Okay, then...
Sep. 2nd, 2004 04:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
benchiladaWRITTEN AT: Murphy’s Pub and Grill
TYPED AT: University of Illinois Bookstacks, on my
break
No, I would never, ever drink on my lunch hour. The
photo of my lunch, which I shall hopefully remember to
send across tonight, must have been photoshopped to
include that bottle of whatever it is. Or perhaps it
was taken at a different time entirely.
There was a tragically empty ashtray at my table.
It’s been eleven months since I had a cigarette. God,
I really want one right now. I mean, then, when the
picture with the bottle of something was taken, which
wasn’t at lunch today.
Do me a favor, my miniature weasels: I – like Johnny
Five – need you to input data. I wanna know what you
think of this listserv (or LiveJournal, if that’s
where you read it) and the garbage I pipe through it.
Especially if you, too, write, or create art.
I originally intended this to be something that I
would occasionally use as a place for simple writing
exercises, but I’ve ended up putting some good ideas
into it. So give me some input. Go back and read the
three parts of “Receiver” that I posted. Read “Ghost
in a Bottle, pt.1,” or go waaaaaaay back, the one
about the League of Nations assassin, his hit in
Michigan and how everything smells like bacon.
Is “Receiver” on its way to being a two person play?
Would “G.i.a.B,” work well in a comic book format.
Joe recommended novel, something I’ve never tried.
So pile on the L.J. comments, even if I don’t know
who you are. E-mail me through the listserv, or at
moxy@tmbg.org, or on the dead-horse@yahoogroups.com
list.
Help me, Obi-wan, you’re my only hope.
Well, you and Smirnoff Ice. Which I am not drinking
right now.
In the mean time, Jimmy the Spook’s body and
circuitmind are beginning to deteriorate…
(for some reason, I wrote this is vague screenplay
format)
[By now, Jimmy has succeeded in pulling over the car
in front of him, having convinced them that the blue
siren light he bought at Spenser’s Gifts was real. He
walks slowly up to the car, his duster blowing
stereotypically in the wind. So dark here on this
road, trees on either side. When he reaches the side
of the car, he flashes a badge that a close-up frame
reveals to be a plastic “Junior Detective” piece of
crap from a dollar store.]
Jimmy: How’re you folks tonight?
Driver: [looks nervously over at the girl in the
passenger seat] We’re okay. Is there a problem,
Officer?
J: Heh. I never get tired of hearing that. Anyway,
yeah, yeah, there’s a couple of problems. Y’see,
first of all, you don’t have your seatbelt on. AND
you’re smoking. Doesn’t seem that you respect your
life too much.
Dvr: Well…
J: Don’t interrupt. S’not polite. The next problem
is those foglamps under the front of your car. Is it
foggy out, son?
Dvr: Well, I guess…
J: [Interrupting] Yes or no will do, champ. Is. It.
Foggy. Out?
Dvr: No, but…
J: [eyes going a bit wild] Ah, ah ah! [wags his
finger] Then you wouldn’t mind me turning them off,
right?
Dvr: I can get…
J: No, please, I insist.
[Driver leans back, expecting Jimmy to reach across
him and flip off the switch. He seems confused when
Jimmy walks to the front of the car. Then Jimmy flips
the hell out, pulling two semi-automatic pistols from
his duster.]
J: [Whilst blasting living fuck out of the foglamps,
he begins to shout.] YOU SEE, SPORT, THE PROBLEM IS
THAT THERE IS NO FUCKING FOG! AS SUCH, YOU FUCKING
INCONSIDERATE FUCK, ALL YOU’RE DOING IS BLINDNG EVERY
OTHER GODDAMNED DRIVER ON THE ROAD, YOU MOTHERFUCKING
PRICK!
[Driver and his Girl have been screaming during this,
but trying not to look upset in a way that will make
him turn his guns on THEM. Jimmy glazes over for a
second, then tucks the guns back under his jacket.]
Dr: I suppose the last problem is that I’m not an
officer. In fact, what I am is so deeply fucking
classified that I should tear your brains out and
stamp on them just for mentioning this to you. But I
won’t. That, like not turning on your foglamps when
the weather is clear, is a fine example of courtesy.
Contemplate this on your drive home.
[Driver and Girl just look at him.]
J: Go on, go. I won’t hurt you.
[As they begin to pull away, Jimmy suddenly lifts his
arms, Dracula-like, and shouts.]
J: BANG!!!
[The car swerves for a second, then speeds off down
the road at Mach 2. Jimmy walks back to his car,
where Dan is looking concerned and upset.]
J: Courtesy appears to be as dead as I am.
Dan: Jimmy?
J: Yeah, Dan?
D: That wasn’t very rational.
J: I got that feeling, too, yeah…
[He stares at the dashboard for a second, then turns
on the ignition and drives off…]
---
I need to send out query letters.
I need constructive criticism.
I need honest praise.
I need a goddamned cigarette.
benjamin sTone
Urbana, IL
About 2:15pm
CURRENT MUSIC: “What’s Going On,” Marvin Gaye, one of
my jukebox selections.
CURRENT BOOKS: still the same, FaLotCTi’72 and TcoT
LAST MOVIE: Vaguely rewatched STRANGE DAYS last night
as I cleaned the upstairs, and started WHEN THE LAST
SWORD IS DRAWN very late at night and fell asleep
partway in…
TYPED AT: University of Illinois Bookstacks, on my
break
No, I would never, ever drink on my lunch hour. The
photo of my lunch, which I shall hopefully remember to
send across tonight, must have been photoshopped to
include that bottle of whatever it is. Or perhaps it
was taken at a different time entirely.
There was a tragically empty ashtray at my table.
It’s been eleven months since I had a cigarette. God,
I really want one right now. I mean, then, when the
picture with the bottle of something was taken, which
wasn’t at lunch today.
Do me a favor, my miniature weasels: I – like Johnny
Five – need you to input data. I wanna know what you
think of this listserv (or LiveJournal, if that’s
where you read it) and the garbage I pipe through it.
Especially if you, too, write, or create art.
I originally intended this to be something that I
would occasionally use as a place for simple writing
exercises, but I’ve ended up putting some good ideas
into it. So give me some input. Go back and read the
three parts of “Receiver” that I posted. Read “Ghost
in a Bottle, pt.1,” or go waaaaaaay back, the one
about the League of Nations assassin, his hit in
Michigan and how everything smells like bacon.
Is “Receiver” on its way to being a two person play?
Would “G.i.a.B,” work well in a comic book format.
Joe recommended novel, something I’ve never tried.
So pile on the L.J. comments, even if I don’t know
who you are. E-mail me through the listserv, or at
moxy@tmbg.org, or on the dead-horse@yahoogroups.com
list.
Help me, Obi-wan, you’re my only hope.
Well, you and Smirnoff Ice. Which I am not drinking
right now.
In the mean time, Jimmy the Spook’s body and
circuitmind are beginning to deteriorate…
(for some reason, I wrote this is vague screenplay
format)
[By now, Jimmy has succeeded in pulling over the car
in front of him, having convinced them that the blue
siren light he bought at Spenser’s Gifts was real. He
walks slowly up to the car, his duster blowing
stereotypically in the wind. So dark here on this
road, trees on either side. When he reaches the side
of the car, he flashes a badge that a close-up frame
reveals to be a plastic “Junior Detective” piece of
crap from a dollar store.]
Jimmy: How’re you folks tonight?
Driver: [looks nervously over at the girl in the
passenger seat] We’re okay. Is there a problem,
Officer?
J: Heh. I never get tired of hearing that. Anyway,
yeah, yeah, there’s a couple of problems. Y’see,
first of all, you don’t have your seatbelt on. AND
you’re smoking. Doesn’t seem that you respect your
life too much.
Dvr: Well…
J: Don’t interrupt. S’not polite. The next problem
is those foglamps under the front of your car. Is it
foggy out, son?
Dvr: Well, I guess…
J: [Interrupting] Yes or no will do, champ. Is. It.
Foggy. Out?
Dvr: No, but…
J: [eyes going a bit wild] Ah, ah ah! [wags his
finger] Then you wouldn’t mind me turning them off,
right?
Dvr: I can get…
J: No, please, I insist.
[Driver leans back, expecting Jimmy to reach across
him and flip off the switch. He seems confused when
Jimmy walks to the front of the car. Then Jimmy flips
the hell out, pulling two semi-automatic pistols from
his duster.]
J: [Whilst blasting living fuck out of the foglamps,
he begins to shout.] YOU SEE, SPORT, THE PROBLEM IS
THAT THERE IS NO FUCKING FOG! AS SUCH, YOU FUCKING
INCONSIDERATE FUCK, ALL YOU’RE DOING IS BLINDNG EVERY
OTHER GODDAMNED DRIVER ON THE ROAD, YOU MOTHERFUCKING
PRICK!
[Driver and his Girl have been screaming during this,
but trying not to look upset in a way that will make
him turn his guns on THEM. Jimmy glazes over for a
second, then tucks the guns back under his jacket.]
Dr: I suppose the last problem is that I’m not an
officer. In fact, what I am is so deeply fucking
classified that I should tear your brains out and
stamp on them just for mentioning this to you. But I
won’t. That, like not turning on your foglamps when
the weather is clear, is a fine example of courtesy.
Contemplate this on your drive home.
[Driver and Girl just look at him.]
J: Go on, go. I won’t hurt you.
[As they begin to pull away, Jimmy suddenly lifts his
arms, Dracula-like, and shouts.]
J: BANG!!!
[The car swerves for a second, then speeds off down
the road at Mach 2. Jimmy walks back to his car,
where Dan is looking concerned and upset.]
J: Courtesy appears to be as dead as I am.
Dan: Jimmy?
J: Yeah, Dan?
D: That wasn’t very rational.
J: I got that feeling, too, yeah…
[He stares at the dashboard for a second, then turns
on the ignition and drives off…]
---
I need to send out query letters.
I need constructive criticism.
I need honest praise.
I need a goddamned cigarette.
benjamin sTone
Urbana, IL
About 2:15pm
CURRENT MUSIC: “What’s Going On,” Marvin Gaye, one of
my jukebox selections.
CURRENT BOOKS: still the same, FaLotCTi’72 and TcoT
LAST MOVIE: Vaguely rewatched STRANGE DAYS last night
as I cleaned the upstairs, and started WHEN THE LAST
SWORD IS DRAWN very late at night and fell asleep
partway in…
