“north of montana, e1”

(photo from yellowstone insider)

Episode 1: “Get Your Bearings Here”

(A single camera, urban/mountain situation-comedy set mostly in L.A., about people finding their own, individual direction as they attempt to navigate the social misdirection around them, and try to earn a living in “the business” – told in 22-minute episodes with a scene/character list in the attached spreadsheet.)


Opening titles and music begins – L.A., a warm February day. Opening helicopter overheads and street-level shots of a beach-side L.A. neighborhood.

Opening titles and music continues.
On a street near the beach, The Ice House is a small ice cream stand that sells cones from a take-out window. From across the street, WILL opens the driver’s door of an older, rusty pickup. He gets out and crosses the street, walking toward the take-out window, wearing old running shoes, jeans, a t-shirt, jacket, a faded Red Sox baseball cap, and carrying a folded-over, marked-up newspaper employment want-ad section in his hand, tucking it underneath an arm as he crosses the street.
Behind the window HECTOR is sitting on a stool and reading a newspaper. On the wall behind him is a hand-painted menu. HECTOR looks up as WILL approaches.

… full script and scene/char list on pdf links below
wr tlp – north of montana e001 d02 20170415
wr tlp – north of montana e001 notes 20170409

2017-04-16 15:31:01 (4622 words)
(/wr tlp – north of montana e001 d02 20170415.fadein)
▸ The Weepies performing “Sunflower” and “No Trouble” from “Sirens” 2015
▸ The Magnetic North performing “Signs” from “Prospect of Skelmersdale” 2016
▸ Fossil Collective performing “The Magpie”, “Wolves”, and “Boy With Blackbird Kite” from “Tell Where I Lie” 2013
▸ Beirut performing “Perth”, “No No No” and “Gibraltar from “No No No” 2015
▸ Feist performing live at Le Trabendo, Paris, Dec. 2005

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged

“abraham bicycle”

lincoln bike 01
(manipulated photo from pinterest and diversified antiques)

“Okay, class,” Doc. Armbruiser says, “regarding this week’s writing prompt – ‘Three to six hundred words on how America, today, might regard the country’s 16th President, if, instead of a Lincoln, he’d been a Bicycle.’ Are there volunteers?”

It’s a Friday in early April, 6th period, “Senior English as a Creative Field of Dreams” at Oliver Wendell Holmes High in West Ft. Totten, Illinois. Charles “Chuck” “Chuckles” “Chuck-it” “D.A.” “Doc. Armbruiser” – aka “Charles Armbruster,” a self-proclaimed “uncertifiable doctor of nothing, with an interest in philology” – has been a fill-in teacher since last Thanksgiving break, when Clarice Frances Whitherall’s head fell face forward into the mashed potatoes at her granddaughter’s house in Topeka.

Emily Clark raises her hand.

“I see a hand,” D.A. says, now, leaned against the front edge of his desk and wearing his standard costume of an ancient polo shirt tucked into a pair of faded jeans, above undyed wool sweat socks and ratty loafers. He moves his right hand up, covering his eyes. “I’m guessing it belongs to … I can’t … see it … clearly. What head might claim, this lofty mitt?”

“Fortenbra,” Emily answers in the low, husky voice of someone who has spent decades fighting pirates in the Caribbean. The class laughs.

D.A., smiling broadly, moves his hand back down to the desk. “Fortenbra? As in …?”

“As in a girl wearing a fortress of a bra, lined with parapets and gun emplacements.”

“And you’re going to read the whole story in this voice?”

“No,” she says, her voice cracking back to Emily, “I can’t do it longer than 10 seconds.”

“I see.”

“Hail, the mighty Fortenbra!” Andy Simms then shouts from the back row, his arm and fist raised high. Andy is the designated cheer driver each Friday for “read it and weep.”

D.A. then raises his arm, along with the rest of class, saying “For-ten-bra” in chorus.

It’s how things go on Fridays. Which is something everyone looks forward to, and a way of doing “school business” that the “Parsons of Our Better Judgment,” aka Principal Richard Hertel, and Vice-Principal Phyllis Dracula, have come to leave alone.

“So?” D.A. says to Emily.

“So,” Emily responds, leaning back and stretching out her legs beneath the desk, while resting the two-page printout against the desktop edge.

“Born in a log cabin near the Sinking Spring bike trail, just outside of Hodgenville, Kentucky, Alexander “Two-Door” Lincoln, and his bride Luella, raised their son, Abraham, in the customs of the day. Which meant that after finishing his homework, each evening by the fire, he was free to let his head play amongst the stories of the 19th century’s version of video games, also known as books. A few of Young Abe’s favorites being ‘Grand Theft Horse and Buggy,’ ‘Super Mario Bros. Buy a Farm,’ and ‘Call of Duty: Modern Musket Warfare.’

“He was a pretty normal kid, except for the fact that by age 14 he was 6-feet 9-inches tall, a power-forward born before his time, since the game of basketball would not be invented for another 70 years. If handling an ax had been an official NCAA sport, Young Abe, then living in Indiana, would certainly have received a scholarship to a big-ten school. But, in the dark years before Pell Grants, and without tuition money of his own, the boy was left to find his own way through the wilderness of 19th century, higher education.

“Which was cool, since it would pretty much form the genome of his character, along lines that were in-sync with the national customs of the time, producing a strong sense of individual accomplishment as people, doing their own thing, made their own way through the wilderness of an unsettled life upon this still, as yet definitely unAmerican continent.

“‘Dad,’ Young Abe would say one day, ‘I think I have the stuff to be the country’s President.’

“‘Uh-huh,’ Two-Door Lincoln answered. ‘Have you fed the hogs?’

“This short scene outside the family barn, turned out to be a defining moment for the boy. He realized that, in the spirit of the pioneers still swimming in his blood, in order to achieve the full potential of his promise he would need to leave his family life behind, and venture off into the wilderness of a future that only he could settle.

“Which, a few years later, would become the venture that he made, traveling further west into Illinois where, as a tribute to his early years in the log cabin near the Sinking Creek bike trail, he would change his last name from Lincoln to Bicycle. Which was certainly a forward-looking thing to do in the sparsely settled wilderness of 1830 North America. Though not really all that strange since, in point of fact, both then and now, we are all born ahead of our time, as our lives consist of what comes after the great and glorious, slip-and-slide of birth.”

Emily drops the pages back onto the desktop, and looks up. “That’s it, Doc.”

“Very cool,” D.A. says, then raises his arm, with the class following in a chorus of “For-ten-bra.”

2017-04-08 01:10:23 (886 words)
▸ Damien Rice performing “The Animals Were Gone” in studio (2007), from “9” 2006
▸ Daughter performing “Youth” 2013, from “If You Leave” 2013
▸ Dan Mangan performing “Road Regrets” 2010, from “Nice, Nice Very Nice” 2009
▸ Delta Spirit performing “People C’mon” from “Ode to Sunshine” 2008
▸ Beruit performing “Forks and Knives (La Fete)” live (2011) from “The Flying Club Cup” 2007
▸ Israel Nash performing “Rexanimarum” from “Israel Nash’s Rain Plans” 2013
▸ Turin Brakes performing “96” from “Lost Property” 2015

Posted in Uncategorized

“last gasp sally”

(photo from “The Daily Mail”)

Sally Franklin Jones — born April Fool’s Day, 1995 in Cedar Falls, Iowa, the latest offspring of what would grow to become a family of 26,912 siblings, before the industrial revolution gave way to the debt revolution and the family’s bankruptcy, in 2002. Born mostly gender-neutral, Sally and her semi-sisters were given “certain female characteristics” at the Cedar Falls Resuscitation Practice Doll factory on Milk Street, three blocks from the river.

It was a sunny, early-April day, the city still mostly surrounded by the bare dirt and short-stubbled litter of last summer’s corn harvest. With one North Star “White Mule” heavy-cotton gloved hand beneath each armpit, Mary Orton lifted Sally from the conveyor rollers at the tail end of the assembly line.

She began working at “Doll Town” in January of ’93 at the age of 19, six months after graduating from Cedar Falls High and one month after dropping out of the University of Iowa as an at-sea freshman. Ten years of good-student citizenship for Sally had gone south in her junior year at CF High, when the previews of “Hormones, the Musical,” began playing in her head.


MARY: (speechless, blushing, looks down at her Chuck Taylor high-tops)

HBG: Wanna, you know — do something?

MARY: (looking at the scruffy grass behind the portables) Something, like … what?

HBG: Tongue hockey?

MARY: (glancing up at the 17-year-old tower of boy hormones with invisible hormone-smoke coming from his nostrils) Dunno. Maybe?

(Cue music: “Hockey Glottis” begins loud, as six boys, and six girls with pompoms, leap around the corner of the portable, in full cheerleader dress. Mary and Hot Boy Gregory, oblivious to the singing and dancing going on around them, begin making out like two thirsty travelers in the social desert, now happy to be guzzling at a wet and sloppy, hormone oasis.)

Which soon led to an extra-curricular education where bonework began to push homework off the subject stage.

“How’s Mary doing at school?” Mrs. Robinson would ask her mother, six months later, in the canned soups-and-vegetables aisle at Wigwam.

“She seems distracted,” Heather Orton answered with concern, putting a can of Progresso Minestrone in her cart.

“It happens,” Linda Robinson replied, smiling. Linda worked in the sales office at Doll Town, having started on the assembly line soon after high school, herself.

As Mary lifts Sally off the line, now, she gives the lip-lock princess one final look-and-see, before laying her out in the corrugated, cardboard coffin that will send her off to spread the kiss-of-life across a waiting world.

2017-04-01 11:52 (449 words)
▸ Destroyer performing “Bangkok” and “Times Square” live 2015, from “Poison Season” 2015
▸ Megan Washington performing “Limitless” and “My Heart is a Wheel” from “There There” 2014
▸ Leftover Cuties performing “What’s the Matter?” from “The Spark & the Fire” 2013

Posted in Uncategorized


… a girl walks into a mess

(photo from lovincup.com)

Marebeth is writing her five-minutes of fame for this year’s “Senior Talent Show.” Yesterday, she bought a “humor dress” from the thrift store on Commerce Street, to show she’s serious. “It’s a hippy quilt” she said on the phone to Suzanne, her best friend since fifth grade detention after both girls were caught sharing a “hefty blunt,” as Officer Wilber described it, behind the portables.

The blunt, in fact, was actually a “porker” Marebeth had rolled from Bugler cigarette tobacco, using a technique her Uncle Feldy taught her when they fished together from a small, blue rowboat each summer on Hayber Pond, near Fairbanks. Uncle Feldy was a native-born Alaskan, though his mother was born in Russia and his father came north from Calfornia to pan for gold during the depression.

“Why’d they call you ‘Marebeth’?” Suzanne asked behind the portables, passing her the porker. “Is it because your Mom dreamed of one day having her own horse?”

“Not sure about the horse,” Marebeth answered. “They told me it was from ‘la mare,’ French for ‘the sea.’ Apparently in the car on the way to the hospital, my Mom’s water broke. And the way she told the story later, when they reached the hospital and opened the passenger’s door to let her out, a waterfall gushed out of the car and into the ER lobby.

“No way,” Suzanne said.

“I’m just repeating the story as it was told to me. It seems there were a number of steelhead trout that ended up near the nurses’ station, that gave the security guards quite a fight.”

“Uh-huh. So how’s the monologue going for talent show?”

“Okay. Want to hear what I have so far?”

“Why do you think I asked?”

“Dunno. I thought maybe you were just being polite, and … wait, forget it. For a minute I forgot who you were.”

“Funny. So what’s it called?”

“‘A Girl Walks Into a Mess.'”

“What’s the mess?”

“Current life.”

“Cool. How’s it start?”

“‘Marebeth is writing her five minutes of fame for this year’s Senior Talent Show,'” Marebeth reads from her laptop screen.

“It sounds like a story someone might post online.”

“Yeah. It’s a story monologue, intended to sound like a story someone might post online, that’s about a girl preparing for her five minutes of fame at this year’s talent show.”

“Am I in it?”

“Of course. Who else would I be talking to about it? Just some imaginary person in my head? That’s crazy.”


“Yes, Suzanne?”

“I think it’s time you ran for President.”

“Really? Would I have to get new underwear?”

“Huh-uh. The balloons and dancing bears would fit right in.”

“Cool. Can I use that in the monologue, as an offhand comment on the current can’t-add-ministration mess?”

“Of course. What are ghost ghost writers for?”

“I was hoping you’d see right through this,” Marebeth said. “I need to hang up, now, and go pee on something in the toilet.”

2017-03-12 23:34:42 (516 words)
▸ UMass Dynamics performing “Landslide” by Dixie Chicks, from “Giraffes Out of Bed” 2013
▸ Blind Pilot performing live 2016: a) “Joik #3”; b) “Don’t Doubt” from “And Then Like Lions” 2016; and c) “Half Moon” from “We Are the Tide” 2011

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ,

“recipes for”

… making sense of the current, totally baked political-economic nonsense

(photo, and recipe, of oatmeal-raisin cookies w/o shortening, butter, or sugar from thekindlife.com)

1) Nonsense Cookies

  •  1 fuck-ton of nonsense – (with a “fuck-ton” – as defined by the ghost of Debra Morgan in Spec-Script Season 37, Episode 1492 of “Dexter: The Bake-Off” – as being the result of a regular ton of nonsense shit that is allowed to fuck on its own without restraint for a period of time, in the privacy of its own nonsense shit room, or stable, or kitchen, or office cubicle, or White House, Tower or other enlavished tenement of dwelling – thereby naturally procreating into a fuck-ton of shitiness, much like a yeast infection that spreads and gives rise to loaves of economically exchanged, socially transmitted disease bread)
  •  a nonsense baker’s quantity of lard – (taken from your ass, or the ass of other mammals-of-accomplice, who are spending way more time than they should sitting and typing nonsense shit like this on computer keyboards, or smartphone touchpads, or other transmission capable, electron-pretty geegaws)
  •  unpurified water – (ideally, like the water that’s been sitting in a glass, or pitcher, near your desk for at least a year, its natural tendency toward evaporation stopped by the inch or two of dust floating on the surface that has now become its own evaporation birth-control diaphragm)
  •  heat – (as in an oven, or a furnace, or the Sun if you’re using a rocket you’ve constructed in the old barn behind Jepson’s Tractor Warehouse, from parts you scavenged at NASA’s Cape Canaveral rocket-science junkyard)
  •  cook until done – (with done, here, being “really, fucking done,” as in unfit for any purpose besides nonsense consumption)
  •  unjoy.

2) Shit On a Stick

  •  1 dried, idea turd
  •  1 big stick, shaken by a big idea turd cook
  •  1 bushel of base-emotion hunger for chowing down on dried, idea turds shaken by cooks with big sticks
  •  yumify.

3) Party Mice

  •  3 dozen genetically engineered idea mice from a lab in Maine
  •  1 reason to throw a party for genetically engineered idea mice from a lab in Maine
  •  1 reason for attending a party for genetically engineered idea mice
  •  1 disappointment greeting card sent to a lab in Maine for experiencing the need to throw a party for genetically engineered idea mice
  •  1 mailing address
  •  1 one-time use, forever contradiction stamp, to send your disappointment off into the postal night.

2017-03-04 22:49:53 (392 words)
“Nightingale” 2014, wtr/Frederick Mensch, dir/Elliott Lester
▸ Mia Doi Todd performing a) “Paraty” from “Cosmic Ocean Ship” 2011; b) “My Room is White” from “Manzanita” 2005
▸ Feist performing a) “Inside and Out” by Barry, Maurice and Robin Gibb; and b) “One Evening” from “Let it Die” 2004

Posted in Uncategorized

“downward dogged”

(downward dog photo from shawnradcliffe.com)

“It’s an exercise position in ‘U-ga’ – the new, personality work-out, derived from Yoga by some people at Ohio Presbyterian University,” Wendy says. “So it’s both a total, self-image stretch, and the expression of U-ga self-revelation.”

She’s on the phone with “The Momster,” also known as Joyce Frisbee, Mom, Mooter, Mommaries, or sometimes just “Mother.” The last one often said in an exasperated held-back shout, as in:

THE MOMSTER: He sounds nice, dear. But how does Crunch-Bang rate with regards to the Big 3 reqs: Has a job that has a future, is looking to get married, and have kids?

WENDY: (exasperated) Mother!

The Momster pauses for a moment on the phone, before responding. She’s standing in the kitchen of the 4-bedroom, 5-bath, 2,800 square-foot empty nest she shares with Wendy’s step-Dad twice-removed – as in the co-signatory of her mother’s second remarriage agreement, after leaving Wendy’s bio-Dad, Harry “Hayburner” Lindholm. Which became just another in a string of life’s disabilities that Hayburner Lindholm would encounter in his life, after playing outside linebacker for the Dolphins for seven seasons, until a blindside late block by Dallas Bengal of the Falcons left him walking on 1.43 legs for the balance of his non-career.

“Ohio Presbyterian University?” the Momster finally says, in the lead-in to an incisive comment that’s not too covertly dressed in question clothes. With “incisive”, in this happy time of ad hominem in ad nauseam, having more to do with slicing up another’s sense of self than sharpening the actual focus of ideas. “Oh, right. In higher education circles they call it ‘O, P-U’ – right?”

“Funny, Mrs. Frisbee,” Wendy says. “Your wit floats like an outdoor air-toy, looking to make a good impression on a passing set of canine teeth.”

The reference being to Harold Frisbee, The Momster’s husband no. 3, and someone who often sidesteps questions about his family lineage, just to leave some air of doubt floating in the conversation air as to his connection to a possible inventor. With Harold, in point of birth, having no immediate familial connection to the Frisbee whose light-bulb moment occurred after watching a flying dinner plate leave his hand, during an argument at the table with his wife about the proper way of cooking schnitzel.

The actual Mrs. Frisbee in the idea scene, ducking her head down low beside a bowl of buttered peas, as the Corelle “featherweight” plate sailed above her chair and through the doorway to the living room, before being plucked from the modern-American decor ether like a dinner bird come home to roost, by Roscoe, the family’s 4-year-old black Labrador retriever with a still-fetching sense of fun and games.

Enter the ghost of Julia Child, carrying a platter full of artfully-arranged sliced beets with toasted almonds, nestled beneath a cloud of Hollandaise sauce that’s a model of Left-Bank Puritan restraint. “Good boy, Roscoe,” she comments in a shaky ice-skate alto, before tossing a thick sauce-covered beet slice onto the tile floor beneath the tv. As Roscoe drops the dinner plate and leaps, downward dog, onto the bon appetite.

“Mom,” Wendy finally says, “just say you’re happy for me. So I can go have sex without the image of you scowling in my head.”

The phone connection is silent, save for the “Easy Listening 103.9” playing in the background on Joyce Frisbee’s kitchen radio.


No response.

“Really? And this silence is the sound of the easy-listening emptiness that is now your life?” Wendy says, smiling, before she disconnects.

2017-02-27 18:09:48 (625 words)
“Me and Earl and the Dying Girl” 2015, wtr/Jesse Andrews, dir/Alfonso Gomez-Rejon

▸ Passenger performing: a) “Golden Leaves” from “Whispers” 2014; and b) “Let Her Go” from “All the Little Lights” 2012
▸ OneRepublic performing: “Counting Stars” from “Native” 2013

Posted in Uncategorized

“alternate beauty facts”

… and why alt-right is the alt-wrong, baby-headed poli-phil of self-indulgent, fifty-something eight-year-olds – at this the ugly, bad-dream end of the cult of self

(Kellyanne Conway photo from Reporte Nive1uno* on 20170127 – after coining the phrase “alternate facts” to describe the crowds at Donald Trump’s inauguration, and before taking a week off in mid-February to resynchronize her political spin apparatus, after being out-of-spin-sync on the Michael Flynn resignation, and personally endorsing Ivanka Trump’s cosmetic line.)

1) Since beauty is in the eye of the beholder, girls, stop working on your own eyes, and start working on the eyes of your beholders.

GUY GIRL-BEHOLDER: What are you doing?

GIRL: Putting makeup on your eyes.

GG-B: Why?

GIRL: To make America, and me, look great again.

2) Anti-anti-aging cream works best, when applied to others.

GG-B: But this cream you’re putting on my face, is actually making me look older.

GIRL: Yes. It’s really working. It’s anti-anti-aging cream.

GG-B: And this will …?

GIRL: Make America, and me, look great again.

3) If possible, apply anti-moisturizer on a windy day.

GG-B: Hey! This stuff is really drying out my skin.

GIRL: Yes. It works best when applied during windstorms.

GG-B: But my skin feels like …?

GIRL: A mask? That means it’s working.

GG-B: And wearing masks will …?

GIRL: Make America look great again.

GG-B: I’m sorry, but that’s just crazy.

GIRL: Exactly. Orange is the new black. Wrinkles that look like satellite views of the Grand Canyon, are the new smooth. Eyes that look like craters on the Moon are the new, windows of the cratered soul. Wrong is the new right. Bad the new good. And crazy is the new, flipping sane, that keeps on flipping. It’s all part of the alternate-beauty reality that is making the new, America the anti-beautiful, great again.

GG-B: Okay. But I’m not buying it. So how do I take all this anti-makeup off?

GIRL: That’s the best part. Golden showers are the only thing that really works.

GG-B: Because …?

GIRL: They’re totally anti-hygienic.

2017-02-23 22:04:08 (387 words)
* http://www.reporteniveluno.mx/2017/01/27/acusan-a-mexico-querer-seguir-permitiendo-trafico-drogas-a-eua/
▸ Bruce Cockburn performing “Pacing the Cage”, in studio 1998, from “The Charity of Night” 1997
▸ Daughter performing “Shallows” and “Youth” live, from “If You Leave” 2013

Posted in Uncategorized

“from the story box”

… the big election and the coffee pot cafe

(manipulated photo from etsystatic)

(a stage play with scenes and no acts)



The Coffee Pot Cafe, with a row of windows that overlook the sidewalk that runs along stage front.

(WILLIAM enters – stage left, walking down sidewalk to cafe door, which he opens and closes, entering cafe and sitting at table by windows.

MARY enters – stage right, from cafe kitchen, and walks to William’s table.)


William. Haven’t seen you since the big election. I heard you’d moved to Canada.


I did. But they threw me out.


“Threw” you out? You mean … ?


Yes. Actually “threw” me out. Four “Relo’s” – Mounties from the RCMP’s new “Bureau of American Relocation” – came to my hotel room. It was just after 3:00 in the morning. They knocked on my door. I staggered to the door and asked “Who’s there?” The lead guy said “Room service.” So I opened the door and they stormed in.

… scene continues at pdf link – wr-stp-from-the-story-box-the-big-election-20170130

2017-01-30 18:03:10 (653 words)
/wr stp – from the story box: the big election 20170130.fadein
▸ Fink performing: a) “Trouble’s What You’re In”; and b) “Blueberry Pancakes” – both live 2011, from “Wheels Turn Beneath My Feet” 2012

Posted in Uncategorized

act 4


 (Paul Newman – b. Jan. 26, 1925, Shaker Heights OH, d. Sept. 26, 2008 (83), Westport CT; photo from el bosquejo)

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged

“ranger bill – smokey in the city”

(photo manipulation of Smokey Bear who debued in 1944, the first poster illustrated by Albert Staehle, the bear named after “Smokey” Joe Martin, a heroic 1920s New York City fire fighter)


Episode 1: “Welcome to the Forest”

(A single camera, urban-forest dramedy with good guys, bad guys, and dancing bears, in 22-minute episodes; character/scene list in attached spreadsheet.)

Portland OR, early spring – forest bird sounds: jay, crow, hawk, woodpecker.

Shot of tiny clearing in small area of old-growth forest on ridge above downtown, a small cabin with mossy roof, smoke coming from chimney pipe, clearing lined with blooming rhododendrons. Camera pans forward to rustic outhouse behind cabin, pauses on outhouse door which opens as Ranger Bill (RB) in uniform and Smokey hat steps out w/magazine folded under arm, adjusting belt.

He walks to back door of cabin, past bank of solar panels and 2 small wind generators, stopping under cabin roof eave below small satellite dish, where water pipe w/spigot and attached soap dish comes up from ground. RB washes hands and dries them on hand towel hung on nail on cabin wall, then takes ancient, silver mountain bike off back porch, puts magazine in knapsack bungee-corded to bike rack, Smokey hat on top of knapsack tying hat strap through bungees, puts on bike helmet and jacket.

He walks bike around side to front of cabin, past rusty silver Ranger pickup with “Park Service” on door, gets on bike and coasts down dirt drive through trees.

… [full script, and character/scene list in pdf file links below]



20170103 11:18 (4575 words)


▸ Bear’s Den performing a) “Above the Clouds of Pompeii” from “Islands” 2014, b) “Dew on the Vine” from “Red Earth & Pouring Rain” 2016
▸ Roo Panes performing a) “The Original”, and b) “Stay With Me” — from “Paperweights” 2016
▸ Beirut performing “Fener” from “No, No, No” 2016
▸ Breathe Owl Breathe performing “Explorer” from “Passage of Pegasus” 2013
▸ Andrew Bird performing “Roma Fade” from “Are You Serious” 2016
▸ Ingrid Michaelson performing “Ribbons” from “Human Again” 2012

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ,

“weight-loss cruises”

(photo montage from here and here)

(scene 27 – on-board Weight-Loss Cruise Lines’ “M.V. Diarrhea”)

MC: (at stage mike) Now, fellow cruisers, you’re in for a special treat. So, please, put your anal sphincters together for — Pri-vate Head!!!

(a low wave of muted, arthritic applause trickles out from the dozen people sitting on the folding metal chairs of “The Small Room” between Chef Bill’s “Pasta Supreme Buffet” and kitchen no. 2, as “Private Head,” a.k.a. 80-something Clive Ritchie, enters stage right dressed in World War II army fatigues with boots, gaiters, a “piss-cutter” cap and a well-used, circa WWII toilet seat hanging around his neck)

PRIVATE HEAD: (stops at mike, stares at audience for several beats like he has suddenly found the answer to an eighth-grade algebra problem he’s been working on for 70 years, then returns to the living moment) Thanks for stopping by, tonight. I know you could all be going somewhere else.

OLDSTER LADY IN ROW 3: (turns to Guy next to her, shouting) What’d he say?

OLDSTER GUY IN ROW 3: (shouting) No idea.

OLIR3: Why’s he wearing a toilet seat?

OGIR3: No idea. Maybe it’s a souvenir, from the cruise.

OLIR3: What?

OGIR3: A sou-ven-ir! You know, like taking an ashtray or a hand towel.

PH: It’s been a moving week. Frankly, I had my doubts about a 10-day “weight-loss cruise” that guaranteed “you’ll lose 10 pounds in 10 days, or your money back.”

OLIR3: Is he making a diarrhea joke?

OGIR3: He’s leading up to it.

OLIR3: Why come onto a diarrhea boat, and talk shit?

OGIR3: No idea.

OLIR3: What a shithead.

OGIR3: Yes. It seems to be going around.

20161126 18:31 (293 words)
▸ case/lang/veirs performing “Song For Judee” from “case/lang/veirs” (Neko Case, k.d. lang, and Laura Veirs) 2016
▸ The Weather Station performing “At Full Height” from “Loyalty” 2015
▸ Monsters of Folk performing “The Sandman, the Brakeman, and Me” live in studio 2009, from “Monsters of Folk” 2009
▸ River City Extension performing “Adrienne” from “The Unmistakable Man” 2010
▸ Daughter performing “Candles” in studio 2012, from “His Young Heart” 2011

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ,

from comments left elsewhere

… on “The Grand Tour” vs “The Detectorists,” with London tv producer in the making Lucy Smith

(photo of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy from

… meanwhile yesterday, as you are posting your thoughts from London on Amazon’s “The Grand Tour,” I am watching series 2, episodes 5-6/6 of “The Detectorists” on Netflix, here, in the current “wilderness of excess” that is Donald Trump’s America, where:

– a) I begin to see, after Andy and Becky (and thank you, Diana Rigg, for giving the world the original Emma Peel, and the original Rachel Stirling; and, also, I haven’t seen a couple (Crook and Stirling) this homely-beautiful since Julia Roberts briefly married Lyle Lovett) — anyway, after they name the kid “Stanley,” I realize that Mackenzie Crook’s inspiration for the story may in fact have been an updated version of the adventures of Laurel and Hardy; and

– b) I later (thank you, wikipedia) discover the story behind the “bad gold coin” in episode 5, as being the actual Nazi economic, foreign cash-reserves problem that began in the late ’30s, and was at least one reason for their need to invade other nation states, so they could melt down the gold taken from central banks and other places, using it to buy the natural resources they increasingly needed to feed the growing economic monster created by their war machine; as

– c) I see yet more historical evidence of the good that comes from feeding monsters; as

– d) I prepare for a day of historical gluttony served with turkey, dressing (dried bread cubes with onions browned in butter and spices, cooked in the fat-weeping cavity of the oven-roasted bird), mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, peas — all heaped upon a plate and covered with lakes of turkey gravy — which turns out to be mostly just a story of gluttony without the actual history; so

– e) I’m doing that “writing as a means of recording us in time” thing, here; so

– f) thanks Lucy, and Happy Thanksgiving.

LUCY SMITH: (reading, mutters to self) Where have all these turkeys in America, come from? … (light goes on) … Oh — the answer must be that it’s true, you do become what you eat.

20161124 15:15 (347 words)
▸ Johnny Flynn performing
– the theme song from “The Detectorists” live 2014
– with Laura Marling “The Water” live 2010, and
– with Lillie Flynn “Amazon Love” live 2014, both from “Been Listening” 2010
– with Mumford and Sons “Réveille Mon Âme” (Awake My Soul) live 2010, song by Mumford and Sons (Ted Dwane, Ben Lovett, Marcus Mumford and Winston Marshall) from “Sigh No More” 2009

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ,

notes on writing below

  • Notice of Copyright: all writing posted here by the writer using the web name “zombiedisco101” and the pen name “D.T. Hart,” unless otherwise attributed, is copyright by him on date of posting
  • format: a) “titles” in quotes are fiction, b) titles without quotes are nonfiction
  • music/film/tv links are stuff we listened to/watched before or while writing the posts
  • this wordpress journal was set up Nov. 16, 2016, w/posts dated earlier transferred here from an older journal on livejournal.com

Support Wikipedia

Posted in Uncategorized

“sketch sketchy”

(photo of the Hetch Hetchy Valley, early 1900s, from a Sierra Club Bulletin 1908)

With a deep valley of similarity between Sanford William “Hilltop” Englethwart’s ego, and the Sierra Nevada water system that supplied water to the golden real-estated hills of San Francisco and its environs, it may seem only natural, or possibly even neurally-artesian, that his 1,500 page, gold-leaf covered memoir published in 1987 at the age of 41, would be called “Sketch Sketchy — The Art of Making a Big Deal Out of Nothing.”

“Man, this is one sketchy dude,” Willard Wingman said in an interview that year in the weekly “Around and Underneath the Bay.” “Really. It was like his parents drew him freehand, in short, strong bursts of creative gisum glossed with the sheen that only fertile egg yolk gives.”

Wingman had known The Hilltop since eighth-grade progressive algebra when, together, they discovered it was possible to control the naturally associative properties of math by simply hanging the parentheses in different ways and places on the page, then adding stuff up how you wanted. That Wingman would later become an enormously successful “conceptual algebra” artist was “written in the cards,” Englethwart, an enormously wealthy fantasy-real estate developer, often said, referring to the card game they played in their frequent study session breaks, called “Texas Hold ‘Em, Stroke ‘Em, and Shoot ‘Em.”

That algebra could be a beauty of dysfunction was a fashion that nearly caught on in the “acid days” of San Francisco, before the city’s Public Utilities Commission began stopping people from throwing tabs of “window pane” into the aqueduct at various places along its 170 mile run to town.

“So I’m, like, standing on a corner at Powell and Geary. Just watching life go by,” The Hilltop says in chapter 4. “Then — ‘Ding-Ding-Ding-Ding’ — a cable car rumble-steel’s its way by. The carman’s gloves are heavy leather, with gauntlets that stop halfway up his lower arms. He’s pulling on the levers of the car that control how hard they grip the cables running underneath the street. And I realize that, at this moment, I’m living in a working museum.

“Then suddenly I’m six years old, again, and standing on this same corner with my Noobie June, my mother’s mother. Her fingers are wrapped Granny-tight around my hand, as we wait to cross the street and buy a cone at Swenson’s.

“‘Fragile,’ Noobie says, her head turned and tilted toward my ear, ‘remember this: A cat has legs and is a cat because it uses them.’

“I had no idea what she meant. The lady hated animals almost as much as she hated people. The only thing she really liked was ice cream, which is why, when she died at 93, they had to haul her body down the stairs of the Starboard House on Grant, on a door made from three-inch thick white oak.

“But I can feel her fingers, still, trying to squeeze the orange juice from my hand. She was such a nasty woman.”

Which we found, in following the links involved with our own rereading-and-rewriting story of today, may have been the one accomplishment The Hilltop never thought he’d leave behind — as Donald Trump would read that line in the summer of his own long, twisted run to a Poli-Sci-Fi town, in a book he found left tent-open on a bench in Central Park.

“Such a nasty woman,” Trump would mutter to himself as he read the words, then look across the path at the fairy-tale life grandeur of his Tower. “It’s a sign. The Gods are saying: ‘Donald, you’re our boy.'”

Or, possibly, it’s just a sign of an older free-association problem, that confuses the beholding of a species’ individual ideas of youth and value, with the dead-meat social hugging of a tribal immaturity, while vanitizing everything around and in the parentheticals.

20161029 17:19 (666 words)
▸ Bruce Cockburn performing:
“Pacing the Cage”, in studio 1998, from “The Charity of Night” 1997
“Open” and
“Put it in Your Heart” from “You’ve Never Seen Anything” 2003
“Listen for the Laugh” from “Dart to the Heart” 1994
“Call it Democracy” from “World of Wonders” 1986

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , ,

act 4 – curtis hanson

(Curtis Hanson, b. Reno NV, Mar 24, 1945 – d. Los Angeles CA, Sep 20, 2016, age 71; photo from picsofcelebrities.com)

▸ Bob Dylan performing “Things Have Changed”, music video 2000, directed by Curtis Hanson, song written for his film “Wonder Boys” 2000

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged


… as the aging goddess of standup comedy

(photo montage from: a) Angerona (Ahn-jer-‘own-a), by Johann Christian Wilhelm Beyer (1725-1796), Schönbrunn gardens, Vienna; and b) empty stage from heathkrueger.com)

(Scene 27 – The Romance in Carbon Dating.)

ANGERONA MARKSALOT: (steps from mark to edge of stage-front, one hand shading eyes, speaks to director sitting 7 rows back in the empty-darkened theater seats) So, my motivation here, again, is what?

DIRECTOR BILL: Like your namesake, the Roman Goddess Angerona, you’re alleviating pain and sorrow. Here, by beginning with a short backstory of who you are by indicating who you aren’t.

AM: By saying that I am not related to either Groucho, or Karl, Marx, the 20th-century American, and 19th-century German, social humorists?

DB: Right.

AM: I am, instead, descended from the great marking pen inventor A. Lot Marks who gave the world a felt-tipped pen that would leave A. Lot of Marks on a-lot-of-stuff, so permanently that the Smithsonian is now burying its important, Marks-A-Lot-ted records deep beneath the Mall in Washington.

DB: That’s it. Then, almost as a linking afterthought, you work in the cherry trees that line the Tidal Basin in Washington, given to the U.S. in 1912 by the City of Tokyo, a gift to which the U.S. responded 33 years later with the uniquely American presents of “Little Boy” and “Little Boy, II — The Boom Continues.”

AM: So my personal story becomes, then, just one girl’s journey within the larger story of the 20th-century social holocaust?

DB: Yes. And then we explode a block of 25 seats in the balcony, as Special Forces troops storm the auditorium and take out the terrorists, and other collateral casualties, in the first six rows of main floor seating.

AM: Which is why I’m dressed in a Kevlar toga?

DB: With a Kevlar butt-plug. You know, so …

AM: … I’m ready for the 20th-century social holocaust, theater after-party?

DB: Right.

AM: Okay. But the connection from all that, then, back to my namesake? I guess I’m not really seeing the link. How am I a modern version of the goddess of calm that, after the anger storm abates, brings the alleviation of pain and sorrow?

DB: (turns to writer in the 8th row, 3 seats closer to the aisle) Maybe YouRipADeez can help with that. Rip?

WILLIAM HELMSTEAD “YOURIPADEEZ” LORDE: (sends text “later” to OnFrigidTipToes, a senior at William Taft High, and closes phone, looking up) Yeah, sure. Uh — it’s like the story of the 13 wise men and a girl from Joliet named Tremble Blow, made into the breakout movie of the Crony Brothers — “Shake, Rattle and Blow — There Is No Country For Old Rock Men.”

(Rip pauses for 5 beats that fill the space around the darkened theater seats with the beating silence of the central universal question, finally given voice by Angerona.)

AM: Sorry. I have no idea what the fuck you’re saying.

RIP: (recovering) Sure. It was just a passing reference to events that might have happened in a parallel universe.

AM: A parallel universe that’s parallel to what?

RIP: Good question. If this, or any, universe is, in fact, infinite, how could there then be another universe occurring in-parallel to it?

AM: Are you asking me a rhetorical question about the rhetorical question that you are posing as an answer to my question? Or is what you’re saying, now, as tortured in its absence of meaning, as what you are saying in the play?

DB: Maybe this would be a good place for a break.

AM: Maybe this would be a good place to break this fucktard’s head, wide open. You know, and have a look inside, in the chance that someone may have left the instruction sheet for the play’s assembly.

(Suddenly a lone spotlight in the bar above the stage goes out in a flash of light that begins white hot, then runs through the colors of the spectrum, ending in a deep purple-blue like the color of velvet popular with European royalty for centuries, as everyone looks up in frozen-wonder, and Stagehand Rack enters stage-left.)

SR: (stops stage-front, scans the awestruck faces) Wow. This is like that scene in “Flight of the Avatar” where Captain Clerk’s pants fall down and everyone on the bridge is suddenly transfixed by the music coming from the speaker in his penis.

AM: (comes to, looks at Rack) What?

SR: To be, or not to be, transfixed — that is the step-back question, now.

20160918 16:44 (756 words)
▸ George Ezra performing: a) “Budapest” (00:30), and b) “Blame It On Me” (05:15) — in studio 2014, from “Wanted on Voyage” 2014
▸ The Head and the Heart performing: a) “City of Angels”; and b) “Rhythm & Blues” — in studio 2016, from “Signs of Life” 2016
▸ Adele performing: a) “Crazy For You”; b) “Right as Rain”; and c) “Hometown Glory” — live 2008, from “19” 2008

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged


… life in California’s ego-free zone


(flying busker in silver lamé, KT Tunstall, playing air guitar on the video of “All or Nothing” *)

Before being originally settled by the continental migrant-descendants of human cargo originally shipped across the Atlantic from Europe and Africa on cruise ships with few staterooms, banquet meals, happy hours or evening floor shows, the city of “water, wealth, contentment, health” was, of course, settled by people who were the descendants from earlier long-distance walkers who crossed the old-timey northern land and ice bridges that still occasionally connected the magma-floated and now drifting Gon’d Wanalands — even if it took a few hundred years more for the long-distance-walker kids to fully participate in purchasing their own franchises for democratically controlling the free will of the people.

LITTLE WOLF HANDSOME FEATHER: (incredulous) So you’re saying $3 million is a good price to determine a local election in the Bad Lands of North Dakota?

MR. BILL FROM AMERI-FRACK: Oh, yeah. It’s a steal. If this were California you’d be paying five, ten times that. You know, it’s still mostly prairie, here. And until prairie dogs can agree long enough on anything to hire legal representation, there just won’t be that many potential voters.

LWHF: You actually think that one day prairie dogs will have the right to vote?

MBFAF: Sure. Once the science of political-business-science can figure out how to deliver prairie dog voters.

LWHF: Why does that come first?

MBFAF: Democracy only works when some people are free to determine how other people vote.

In the 1870s of California’s Central Valley, however, determining how other people voted was more complicated. No tv ads. No sound bites on a tv evening news that’s read today like used-car journalists who are selling as much information characterization as possible in a 20-second spot. No computer-generated mailing lists. No means of tapping in to the trillions in hidden assets buried in coffee cans in the backyards of offshore banks. And no way to show, using computer graphics, definitive proof that your opponent is the alien spawn of travelers from a distant galaxy who “hate America for its free-dom.”

Back in 1870, with more people standing in front of the curtain than behind it, the “don’t vote for alien spawn” strategy was still just a political-action-committee dream waiting to be realized. In Modest-O — a town where a hundred years later hometown boy George Lucas would immortalize cruising in the 1960s on the town’s “American Graffiti” version of 10th and 11th Streets — humility was still something people could wear in public without the threat of being stoned.

MAYOR WILKINS: (writing letter) Dear Mr. Ralston: Just a note to let you know that the founding fathers of our fine community would like to call the town “Ralston” in your honor, as a way of thanking both you, and your Bank of California, for support.

WILLIAM CHAPMAN RALSTON: (writing letter) Dear Mr. Mayor: Thank you for your kind letter. To have your town named for me would be an honor I am, however, too humble to accept. As with other customers here at the Bank of California, we are only too glad to realize our humble part in using the money entrusted to us by others, to provide the investments necessary to help people realize their futures. That through diligence and perseverance our customers succeed in that endeavor, is the best return possible on our investment as it honors the very idea of social stability through shared wealth, that we in the financial system are working hard to keep alive.

CUSTODIAN IN MAYOR’S OFFICE: (holding broom handle, reads letter on desktop; mutters to self in Spanish) Oh, muy modesto.
20160902 17:10 (621 words)
▸ * KT Tunstall performing: -a) “All or Nothing”; and -b) “The Healer”, both from the EP “Golden State” 2016
▸ Winstersleep performing: -a) “Santa Fe”; and -b) “Territory”, both from “The Great Detachment” 2016

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ,


… on a song of time and place, with help from 3 dumbwaiters


(photo from Complete Lift Company)

1) The door to dumbwaiter no. 1 rolls slowly, up and back. Like a chicken that stiffly elevates her bulk at 4:15 a.m. in the third week of July, waking from a peaceful sleep. Then yawns and fluffs the feathers of her nest-head butt before waddling to the toilet in a corner of the coop.

Where she pees and two-square wipes, then thinks, perhaps, of the Starbucks ad from last night’s stream on Tubi. Wondering just how complicated barista math must be to anticipate a customer demand for fresh 20-hour cold-brewed coffee, 20 hours before it happens. Then, following the link-link landscape of that thought, she lingers on the chicken pot a moment longer and imagines a Seattle classroom full of Scandi-blondo chicks at Starbucks’ “Barista U.”

“So, class,” Professor Olafson continues, “the formula for determining a market push 20 hours before it happens is simple. It’s also secret and, having been turned into a software program, is now copyright protected. Since the 20-hour market forecast is a fundamental element of our marketing campaign, which is, in turn, as was decided correctly in ‘Pinkish vs. Hue’ — ‘a pre-delivery characterization of a product that becomes the reality in which that product, then, continues to exist.’

“Or, as summarized later on the Twitter account of the 13th Circuit Court of Appeals: ‘Yo, bitches — what we say is what it is!'”

Heather Jenkins, 19, is recording everything that Prof O says on the “Bean Chip” clipped to the neckband of her sweatshirt. Which is good since she’s thinking of the weekend and driving with “the crew” to the beach at Ocean Shores. Then sitting around an evening campfire while roasting hot dogs, buns, and marshmallows, after dropping E and swimming naked in the surf.

Three rows down in the lecture hall at 111 Kona, RiskAdverse, a.k.a. Frederick Temple James, is actually asleep and dreaming that he’s swimming in the surf with Heather, in a liquid metaphor for a fantasy the knotted boner in his jeans is pushing to become completely literal.

“Come, Monday,” Professor Olafson says louder now in closing, as RiskAdverse’s head abruptly leaves Heather simmering in the surf, “there’ll be a quiz in your discussion groups, where you will be expected to describe in detail Grindstone’s 20-hour forecast algorithm.” He then turns the overhead projector off and glances at the class before turning toward the door.

“So study hard, and play care-ful-ly,” Prof O says. Which is sound advice at Barista U, or at any of the other thousands of employer-driven business universities, that have now become the current-future state of formal education.

Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged

“view from the 19th hole”

(photo from the Conrad Pezula Hotel & Resort Knysna, South Africa)

(sitting on the clubhouse terrace: Elaine, Seminole, the Basker Brothers (Slim and DickHead) — at a table with a view of the 18th green, deep into their 7th round of cocktails)

ELAINE: (looks at hands; sweet) My hands are so, fuck-ing clean.

SEMINOLE: (offhand, passing) Cool, babe. … So, Slim, tell me how you managed to slice and dice the Tenderloin deal?

SLIM: (smiles, smug) Not saying.

DICKHEAD: (in the dying light of big-brother adulation) He says “not saying is the key to all success.”

SEMINOLE: Yeah, I can see that. Mystery as the Queen of Leverage. Wasn’t it that Berkshire Hathaway dude who said “Give me a mystery large enough, and I can move the world?”

ELAINE: (looking at course) I think that was Newton.

DICKHEAD: Actually, it was Bobby Orr, holding up his stick after the Bruins won the Stanley Cup for the first time in 29 years, in 1970.

SLIM: Actually, I think it was NostrilDameOhs, that hot, Greek girl with an incredible, honker nose for prognostication.

ELAINE: (glances at Slim then back at course, casually touching nose)

WAITER JOE: (walks up with tray of refills, begins setting drinks on table) Actually, it was Archimedes, the Greek toga party impresario, in Chapter 14 of “How to Make Your Toe Gaga Produce Returns.” (bounces eyebrows at DickHead)

DICKHEAD: (gives him look that says) Go hand-fuck yourself, waiter boy.

WAITER JOE: (finishes) Gentlemen. (turns and leaves)

ELAINE: (pause; big sigh) I wish my calves were smaller. Like they were when Mom and I just roamed the range, alone and free, before the arrival of the cowpokes.

SEMINOLE: (looks at her) Babe — I thought you liked the cowpoke thing?

ELAINE: (glances at him, back at course) Uh-huh.

20160717 11:25 (290 words)
▸ John Doe performing “Go Baby Go” on video Mar. 2016, provided to YouTube by The Orchard Enterprises, song from “The Westerner” 2016, available from Cool Rock Records and Amazon
▸ The Head and the Heart performing “Cats and Dogs” & “Coeur D’Alene” in studio Jul. 2010, from “The Head and the Heart” 2011
▸ The Lemonheads performing “Rockin Stroll” by Evan Dando, on music video Oct. 2009, from “It’s a Shame About Ray” 1992
▸ The Paper Kites performing “I’m Lying to You Cause I’m Lost”, from “twelvefour” 2015

Posted in Uncategorized

“movie magic”

… laying out the life in underplay

(theatrical release poster for the film “Spotlight” 2015*)

“What is this about?” Olivia Flanders asks, calm as toast without the butter. She’s a natural for the role of gatekeeper — a superhero of the resolute polite, sitting at a clutter-empty desk like a ballerina of communication, her back an upright arrow laid back against the long bow of the chair, forearms stretched out upon the polished cherry desktop framing the yellow pad she has for notes, the phone’s thin half-headset hanging like an epiphyte on the outside of an ear.

“It’s a revelation,” Jeffers answers. “Just tell Mr. Bingley it’s the secret Mammoth Pictures has been looking for since Victor Mature was lost at sea in that pirate with self-doubt issues movie.”

“And the secret involves what?”

“Magic. Why movie magic happens, and how to make it happen again and again by following a simple formula.”

“A formula you call ‘Ringo’s Dance Card’?”

“Yes. Named for the cheat sheet drum chart Ringo used for reference, taped to the inner, bass drum skin just beside the pedal. Except here, of course, there are no drums. Just natives beating back the bushes along the quakey trails of Tinseltown, as they try to make a movie.”

Olivia is smiling. It’s one of the perks of interacting with the weirdness — to look beyond the rites of chaos passage, and see the human show for its inherent, entertainment value.

“Still there?” Jeffers asks after a few beats.

“Yes. Both here and being still.”

“Cool. Still life works. It’s just a crap idea for the central theme in framing out a moving picture. Moving still life — in what self-reflective, zero-sum idea farm did this idea start?”

“So tell me about the formula.”

“‘Conscious underplay’ — it works by doing conscious without the attachment of a hyphened-self. Which is like convincing both the conscious and the self that maybe they should spend some time apart. Then you buy the self a ticket on a bus to Vegas via Anchorage, so the conscious can finally open up the windows of the crib and catch a breath of unclaimed air.

Olivia is silent for a moment as she begins to draw a bus on the AlCan Highway to Alaska.

“Still there?”

“Yes. Both.”


“So the underplay, then?

“Is just the story of the conscious self without the self. Which is analogous to a dog watching nature shows on t.v. If the dog becomes entranced with gazing at its own reflection in the t.v. screen, it’s going to miss the part where the kangaroo deals cards.”

“And if I ask you to bring this brief visit to the land of theory-ville back home to “formula,” and hold the entertainment, would that cramp your style?”

“No. Sorry. You get to conscious underplay without the self, by taking out the stuff that puddles-up to make the self. Suppose, by some happy, finder’s chance, you find a story of real life that has so much depth-of-real about its story life, the idea of nailing up the story-boards to form the framing for a mirror of life, just seems like painting over gold.”

“And this would be the model?”

“Yes. The model of the depth-of-real you’re looking for. If what you find is a moving van of that, then lucky you. But still, even with a happy load of that, it still requires a lot of digging through to find the story-patterns in the links. Which is the link-link narrowing we call “finding,” that becomes a qualitative mirror of the quality involved with “looking.”

“So the mirror is –”

“– a story of the looking.”

“As the whole process becomes —

“– like doing 3-D cultural archaeology, as it’s happening. Which is how you get to resonance, which is when the well of story links begins to hum, and what happens in the movie model link I sent.”

“And that’s the future opening that you, and your electronic word shovel, are auditioning for?”

“As Victor Mature said to his chief engineer in ‘Grand Coulee — The Story of a Damn Fine Dam’: ‘Can you dig it?'”

20160629 00:02 (702 words)
▸ * “Spotlight” 2015, currently available on Netflix, YouTube, Amazon and elsewhere
▸ Brown Bird performing “Thunder & Lightning” 2012, from “Salt For Salt” 2011
▸ Daughter performing “Youth” from “If You Leave” 2013
▸ NOAHS performing “Love Will Save Us” from “Cedar & Fire” 2014
▸ Wolf Alice “Lisbon” from “My Love is Cool” 2015

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , ,