yearzerowriters

The Hyena from the sky and the Hyena from underground

In Gupter Puncher/Oli Johns on October 13, 2010 at 10:22 am

 

  

Hold on to that anger…hold on and hold on until there’s no breath left in your-…

 

 

Date Night. Will And Grace. Ben H Winters. Sea monsters. Android Karenina. The Other Guys. Will Ferrell. Marky Mark. Ari Gold. Entourage. Who’s that guy? Fuzzy hair. Movie star. No charm. No grace. Hollywood. Deadwood. Olyphant. Ian McShane. Where’s his gun? Where’s his brain? Shakespeare. Different words. Sounds good. What’s he say? No one heard. Method One. Write a plot. Method Two. Craft some words. Method Three. Odd-ball. David Lynch. Jim Jarmusch. Czech Alice. Puppeteer. What’s his name? Method Four. My script. Any good? Yes, it is. Any Good? Piece of shit.

MY SCRIPT

…it wasn’t good, it wasn’t bad, and there wasn’t one there were seven of them, or eight of them, I can’t remember now, but four were good and four were bad, and three of the four that were good weren’t really that good, or not good enough, and one of them was Knifeman, and Knifeman’s not a name to call a film, not if you want it made, not if you want people to listen to you. But Knifeman, I liked it, and the people who didn’t like it, they didn’t know anything. They didn’t know what Knifeman was, what Knifeman really was, and they never could because they have no soul, they have no soul in there, and only someone with a soul can understand something like Knifeman.

Modernism. Tanizaki. Virginia Woolf. James Joyce. Ulysses. Other things. Seven thousand pages. Lost his keys. In his head. Boring head. Fucking Krist. Endo. Gunther Grass. Sontag. Suicide Kit. Amy Tan. Two-sided. Look at me. Chinese face. No soul writing. No truth writing. Classical. Detective fiction. Conan Doyle. Dr. Watson. Birdy Edwards. Fatalism. Never good. Always death. Fatalism.

The Valley of Fear

…a valley, a town. A mining colony. No city nearby. No help for miles. A Fraternity town. The handshake people. Only they’re criminals, and terrible criminals. They murder like it’s drinking milk. Like it’s 1350 France. Five hundred of them. And more on call. And they target others, and they kill others, and everyone is afraid. And if you speak out against them, they’ll kill you. If you go to the police they’ll kill you. The police are frustrated. The police are powerless. There are no successful trials. No hangings. And if you witness anything, they’ll kill you. If you play the hero, they’ll kill you. If you can fight, they’ll kill you. If you have superpowers, if you can do things like Jesus or Sylar, they’ll scheme and chatter and then they’ll kill you. You live in this town. You’re scared. You hate them. You’re not strong. You’re not brave. What do you do? You do nothing.

The Mummy Returns. Rachael Weisz. Ron Howard. Cinderella Man. Craig Bierko. The Long Kiss Goodnight. The fall from the helicopter. A happy death? Camus. The Outsider. A world of outsiders now. Not organised. Unorganised. Disorganised. Unmotivated. No climax. Anti-narrative. Beckett. Beckett again? Obsession. Pathological following of Samuel Beckett. Anti-anti- narrative. Nothing happens. I hate it? People hate it. I don’t hate it. Samuel Beckett. Sammy Beckett. Son of a Beckett. In a tramp’s head. In a station. Watching people. Thinking random thoughts. I hate it. I hate it. Thinking nothing thoughts when thoughts from any head are never nothing thoughts. The head is beautiful. Don’t you see this, Sammy Beckett? Hate. Hate. Hate. Calm down. Nothing’s changed. Progress. Moving on. Something odd. Barthelme. Barthes. Vonnegut. Bellow. Saul [fucking] Bellow. Middle class. Working class? Twat class. Class of twats. Thomas Mann. Malaparte. The Life of Pascal Duarte. Burroughs. Beat. Ginsberg. Beat. Cassady. Beat. Mitchell. Beat. Mitchell. Beat? He’s no beat. Pynchon. Beat. That’s his beat. Copycat. Nothing new. Nothing old. Japanese. Always Japanese. Mitchell San, Mitchell San, you’re not Japanese. In his head. In his head. Japanese. Japanese. Japanese. Gosh, I’m Japanese. Yes you are. Guardian. New York Times. 3AM. Yes, you are. Believe in us. You are great. Super great. And Japanese.

The Japanese VIPs.

…There’s Endo, and his Silence. His French fool. His privileged class. Scorcese wants a piece of his ass too, just like he wanted a piece of Edith Wharton’s. Bored, Marty?

…There’s M. Some pronounce it ‘Murakami’, without knowing that the ‘urakami’ is now silent. Wow, IQ84. Did you know ‘Q’ sounds like ‘nine’ in Japanese? M did. Does. Master of themetacratics!

…There’s the one who is still pronounced ‘Murakami’. He’s kept his name, because he’s not good enough to lose it. Ryu, that’s his first, and he’s a nut. He wrote ‘Audition.’ And ‘Almost something Blue’, about black people dominating Japanese people, and maybe about confusion too?

…There’s Banana, who writes about Kitchens.

…There’s-

Great Gatsby. Great Escape. Great Waldo Pepper…are there any more greats? Magnificent Ambersons. Billy Joel. Ha, Billy fucking Joel. Copycat. Nothing new. Nothing old. Modern day. 1990. 1991. 1992. 1993. 1994. Before this, postmodernism. And after this, postmodernism. Easton Ellis. Amis. McInerney. Auster. Takahashi. Author in the text. Text in the author. No more story. The story behind the story behind the story. Bomb the story. Kill the story. How many behinds can hide behind the story? Too late. What’s next? Easton Ellis. Amis. McInerney. Auster. Takahashi. Still writing. Still hoping. Brutalism. Ah, brutalism. Back to Beckett. Back to Bukowski. Back to the Future. George McFly. Biff Tannern. Smack his face. Knock him out. Demonise Biff of Tannern. Potential rapist. Potential killer. Potential house-maid. No change. No redemption. Biff of Tannern.

The Concretisation! of Biff Tannern.

…on a day, possibly a Tuesday, [we’re not sure because it’s on film, not in reality] Biff Tannern is led through a crowd of special effects that look kinda like people, but on closer inspection are just the same three people simulcratised, to a stage where the bald guy from He-man the movie and the principal from the very same film as Biff, pronounces to the crowd of fakery that Biff Tannern, of the one trilogy and nothing else, has been deemed beyond characterisation, and is therefore sentenced to concretisation effective within the few minutes it will take to mix the concrete. Biff, given the chance to comment, snarls at the crowd of fakery and says, “I may have only one dimension…but it’s a helluva dimension.”

And then it comes, the concrete, and Biff Tannern is forever a cunt.

Megaman. Megabox. Megalomania. Malaparte. Back again. Who was he? Don’t know. No one knows. Camus stole his clothes. Vela stole his face. Or was it Cela?Carlos Vela. Varlos Cela. Joe Hart. Jimmy Hill. Berbatov. Sidetracked. Turning left. Socialism. Communism. Stalinism. Put the fuckers in a ditch-ism. Shoot them in the face, with a rifle scribed with ‘ism [in pink lipstick]. Orwell. Animal Farm. Rebel, Rebel. Naughty pig. Dirty farmer. Sympathetic horse. Rise up. Pick up arms. Kropotkin. Radicalism. Marxism. Movement. Movement. Movement. Shared vision. Coup D’etat. In charge. New vision. Governmental. That’s my seat! Get a gun. Dig a hole. Ditch-ism. Back again. Some less friends. ‘I believe…’ In charge. Governmental. IN CHARGE. Fucking mental. Hands off. Single vision. [Get your fucking hands off my vision]. My vision. Not your vision. Love the people. Know the people. Help the people. Who are the people? Camus? Can you say? Don’t know. Plural noun? Not now. Collective noun. No more people. Only people. Kill persons. Keep the people. Cut off hands. Unchain links. Ungroup. Degroup? Don’t know. No more groups. My group. Join my group. Socialism. Socialism. The only ism. Socialist face. Psychopathic mind. No, nice mind. Nice mind. Control the kills. Not so bad. Long game. Fifty years. One hundred years. Think about it. Don’t talk back.

In one hundred years…

…we better hope to fucking God the robots have taken over.

Paris Hilton. Not so bad. Lindsey Lohan. Not so bad. Frank Drebin. Not so bad. Martin Short. Not so bad. Martin Freeman. Not so bad. Ugly Betty. Not so bad. So many things. Not so bad. Snobs in writing. Everywhere. Underground. Not so real. Blog collectives. Love each other. Reading books? Not so many. Future plan. Not so much. Future plan? Watch Supernatural.

Supernatural, Season Five, Episode 1 [summary]

Forgive me, I’m a bit behind. I heard season six has already started over in the States, but here in Hong Kong, where House is two seasons behind and shows no sign of catching up, we have just started season five. And how does it start? Pretty fast. There’s a light, I think it’s from Hell, and Sam and Dean say ‘oh shit’ and then they’re on an airplane, and they say ‘shit, we’re on an airplane’, but the light is still there coming up from the ground below, and then they’re gone, they’re in a hospital and…and Bobby the grouch [who is getting very very close to concretisation] is in a wheelchair and then the angel comes in…Castlevania?…Casillas?…and he tells them ‘we have to find God’ and Dean says something caustic and Sam nods like a plank and then we’re with another guy who is being hit on by Lucifer and told that he [Lucifer] wants to get inside his body and move it like a puppet, and the guy says ‘okay, man’, and by the end of the episode it looks like we’ve got ourselves a season. And what’s so bad about that?

Lee Rourke. Back Again. Brutalism. Ben Myers. Book of Fuck. Nothing new. Nothing old. Keep on trying. Brutalism. Brutalism. Brutalism. Times a hundred. On and on. What’s next? Add a ‘neo’. Brutalism, with a Neo-. Need a leader. Need a force. Need some weight. Point of it? Point Break. Pointilism. Dada. Dada. Dada. Dada. Get some pace. Lee Pace. Piemaker. Turkish film I can’t remember. Black Guy. What’s his name? Seen his face. Doing well. No Denzel. No, Denzel. Want more power. Power, power. Show no weak. Never weak.

The passion of Denzel…

I’ll be Goddamned if I let Dean fucking Cain beat me in a fight!”

Precedents:

I’ll be goddamned if I let that little stick Hawke beat me in a fight.”

I’ll be Goddamned if I let that fucking farmer Crowe get even one of those grubby, little paws on me.”

I’ll be Goddamned if I let Broderick get the better of me!”

I’ll be Goddamned if I let Annette Bening beat me in a fight.”

What’s next? Don’t know. Lack of knowledge. Try hard. Die Hard. John McClane. Hans Gruber. Money. Money. Get a gun. Get a pen. Shoot something. Write something. Make it light. Make it dark. Make it funny. Make it hatey. Hate. Hate. Anger stays. Glad it does. Poetry lessens. Not a poem. Never a poem.

An angry man is a happy man.” – Malcom X, 1961.

Quotes should always hold hands with other quotes, so:

Never let the sun go down on a peaceful mind.” – Gandhi, drunk in a bar with Kiefer Sutherland, 1932.

Which means:

If you’re feeling sleepy and things just seem too damn good in the world, then do something about it. Force an argument. Hit someone. Make trouble. Anything.” – Gandhi, same night, same bar, sitting on Kiefer’s shoulders with a broken bottle in hand.

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