting go of the prim and proper appearances of their heritage. The filthy men are trying too hard to blend in. The vast majority of the people here, though, are in their Sunday best, which is apt because it is Sunday, and it is quite possibly the best Sunday ever. At least, for me it is, and I am assuming they are all here the same reason I am. I still haven’t asked.
Now I ask. I walk up to an older man, maybe in his fifties, in a worn. Brownish, slightly dirty three piece tweed suit. He is a wonderful example of a man hardened by the years, with his wispy head of gray hair and his graying stubble the dances in the gray light of this particularly overcast and chilly morning. His skin is as gray as his hair, and the expression on his face shows a discomforting placidness. He stares off into the distance, a thousand miles away, towards something that is even further away from him. Maybe it’s the sun. I haven’t seen it in a week.
He takes no notice as I stand in front of him, overbearing him by half a foot or so, and blocking his view. It takes a few words to shake him of his reverie.
After slightly shivering, snorting in once, and blinking a couple of times:
“Uhm…hello.”
“Sorry to disturb your peace, but wh-“
“Don’t worry. You weren’t disturbing anything.” I was.
“Yes. Well. Yes, why are you here?”
No answer. No verbal answer, actually. He cocks his head to the side and up, his eyes close a moment, opens them again, finally straightens his gaze towards me.
“I am waiting for a vessel-“
“The Glocester II?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Thank you.” I leave.
“Son.” He did not raise his voice. However, even with my back towards him, and my placement some ten feet away, he gathered my attention. I reply.
“Son, you are here for the Glocester II, as well, yes?” he inquires.
“Yes.”
“I am Atticus Finley.” His hand extends towards mine, and I take it. I notice it is rough and warm and, best of all, firm. I instantly like him. You have to when a man can shake with a firm hand and be as inviting as ever. He continues: “I was just thinking about the gravity of what we are all doing here.”
“Assuming everyone is here for the same reason.”
“…true…I suppose people might not be here for that reason. Either way, we are here for the same reason, right?” He gestures between the two of us. His face breaks into a smile. The graying stubble of his face dances in the morning’s cloudy light. His skin at first cracks, and then finally gives to smoothen out to a more natural state. It, too, is rough and warm. It is also firm. I answer him yes. “Good.” We stand in silence for a few moments more, the silence intermittently interrupted by a low, rough cough that rattles his frame and does nothing to relieve his chest of phlegm. “I am sick.” he says eventually. I agree so you are. “I feel fine, but this damned cough does nothing but stay. I could make it pay rent to produce a little income.” He chuckles a little, with slight humor that ends towards a bitter note. I reply I suppose so. For now, that is the extent of the conversation. It is too cold to continue nor care. I hope the feeling is mutual. I’m pretty sure it is.
The ocean breathes salty, my friends. The cold wind is cutting through my heavy, black pea coat, and I am finding myself chilled to the bone. A light mist is carried within the wind and is applying a damp coat upon my person. I feel as if I have been given a new quality of skin which is of a much more greasy nature. That is the salt from the ocean. I am sure it actually makes me look quite dashing and rugged to have my hair greasy-salty and now slightly curly. I feel quite attractive, and I am beginning to eye the more attractive women of the bunch. Only a few are truly attractive, but I must prepare myself to accept a lot more than three or four of them. This is going to be what I will have forever more. Beggars cannot be choosers.
Maybe during my conversation with Finley or maybe during my eying of the women around me, a ship appears in the distance. A low murmur ensues as we all begin to slowly realize it is the Glocester II looming in the distance. It is now that I stop living in the present, speaking in the present, and give myself to the Glocester II.
A man announces, “We are saved!”
__________________________________________________________________
Reform is something I heard about once. I’ve heard about it many times, actually. I’ve heard about it like I’ve heard about the common good. I’ve heard about it like I’ve heard about good will towards one’s fellow man. I’ve heard of it like I’ve heard of peace on Earth. To be honest, I’ve heard of a lot of things, and they all sounded nice. I just wish they hadn’t been in the abstract.
Today I leave the world that talks on and on and on about reform, about the common good, about peace on Earth, and about many other pleasant sounding things. I am sick of it. The world is nothing but crooked men and politicians, crooked politicians and men, sexism, racism, prejudice, narcissism, violence, perverts, brothels, prostitutes, pimps, and other nasty prospects. I want to never again see the vulgarities and vagrants of the world. I never want to see the duplicitous who put the Vs in their places. Never again shall I set eyes upon the self-serving and the human monsters that comprise the world. I will have no part in it.
That is why I am here now, at a harbor in Dublin, waiting for a vessel to come, with roughly forty other people. I suppose they are all here for the same reason I am. I haven’t bothered to ask them yet. I probably won’t. The vessel that is coming is called the Glocester II. She is called the Glocester II because she is the second ship to be called the Glocester, I presume. She is named after the district where she was made, Gloucester. By some random act of God, she lost her “u”. Maybe when whoever did the stenciling stenciled the name on, he accidentally left out the “u” out of spite, drunkenness, or maybe, just maybe, plain forgetfulness. Either way, he was intelligent enough to know that he had no choice but to leave it be. It dooms a ship to change her name, even if it is excepting a vowel. If you don’t believe me, take the Mary Celeste, formerly the Amazon. The formerly Amazon, on a routine shipping voyage under the new name of the Mary Celeste, disappeared for a brief time. When discovered by the Dei Gratia (a ship, I assure you, that did not change her name) discovered the Mary Celeste around the Straight of Gibraltar, they found the ship completely abandoned with no trace of people leaving or sign of strain. In place of people, they found an incredibly damp and soggy mess of a ship. Therefore, the Glocester and later the Glocester II are insured against such an event. I suppose something happened to the Glocester or maybe she was just retired, and they retained the name “Glocester” for the next ship out of respect for the original vessel. Either way, I find that their keeping in with tradition to be remarkably refreshing and empowering, for whatever strange reason.
The forty or so people that I am now standing with at this blustery harbor in Dublin are an assorted bunch. A couple of families, obviously lower class; some lower class men and women-some getting shyly close to each other in order to keep warm, most not-standing huddled into themselves; a couple of young men, who seem to have been wealthy at one time, but were repulsed or something of that nature with being who they were. You can tell the last few out the easiest because they are either the best looking men or the worst looking men. They rejected their upper crust upbringings, despite their caregivers and overseers telling them they should be proud of the money of their inheritance. The ones not dissuaded go on to relinquish all of their worldly possessions and start anew, like their common working-class man. The well-kept men are the ones who have not quite gotten the hang of letting go of the prim and proper appearances of their heritage. The filthy men are trying too hard to blend in. The vast majority of the people here, though, are in their Sunday best, which is apt because it is Sunday, and it is quite possibly the best Sunday ever. At least, for me it is, and I am assuming they are all here the same reason I am. I still haven’t asked.
Now I ask. I walk up to an older man, maybe in his fifties, in a worn. Brownish, slightly dirty three piece tweed suit. He is a wonderful example of a man hardened by the years, with his wispy head of gray hair and his graying stubble the dances in the gray light of this particularly overcast and chilly morning. His skin is as gray as his hair, and the expression on his face shows a discomforting placidness. He stares off into the distance, a thousand miles away, towards something that is even further away from him. Maybe it’s the sun. I haven’t seen it in a week.
He takes no notice as I stand in front of him, overbearing him by half a foot or so, and blocking his view. It takes a few words to shake him of his reverie.
After slightly shivering, snorting in once, and blinking a couple of times:
“Uhm…hello.”
“Sorry to disturb your peace, but wh-“
“Don’t worry. You weren’t disturbing anything.” I was.
“Yes. Well. Yes, why are you here?”
No answer. No verbal answer, actually. He cocks his head to the side and up, his eyes close a moment, opens them again, finally straightens his gaze towards me.
“I am waiting for a vessel-“
“The Glocester II?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Thank you.” I leave.
“Son.” He did not raise his voice. However, even with my back towards him, and my placement some ten feet away, he gathered my attention. I reply.
“Son, you are here for the Glocester II, as well, yes?” he inquires.
“Yes.”
“I am Atticus Finley.” His hand extends towards mine, and I take it. I notice it is rough and warm and, best of all, firm. I instantly like him. You have to when a man can shake with a firm hand and be as inviting as ever. He continues: “I was just thinking about the gravity of what we are all doing here.”
“Assuming everyone is here for the same reason.”
“…true…I suppose people might not be here for that reason. Either way, we are here for the same reason, right?” He gestures between the two of us. His face breaks into a smile. The graying stubble of his face dances in the morning’s cloudy light. His skin at first cracks, and then finally gives to smoothen out to a more natural state. It, too, is rough and warm. It is also firm. I answer him yes. “Good.” We stand in silence for a few moments more, the silence intermittently interrupted by a low, rough cough that rattles his frame and does nothing to relieve his chest of phlegm. “I am sick.” he says eventually. I agree so you are. “I feel fine, but this damned cough does nothing but stay. I could make it pay rent to produce a little income.” He chuckles a little, with slight humor that ends towards a bitter note. I reply I suppose so. For now, that is the extent of the conversation. It is too cold to continue nor care. I hope the feeling is mutual. I’m pretty sure it is.
The ocean breathes salty, my friends. The cold wind is cutting through my heavy, black pea coat, and I am finding myself chilled to the bone. A light mist is carried within the wind and is applying a damp coat upon my person. I feel as if I have been given a new quality of skin which is of a much more greasy nature. That is the salt from the ocean. I am sure it actually makes me look quite dashing and rugged to have my hair greasy-salty and now slightly curly. I feel quite attractive, and I am beginning to eye the more attractive women of the bunch. Only a few are truly attractive, but I must prepare myself to accept a lot more than three or four of them. This is going to be what I will have forever more. Beggars cannot be choosers.
Maybe during my conversation with Finley or maybe during my eying of the women around me, a ship appears in the distance. A low murmur ensues as we all begin to slowly realize it is the Glocester II looming in the distance. It is now that I stop living in the present, speaking in the present, and give myself to the Glocester II.
A man announces, “We are saved!”
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