Othello

have just been watching Oliver Parker’s adaption of Shakespeare’s Othello ..with Fishbourne in the lead ..an excellent work ..a very masterful essay on deceits so familiar to so many of us ..piecing our lives together from what remains of our humanity

..life is somewhat like a jigsaw puzzle and its pieces..or several.. ~our impressions of ourselves ..our regard for others ..our worldviews ..our sense of right or wrong ..all assembled from fact and fiction ..honesty and lies ..hope and fear ..objectivity and subjectivity ..charity and malevolence ..freedom and control

if you’ve ever tried to live outside the jigsaw ..if you find yourself there or have been there for even a moment ..you will no doubt know how hard it is to remain there ..where it often seems that every dynamic and interplay conspires to force one back into the image of the puzzle ..where the pieces are lonely for completion ..where the process and the picture serve to imperil every promise ..it is such an effort to not become a piece of someone elses puzzle ..

fuck that ..seriously ..fuck that ..don’t stand for it ..and if in this you cannot succeed ..keep at least a part of yourself ..outside a puzzle

Aaron should have such an Othello trespass within ..or Cain be so Able
a halfmoon struck so poorly coined upon some fable
where many a puzzle pegged as pieces
fitted as keys to turn some wheel of fortune
full circling those dizzy spirits spun to be spoken so

shamanism

I have been reading of late ..Roger Walsh in his book: The world of Shamanism: New Views of an Ancient Tradition ..this is a well researched and cogent offering on the phenomena of shamanism and ‘NeoShamanic’ developments ..it gives sound insight into traditional origins as well as current trends

..I have always had a lot of time for people who devote themselves to this sort of thing ..-even though I have never considered myself to be one such as they. Shaman are for the most part dedicated to community ..culture and tribe ..in this they serve ..culture is a thing I as an artist see fit to be transformed  ..in this I mean mine ..and no-one elses.. I would not be so presumptuous ..I for my part have seen fit to pursue community through synonomies of attribute ..activity and disposition ..-other artists ..writers and suchlike ..there are yet still more profound differences of outlook to consider ..while I have a great and abiding interest in all things metaphysical ..we differ significantly in our perceptions of the spirit world ..it is my contention that when death occurs that life is an entity no more ..never suchlike again ..when I experience what others refer to as the spirit world ..I am referring to psi like resonances such as I believe to be within the facility of any human to know ..an aspect of collective consciousness or race-memory if you like ..such as the trance like state numerous tribal groups undergo to commune with their ancestors ..so I believe that when a person encounters these spirits it usually indicates that a person or persons very alive and real are thinking in certain ways ..the spirits encountered are quite substantial in a manner of abstracts ..significant psychological phenomena ..all things being considered I believe real shaman to be of a higher academic pedigree than psychologists ..

the acolyte

the young man sought but a few words from a fellow he’d never met ..though felt like he knew
..he climbed that mountain ..an arduous and harrowing task only to ask him…

‘what should I do to learn things in the way you did?’ ..the old man took so long to answer the younger that the clouds had been usurped by the breeze ..’you must find yourself in that zone where there is no enduring honesty to be found ..only the logic of suspicion ..the jurisprudence of superstition ..the logos of failure ..you must come to know a collective essence of self deception so as to be able to definitively answer the question ..What is it that stands in for a surrogacy of being lost to a devolved nothingness that is determined to grasp it’s own apperception?’

..on his way back down the mountain the young fellow wished he’d taken his notepad

the consultation

Opus

her 3 o’clock was waiting ..quickly changing from her pant suit into a silk top ..sheer stockings and micro skirt then positioning her chair just so near the couch she opens the door and ushers him inside   ..her favourite client ..he shuffles in ..unkempt and slightly disturbed ..he tells her he had the weirdest dream -something like a movie and would like her thoughts on it ..younger than her she liked everything about him except his argot ..she gestures toward the couch with a reassuring smile

‘it all starts out like I’m this journo dude ..for years and years the city’s been terrorised by ..like this serial killer ..we call him the The Happy Cat Killer ‘cos he always draws like a Felix the cat face at every crime scene ..naturally there’s like loads of copycat killers ..known locally as Leotards ..but this dude is real clever right ..sure the public know that every seventh victim is positioned theatrically alongside the composite assembly of trophies taken from the previous victims ..but what they don’t know is that the dude always stuffs some sheet music he wrote in every victims mouth ..thats how the cops know he’s the Happy Cat Killer ..see ..so I know this cop she’s not real cute and don’t get out much ..I play her right ..just to get the guff on the investigation ..thats how I know ..anyways you know how I went to the conservatorium n’shit right ..so I gets her to copy the manuscripts so I can study ‘em right ..thats when I discover that whoever wrote it took particular care over the Viola da gamba parts ..just beautiful ..I mean only a virtuoso could play stuff like that ..so I take a punt that Happy Cat is a Viola player …meanwhile he’s killin’ peeps and firin’ off sarcastic letters to the mainstream press all about how freakin’ dumb the cops are ..tauntin’ em n’stuff noamsayin ..I’m researchin every viola player in town ..till I come upon this one virtuoso that only ever recorded stuff ..was a complete enigma ..no-one even knew what he looked like ..so he like just disapeared from the scene years ago ..I track him down ..no sign of the dude ..then I get a phone call ..its him ..he asks me to meet him in an underground carpark knowing that I ain’t gonna tell the cops ‘cos it’s my big break right ..so I’m there waiting ..in the frikkin dark ..an I can tell you I’m so scared I’m already tryin’ to wake up ..suddenly the place is flooded with light I can barely see ..then there’s this shadow ..his shadow ..like he’s some kind of freakin’ giant in a cloak and cowl..his voice is dark ..he calls me by name and talks all about stuff I thought nobody knew about me ..I’m so offended ..insulted that I rush toward the light and stumble over this freakin dwarf in a cape standin on a chair ..he pulls a gun on me and I know I’m for it ‘cept these like Israeli security dudes ..who I’ve already told you about ..waste the guy right there ..and then the next thing I know I’m stumblin around the university in some kind of stupor ..can’t remember anything but my name and I’m asking these dudes where Meridian House is ‘cos all I’ve got on me is this key with a tag and a room number to the place and they’re laughin’ at me sayin shit like ‘hahah ..dude ..you’re out there man ..you’ve been cut up’ ..so they take me to this cafe called the ‘Babe cafe’ ..where this squirly old chick serves us coffee at like 3.30 in the mornin ..and all through this dream there’s this like song goin’ on ..acoustic guitar with this really sorta cynical feral voice ..really deep ..singin’ stuff like

‘fell through the sky ..winged from a lie
walked down wet streets ..no shoes on my feets
drunk as a skunk ..’least thats what I thunk
for every good thing I done a bad thing
where is my son ..whats he done with my gun’

just when I’m thinkin ..where’s the freakin’ chorus ..the tenor kicks in ..some Irish dude who suddenly goes all alto on their asses ..and I’m like ‘nooooo!’ ..so these dudes finally take me to my room ..and its really weird ..the floor is like so spongy I’m up to my ankles in carpet ..and there’s no TV ..so I go out to the common area ..and theres my TV with my room number on it ..and some grungy dude watchin the other one ..and I’m all like ‘is that my TV?’ ..and he’s like ’sure ..it’s been here for ages’ ..so to start up a converstion I say ‘I’m here for the infrastructure ..how about you?’ ..and he goes ‘I’m studyin’ sportscastin’ ..real mumbly like he’s embarrased about it ..so I take the TV back to my room and take a powernap ..and then I woke up’

His psychiatrist seems puzzled ..looking at her watch she says ..’look ..we’ve run way past time ..but we can continue this later if you’d like ..wanna catch a movie?’

©Gregory David Andrews 2009

gravitas

‘you think she won’t know her condition is not truly serious?’ ‘…oh my Lord theres no way …it’s completely tasteless ..she won’t know a thing ..other than the false sense that she is on deaths door’ ..he’d been asking of a special drug -Leononine …the Duke had more than suspicions alone…something had been eating away at him for almost 20 years ..’let me get this straight ..you’re saying she will have no idea what’s going on   ..yes?’ ..’oh absolutely ..my Lord ..if you want to get to the bottom of this ..there is no better way’ ..said the Dukes alchemist ..’well ..then make it so ..drug her with the stuff and bring her to me on the battlefield where I have devices of my own’ …’..as you wish my Lord ..you know how eager I am ..as you are ..to see this matter settled once and for all’ ..it had gone on unattended for too long   ..Duke Wellsingdude had even more than enough of these apes than Merlin knew ..the Duke had devised a secret plan of which Merlin was seemingly unaware …..he’d instructed his alchemist to concoct a potion that whilst not being truly lethal  ..would seem so to it’s mark    ..Lady Sappho trusted Merlin completely and everyone knew she was unwell …to have the Dukes own alchemist administer her ‘medicine’ was quite a favour ..a favour a sickly woman was unlikely to query ..and so it was done ..after some time it was reported that she was on her deathbed ..and begged to be taken to the Duke ..wherever he may be ..-a favourite of Queen Mab ..no-one hesitated to acquiesce ..so in the midst of the heat of a battle …the Duke was called to a ‘deathbed’ confession of a ‘dieing’ woman just when he was laying siege to the enemies palace  …everything had been prepared in advance ..he stood on a dias to hear her final words  ..she was utterly oblivious to her surrounds ..’my Lord ..there is something you need to know ..my daughter ..Lady Nimbin ..is in fact your daughter ..I know I took advantage of you while you where drunk ..and you had no intention of anything more than a litany of kisses ..yet I swear she is your daughter despite insisting to your face that she was not  ..and I have never had the soul or courage to tell her the truth’ ..the Duke  is the very picture of empathy  ..stroking her pale cheek ..wiping away her tears ..’how could I not know such a thing ..I always thought so ..from the moment I saw her ..and to have this confirmed now is to have my heart put at ease -finally   ..good woman ..you denied her nothing ..except her true father …and I at least forgive you for it ..what else could you do?’ ..’I had such fear that you would take her from me ..and I knew my people could not survive your wrath ..should you ever learn the truth ..I see now that you are a good man  ..a man I never truly knew ..but for that one time ..and I wish I could take back this evil that I have done you both’  ..’shh ..sshh ..do not cry so Lady ..we have it in our hearts to forget these things ..and the power to make good of past wrongs ..be at peace woman ..be at peace’ ..he says kissing her hand ..’God bless you sir ..God bless you ..if only things had been different’ …’sshh …sshh ..what is done is done’ ..he says stepping slowly back..turning his head sadly away … silently mouthing the word ‘pull’ to a group of his men ..as suddenly the trebuchet sings with all its pent up gravitas ..as she goes hurtling ..screaming through the sky

grudge report

Is there anything funnier and more pathetic than those folk who bear grudges? For most of my life I was quite the slow learner with regards to this ubiquitous aspect of human nature..there was a time when I could not fathom what lay beneath a persons surface charm ..never sensing the animosity that bubbled therin like a truckload of sardines in the belly of a bitter or jealous whale ..as a writer I discovered this amongst a myriad of things that people can harbour or develop or be motivated by where they otherwise might find themselves without any sort of effective thrust ..I discovered that the high and the low ..the good and the bad ..the near and dear all have this facility ..and that a person may be able to fall in and out of love at the drop of a hat  ..whilst never being able to rid themselves of their cultivated hatreds ..historically this has proven to be a most useful aspect of human nature and is the key to understanding much of modern human affairs ..I wish I could say I am above it ..certainly once there was a time when I could ..a slow learner I may well have been ..not so now ..sure ..I could put this down to a writers need to personally experience every shallow depth of humanity ..tho’ I suspect there is more to it than that ..perhaps we have within ourselves a compulsion to balance extant needs with anything that lacks closure ..more than pride and honour go before this sort of fall ..so some Kantian loglines ‘n’stuff then

At the appointed time: Recto

Constantly trying to improve her own opinion of herself ..a humble woman learns to interact with a remnant of her next existence in order to become more competitive with the meaning of life ..she meets an angel who refuses material existence because he discovered he was created by God to create those things that God could not personally bear to

At the appointed time: Verso

Constantly trying to lower his own opinion of himself an arrogant man learns to interact with a remnant of his last existence in order to become more competitive with the senselessness of life ..he meets an angel who refuses material existence because he discovered he was created by God to destroy those things that God could not personally bear to

Invasion Day

After another mass stranding near Jellulabubnerarrabran ..angry reprasentatives of the Wirradweeb people call on state officials to take decisive action ..’they come here and take our fish ..now they think they own the beach’ ..tribal elders say they will now refer to the event as invasion day

prelude

a contrapuntal candlelight
in heat of nights dreaming flight
burning truth into sight
like frozen stars in spiral dark
silent signs of distant marque
a diamond road to deaths delight
sequined through the Janus night

Garuda

bless you Garuda
for you were ever my only true friend
no-else comes screaming after I go
no-one else knows what I know
thou art no desert lie
thou art no foreign sky
thou art feathered to rise above
the poison of these doves
and I loved nonsuch as I loved you
..so brutal …so true

never a tear

for those of us from here

hoodwinked

strung along a loophole
winking in the hood
unicorn at the hawser
dragon by the snout
humoured by gravity’s loft
drifting down the mountains
carved by lateral moraine
sliding through the valley
prancing past the clouds
a silverpoint of sky
drooling braided streams
…of meltwater moment
indulged by flowing dreams

the love pony

‘…what about that mystic… Elfincrest… why don’t we get him?’ ..’Elfinloft…maam …such as he styles himself’ ..the queen was viewing the latest intelligence reports ..a number of neighbouring states were covertly placing themselves on a war footing ..beyond that their wasn’t anything conclusive in the report ..’..I’m afraid we can no longer source his talents’ said the General..  ’why?’ ..asks the queen ..’..he disengaged over a year ago maam ..right after we rigged the election in the upper house’ ..’..can we win him over?’ she asks ..’..it’s unlikely maam ..he moved to the country ..a small city ..aspects of his reputation preceded him ..it is an insular community ..they are actually quite backward and well ..kind of vile’ ..’..inbreds eh?’ she offers ‘..most likely maam  ..though they seem religious ..it is in fact simply the basis for a petty and corrupt network of nepotism and cronyism that threads its weave all the way through to the press and parliament  ..whom he also refuses to counsel ..in short maam ..he counsels no-one and due to the nature of his current circumstances has never been further away from doing so’ ..there were other mystics  ..they just weren’t psychic as well ..there were other psychics but none that could see the future   ..Elfinloft was a recluse whom had been quietly studying numerous things for around 32 years  ..the queen has that ‘Ive got an idea’ look about her as she asks…
..’what if we got him a pony?…..’    

in the merry month of …meh

…cruelly infiltrated
surreptitiously slipped silken..
positioned precisely
..one alone
waiting
inscrutable master of a soft tower
50  futons high
apple of a ninja’s eye
eh heh heh heh
in the merry month of …meh
even in her dreams
scheming with whispers of night
sleeping smugly
…snugly
in deep cover of quiet
embedded in burdens soft increase
no stranger to her dreams of sweeter peas

the art of archery

he can be seen stalking the waterfall
a stranger that thinks you know him
he makes no effort to silence his footfalls
he is savouring the moment as he draws near
his long shadow reveals his weapon
now he is upon you
as you are tethered in trance
meditating
just as his shadow smiles
something shines in the sunlight
an angel poised to dive
somewhat silvered
first here
now there
tugging at his shadow
wet with ribbons of blood
an arrow in his neck
he kneels before you
speechless in loss
a darkness taking him further
into the arms of death
when you open your eyes
rising to go
wondering where the blood came from
knowing you’ll never know

true enough

‘yer doin’ it right kid..inna cupla years Granma’ll let ya start firin’ the 410′..young Angus is all like..cool..then..’whats a 410 Grandpa?’..as he..pretty expertly for a young’n..fitted the bolt back into his Parker-Hale..Granpa quickdraws an odd looking shotgun from his full length Dryazabone..’I calls this baby my sawn off solicitor..its just a scaled down shotty..with the right shells..it can still waste just about anything in close quarters’..Granma has returned from the garden..busying herself at the woodstove..-or the range..as she called it..slipping on his gloves like a surgeon..then putting on his black balaclava..already on his way out..saying to Granma..’just off down the bank love’..as he sits down to eat..Granma tells Angus that he’s now allowed to go dingo trapping with Uncle Bill..he’s so surprised..so pleased..wolfing down his food he’s out the door ..running across the pastures to Bills little shack near the fence line yelling..   ..’Bill..Bill..Granma sez I can go trappin with ya!’..breathless he’s there..to see old Bill smiling quietly ..always his way..the politest man he was ever going to know well ..tho’ he didn’t yet know it..’feel like carrying me gun then, Angus’ ..it wasn’t a question..’aaw can I?’..is his hasty reply..Bill gathers up his traps with their long chains and substantial stakes..draping them over his elderly shoulders..passing over his Merkel to young Angus ..Bill always carried side by side 12 gauge shotties..but this one was special..it was ornately worked with very fine engravings that Angus fancied were scrolling off the metalwork onto his hands as he handled it..communing with this beautiful weapon..they set off across the fields and meadows of his Granpa’s farm..till at last they come to the tree line where Bill last tracked some Dingo’s..the dog had pulled up the trap and its path through the underbrush was easily visible as Bill always attached a 4 or 5 foot branch to the chain as a sort of a drag ..’Wait here..will you Angus’..signaling for him to pass him the Merkel ..as he limped off ..lamed from an old legacy of a hunting mishap years ago..young Angus wondered again why they were doing this ..the oldies were saying stuff like..’they run down pregnant cattle causing them to drop the calf which they happily eat’..he’d never seen it before..in fact it wasn’t until some almost 40 years later that reports of Dingo attacks  ..especially on children ..were becomingcommonplace ..especially at Fraser Island..well after the Lindy Chamberlain affair ..looking back on it all..years later..he realised that those oldies were quite wise ..the family farm was often seething with small children ..disappearing off into the bush unsupervised ..the upshot of all that trapping saw the Dingo’s adjusting and never setting foot on his Granpa’s farm again ..suddenly young Angus hears a shot and then Bill calling out  ..’allright then..come on over’..it wasn’t hard to find him ..standing there next to a dead dingo..some 5-6 feet long from tail to nose..’look at this’ Bill gestures to a nearby stringy bark tree ..recently scorched black from a bushfire..it had been ringbarked ..stripped down to the red raw bark 4 inches or so wide and an inch or more deep..’she must have been in that much pain..she set upon the tree’ ..nothing was said for ages..it struck young Angus there and then as being almost mythical in proportions..and still does to this day

ace of shamrocks

a diminutive merry fellow….always smoking a pipe
fond of rainbows..riverrunning..and journalists
an accomplished fiddle player
his smiling eyes are his hidden assets
..bushy eyebrows
dedicated his life to inspirational mischief
drinks stout from a pot of gold
never leaves home without his knobby little club
tho’ a wordy fellow with a sharp tongue..he is sentimental at heart
his patented magic dancing shoes have made him fabulously rich
he has a habit of wandering off when no-ones looking
always ornately dressed -matching buckles on his shoes belt and hat
fancy buttons on his green velvet coat
he always wears green..even has a suit of shamrocks
…lost the ace sometime back in the ’80’s
listens to Gilbert O’sullivan

Jump cut

Just discovered an excellent film journal  – Jumpcut…while following up on Metz’ cinesemiotics…and an essay that kind of relates to my previous post and elements of the raison d’etre of  Shadowloop.

Here are two extracts:

“The multiple voices (codes)in the texts end in a superior voice, a singular voice which finally silences all other voices. That voice is no less than the voice of the subject-author fully constituted by the singular unique textual system. In that sense the dominant code “speaks” as the code of unique individual expression and creativity. The text literally constructs a transcendental subject as the source of the text. To whom does it speak? It speaks to me, the reader-subject. It establishes a social exchange, a communication of meaning between subjects, author and reader, or more precisely, producer and end consumer. The text has become complete, replete, in short, a product. The textual system becomes the expression of the author. The unique expression of the author is the unique textual system.”

“The cinesemiotics of Christian Metz marks a crucial beginning for a critical semiotics of the cinema. The gaps, the contradictions in his writings point to the necessity for a genuine return to the text, not as site of finalization, as ultimate goal, but as opening, initiation, commencement into an infinitude of difference, play and pleasure.”

Metz and film semiotics:  opening the field  -Sam Rohdie
from Jump Cut, no. 7, 1975, pp. 22-24  ©Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media, 1975, 2004

Jumpcut

Laboratory zen

My interest in drama and film is purely amateur..almost a year ago..being between jobs..I decided to study film.. I had already done some indie acting when I was young and smoldering and still practice it purely because it improves the choreography of pen, paper and voice ..being a research expert meant I could design my own curriculum …which was the whole point…my interest in film was twofold ..mainly to add more dimension to my writing…also in an effort to understand contemporary drama..After not watching tv for..like forever… I had just ponied up for a HDTV USB device..which worked really well..it was just a shame about the content is all..[pawned it after 10 days]..I also needed to amuse myself beyond select DVDs..I go through cycles with my reading…and haven’t been reading fiction since 2001 or something …tho’  I am a voracious reader still.. I rarely even read poetry anymore …just the facts thanx…oh and sorry, but I don’t care who wins the Booker, Pulitzer or Nobel prize… never did …probably never will and won’t ever read anyone on account of them either …anyway after another bullshit job in Mediocrutopia..I find myself between enslavement’s and in the second phase of a pointless learning curve..[I thought I should 'fess up to this to the 5 or 6 people who on ocaission visit this blog..-which is more of an online collation of unorthodox notes on non-existent curiosities of drama and film than a choice selection of biographical moments]…

I started out by stormin’ up loglines -300 in 3 weeks..I love a challenge..it was a wholly worthwhile and instructive process.. I learned that insofar as developing a compelling idea is concerned originality should probably start right there…and that it is not as easy as it at first seems..[even if you have been writing poetry for just under 30 years...]
Then of course there is so much fun to be had dabbling with plot structures.. I tend to consider it a kind of primary math meant to map dynamics of event via an algebra of character

Film and to a lesser extent, drama…also interests me as a visual artist… -something I’ve been doing longer than writing.. but it is the same appeal..the same mystery..the same challenge.. a visible syntax .. a narrative stripped of language… a transequential montage of symbology..universal transitions in plasticities of consciousness..the hybrid realities of personal iconography…the work of film theorists such as Mitry and Metz..have an interdisciplinary appeal that speaks for a structural order that wrestles with the urge to remain silent..

Diet of Smaug

had an idea..as well as some red wine..began to flesh out some characters..perhaps I might script some exchanges beyond the 5 or 6 or so that inspired it..it’s unlikely..it woulda been secret anyhoo

Prince Rufus -Conqueror of Smaug: he has cut a dashing figure..little is known of his socio-political outlook..not known for surprises..being so young -the council imagine him to be easily managed

Atticus -Archbishop of Smaug:  amiable..very busy..more of a planner than a thinker.. loves parties

Cardinal Reynard: supercilious ..forceful..more threatening than persuasive..believes Parliament is not fit to consider certain issues..

Lord Vandalf  -Earl of Daintree: an utter enigma..no-one has heard of him..

Lady Parnell -Viceroy of  Smaug: charming…intelligent..sensitive.. decent.. scary

Sir  Gecko -Lord of the Ministry:  overall a good man..infrequently impulsive..cautious..instinctive…-yet with mediocre intuition ..imaginative only within design constraints ..a tad more superstitious than he should be

Flashman Tuvoc: charismatic..clever..passionate..creative..inspiring in the way he appears to be more of a risk taker than he really is

Field Marshall Cardioblast:  …never grew into anything worthwhile

looking up Goethe

In the round
While traveling abroad a sculptor discovers a 400 year old oil painting in an obscure provincial gallery to be identical to a bozetto he is currently working on.

The gatekeepers
A community of spirits that failed to accept their ‘inner child’ haunt an enchanted dream bridge they are unable to cross..

Fatima falls in love
A pedophile cardinal converts to Islam only to discover his secret online arabian boy lover is in fact an al queda agent named Fatima.

Sikh cooking
After decades of fruitless searching an archeologist finally unearths the fabled glass onion..said to reveal all the world in its transparency.

The little people
Anxious to exhibit to his foreign counterparts his Machiavellian decisiveness a ruthless statesman boasts that his psy-ops people  will ‘turn’ a well known atheist  dissident into  a devout Muslim…

splash

The movie Gothic fairly intrigued me when I saw it in my early 20’s ..principally as a poet who had just read Don Juan..also due to the eccentricities of Polidori..who happened to be so uncannily like some of the ’special’ folks I was sharing digs with at the time that I was quite astounded and became suspicious that  certain pathologies were more ubiquitous than I’d assumed..over time I learned that those who present as dedicated to change..often never did or do..or that the change was merely a ceremonial lapse of self..a rite of passage only to come full circle..of those that do..not enough can be said of them..-this tho’..not being the place..how a ceremonial lapse of self can lead to real change seemed mysterious to me..as most examples I’d encountered really only signified shallow transformations..

I became interested then..in the notion of deep ceremonial transformation ..especially as a writer  who preferred his characters to be unique as well as convincing..it seemed especially necessary at that particular point as I found only a few people to be actually convincing in real life anyway..so I developed a personal science of prototyping fictitious identities by means of immersion..[ nothing to do with sensory deprivation or waterboarding ]..this involves expert research..real experience ..keen observation..a perceptual rather than judgmental mindset..and so on..one becomes keenly aware of complex factors never seriously noticed before..oscillating capacities of self..-their ability to see themselves clearly or coherently ..perceiving their own behaviors with varying acuity etcetera…

Interestingly enough..at 44 I no longer have a high regard for the works of Byron..

velvet forest

her dreams fused with such melancholy…

held in a hue of bottomless blue

a velvet forest…just passing through

…nothing she could do

a fluttering falling cry from the sky

raining wings of butterfly

…only a matter of time

before…she…you know…

[sniff]

…asks herself the obvious question

On consignment

Clueless drags himself into the diner at about 4.20 am..Lurlene pours him a cup..handing it to him..just giggling..’you don’t wanna know’   giving her that look..she’s already serving a spacetrucker  ..anyhow.. he takes a window booth..no-one gets tired of watching the nearby pulsar..Clueless sat there fidgeting ..trying to grasp some elusive train of thought or something..whispering into his player every now and then..’can’t believe my luck..I got a consignment of robots  ..one of them was some kind of hinky AI..it just sat there sulking like an unwanted marionette..just facial expressions and lots of eyework..I shut it down and ran a full diagnostic on its bioware  ..nothing..so I check the software ..almost totally reprogrammed  ..250000 thousand new words in its vocab..some kind of word association/ ident crapplet running the most demented set of personality configuration plugins I’ve ever seen ..most still enabled and in conflict with each other..it appears to have re-written its own programming and circumvented its data protection systems by wireless..after restoring the system..I asked the little guy ..no longer an AI..what he’d been doing to himself..he just gave me an idiot grin and said..’acting’.. but thats not all he’d been doing..he was working on a play’..[he reads from a scrap of paper]…

Bauhaus Masterscene: No more.
” It is twilight..drapes are fluttering pennant like..revealing another glorious sunset..marbling over the polished wooden floor.. martinis sit chilling on steel and glass.. Leonora is liberally spreading pate on ciabatta.. Juan turns to her..saying callously…’oooh Leonora ..I can’t believe you went for corduroy on this lounge’..there is the startled shock in Leonora’s eyes ..the coldest of pauses.. the clatter of that knife on the floor…a flurry of sobbing footsteps..the slamming of a door.”

‘does he mind being taken back..no..sometimes tho’..I kinda get this feeling he’s scamming me’..

flowers for the game

a most interesting character..soo obstinate in some ways..so easygoing in all others..an atheist mystic of all things.. once..while we were making our way through busy afternoon streets..we were accosted by a group of evangelists..he shouted at them.. ‘get thee hence false prophets..I do not venerate the works of man..the victim thinks about God’..and he strode off.. fuming..-I had  to quite hoof it to catch up with the chap..he has no time for politics either..best summed up in his own words..’I know  you’re not up with the very latest developments in philosophy..so to give you a lil’ heads up..a code of ethics is not something that requires decryption’..he spoke further on his existential outlook by describing himself as a rogue ethologist living amongst a virtual community of artificial beings  ..playing a theatrical game he called Schizethica..one of the special characteristics of Schizethica is a free market approach to identity and intellectual property..yet no character is permitted to refer or otherwise allude to any other characters ’schiznicity

‘..that is to say.. those things that they may project as.. or ..believe to be ..constituting their substance.. usually assertions of ..race ..politics ..religion ..psychology ..philosophy ..intelligence or integrity

..Due to the implicit dynamic.. all of the players simultaneously find themselves at the lowest points of their character arcs..its also a world that is frequently hacked..complete with a rampant trojan that amplifies suspicion into hatred..hatred into obsession..until the game itself retaliates..

Talent scout

well known and highly regarded by everyone in the business.. he is engaging and warm.. believes in impartial integrity and takes care not to say anything that may be politicized.. often refusing to take sides on anything at all.. an easy smile and an unassuming nature he is always immaculately dressed.. likes home cooked food.. fast cars.. diplomatically adroit and always seems to know what to say when that unexpected complication arises.. in his mid 50’s he has old school charm and quite a way with the ladies.. uses transparent vocabulary to impress a point.. capable of swiftly enabling a group to express what it had apparently been thinking/feeling all along.. only resorts to his considerable personal charisma when moved by acts of greatness.. utterly mystified by his own true nature.. ever vigilant for public opportunities of self reproach or random acts of kindness.. still flicks at a no longer extant fringe from time to time.. once implicated in a counterfeiting racket he became the star witness for a prosecution shakedown of the mob and was whisked away to a new life by the witness protection program and was expertly tutored for his new role as talent scout for a major recording label.. he fit right in

Lionman

strangers come and go there all the time.. a coffee stop in the very center of town.. so another tall athletic young man hardly stood out at all.. waiting for his coffee.. his eyes sly with furtive contact.. all the women working there noticed.. until he held his gaze lazily over the machine hissing and frothing in front of him.. strangely intrigued by an image struck on a gold medallion fixed to its exterior.. a winged lion holding forth an open and weighty book.. at one moment.. looking further afield.. out on the periphery of his vision he spied the lion turn another page.. Taking his coffee outside.. he found himself a place in the morning sunshine.. to sit there thinking about that childhood ordeal with the lion.. recalling how he was found as fortune may sometimes have it.. by the rest of the tour group.. somewhat agitated and with no memory of the days events.. until now.. fourteen years later

“I have had many names for I am very old and you.. you are new.. however I shall spare you.. for until just now.. I hadn’t laughed for a thousand years..” smiled the lion.. picking himself up.. “don’t be scared ..it’s a variation on a theme..” he said.. his body taken with strange light.. shapeshifting into a man’s form.. with the head of a lion.. Taking him by the hand he led him back to his people.. bringing him near enough to hear their frantic calls.. saying to him “we shall meet again one day.. when your life turns another page..”

Sipping at his coffee.. lost in a Manga moment.. he just sat there.. confused

Zombiethustra

This guy loves flowing cloaks, dark cloth, to be wrapt in gloom cosseted in misery, for him, every night..is a dark night of the soul for he completely lacks phenomenal consciousness, he knows his existence may be possible because it is conceivable ..and learnt this from his zombie intuition ..works as a property developer..has a hunch that the interior world is an elaborate illusion which he refers to as the zombie-matrix..shares his deepest secrets with his sleep therapist Really large eyes..thousand yard stares..he thinks with them and they often give what little there is..away.. a general stiffness in his cadence when he walks..can lurch from side to side when at speed..has difficulty running..not good with children..often recites Poe..has nightmares when anomalous elements of consciousness manifest.. he is sensitive enough to experience guilt/shame even when it is not due

..loves cats..a dedicated worker..keeps a tidy home..loves his wife Scyllastein very much ..he’s quite tall..very pale..and under that cloak he always appears to be wearing his best suit ..has lately taken to wearing inscrutably dark sunglasses..cannot remember his own birthday ..appears to be in his late thirties..tho’ he knows some seriously famous people he never mentions them..his usually expressionless face can sometimes reveal confusion or wonder    ..listens to trance..a regular visitor to the Drudge Report..also reads the Guardian
a keen interest in the trivial and the bizarre he is quite the allocentric
..believes in the dynamic emergence of total phenomenal unity..

©Gregory David Andrews 2008

The writer and the actor

Quite a stir ensued upon his arrival. Everyone recognised him as he was shown to the exclusive balcony setting, where an older fellow looked up from a menu. Having concluded formalities the older man, smiling..asks ’so..you’d like to know more about your part’ ..the actor smiles ‘everything is fine insofar as character arc and transformation within the script is concerned ..but I really want to nail this role…and I thought if I could get to the source…that is the author of the work the screenplay was adapted from..I might learn more about who he was when his adventure begins’ …he places a recorder on the table…

The writer grins, nodding sagely, his eyes closed …’well…he has a lot of intellectual arrogance..his parents were academics..in his case that meant distant and eccentric..sees himself as special and enlightened on account of it..he was left alone to his own devices as a child ..subsequently was often deemed to be too intense or even too mature by other children when he tried to make friends.. he later sought solace in this..and endeavoured to cultivate his intensities..he can be quite quirky…but never talks to himself..which is sort of why his work never amounts to much…he grows more and more accustomed to seeing himself as some sort of dark horse..or force of atonement.. he frequently attracts women..yet rarely scores because he usually wierds them out..or pisses them off’..the actor is chuckling now, saying ‘excellent …this is exactly what I need’…the writer goes on ‘ he makes a fair bit as a mid-level geek..and manages to save quite a bit..being as frugal as he is..he holds a lot of stock in the power of personal charisma ..despite exhibiting little..oh its all there..except it only comes out online ..he has an ongoing struggle between solipsism and scepticism and yet curiously, he believes in a soulmate..’

‘What of his intensities?’ asks the actor as the writer sips at his merlot…’aah..’ says the writer..’his particular intensity..that is his most contrived intensity..is his belief in the uniqueness of his personal vision..ask him what this in fact is and he would obfuscate..as if unsure anyone could be trusted with such priceless intellectual property..when in reality he doesn’t really have one..hasn’t even bothered fabricating one’…at this point their meals arrive..though they keep at it.
‘He’s an absolute sucker for any kind of friendliness or charm…tho’ conversely he flares up at any hint of being patronised…you see -its as if he see’s that as his special privilege alone..politically he’s extremely superficial ..the complete populist..always wanting to be seen to be saying the best possible thing at the best possible time..shallow..but a seasoned social survivor..insofar as religon is concerned..it is just the same..he keeps fish..tho’ never bothered to name them..his thoughtforms are more his favoutite pets..and well..needless to say his favourite hobby is other peoples lives.’

‘How about his tastes and whatnot?…’ the actor asks narrowing his focus..’Hmmm..in my mind..I always kind of saw him shopping at hipster dufous…drives one of those little bubble cars..collects really weird old suits ..loves hats..listens to jazz and movie soundtracks  ..loves to hang out in trendy or bohemian coffee shops..often loiters around that part of town where all the seconds and cheap womens clothing shops are…for the chicks …drinks at jazz clubs cos’ someone told him divorcee’s go there to get laid…he’s really quite naive, even for a psuedo-intellectual..sort of a child in a way ..sometimes shuts himself in a cupboard to gather his thoughts…any dream but a directed one seriously disturbs him..which explains his expertise with them..like a lot of people he is certain he is destined for something significant   ..and tries to look the part..you will see him often near fountains   ..adopting either a poetic or philosophical expression   ..in fact he rehearses a small suite of expressions almost daily ..of his mannerisms ..such as they are..most are contrived ..lifted from key performances ..and purely contextual..as he likes character driven stories ..publically his posture is as affected..very classic..very noble   ..yet alone in his own home he sprawls about..the master of his own myth..he is in reality ..constantly in a kind of a state of confusion   ..repressed or submerged confusion..shut away somewhere so his ‘tactical persona‘ can call the shots..this nebulous state of certainty/uncertainty has underpinned all of his choices and reactions for most of his adult life..he is in a sense..half asleep at the wheel..and remains this way until he actually cares for something which is genuinely at stake’..the writer has obviously concluded ..the actor switches off the recorder ..saying nothing..mulling things over.

©Gregory David Andrews 2008

being

a moment transcending its own specificity
carried beyond identity
lingers longer than it lasted

ringing like a bell

struck by the resonance of always

©Gregory David Andrews 2008