I just found out that Richard Avadon died last Saturday.
Moment of silence to maybe catch the echo of the final click of his shutter.
Day: October 2, 2004
mental shrugs
Opening shot: A screen: first of all no offense to gay ppl,but there is no posible way ppl could be born gay it is not like they were gay their whole life it is just a dumb excuse i think and anyways if god made ppl gay dont you think he would have made a way for gay ppl to have babbies just my opinion
Dissolve to the girl. She’s sitting with an open book in her lap. An open field. Head is back, she’s screaming. Pan back to reveal a CG nightmare of swirling text. Sound: fade in slow on loop. “The children. They’re killing me”. Baffles blur the edges of the words. Let her arms hang down, lifeless.
Relationships have contexts. Patterns of self-esteem and interaction. Particles spin, wave-forms collapse. Wrapped in this sari of dark fuchsia silk, tied on with a gold edged knot. This is all I have as a protective band wrapped around my desire. A brocade blockade of word, broken by distance. Fade out, but not to black, to something different. The substance of breath.
Did I just do that?
onto the stage
Work has come crashing.
Sample-snip drum ‘n bass clipping text. Burr hum, sitting in nothing but a few pieces. Sleep, dreaming, thickets. Child, no, don’t ask me these questions. Thickness like a swollen tongue. Wisdom laughing, impure thought. Dance now, feet catching the fall. No grace here. Grace is for those who care about how they move. It’s time to get a little groove on. Mark the names down at the door in the dark ink. Flicker flash on, strobe black bright. Let everything loose, they’re just dirty little snapshots. Let your body find the skin.
Overhead off. There’s no saving face. There’s only you and the floor and the lights. It might help if you close your eyes. Hips rolling into rhythm, ess curve electric shocks. Play the music, recordman, keep us heavy. Feels like water, the hardest spots. Strike you down with this. Too pale and purple. Feeling it all from this bedroom throne, I’m spoiled. Complicated cheap shots. White cloud trail behind the littlest plane. The day it comes, I’ll be watching.
Apocalypse.
because, gads – Sigismondi. I want to be Mark Romanek in my next life.
Last night I was reminded of the Submarine Channel. Haven’t been there in at least a year in spite of my watching films from it just about every work weekend. I was naughty, you see, and nabbed almost everything they had. There’s quite a bit. I dropped in on it to find they have interviews with people like Sigismondi now. The tricorn hat is pulled out again.