three false starts.

A somewhat irrelevant picture of Marylin Monroe
reading James Joyce's mother-bitch, Ulysses.

Some days I feel like it all goes wrong. The sentences come out backward or wardback or messed up and fucked in the head. Today has been this day. So here's three beginnings that will probably go nowhere. I'm only publishing them here in the attempt to prevent myself from trying to publish them anywhere else. God, why am I showing you these.

'It is first the view of a girl getting off a bus. As she steps down into the mud we catch a glimpse of her white underwear. A bit of up-skirt action in the country. A bit of the old how’s yer father. It is the line of the horizon darkening to a black stencil of trees against reds and golds. The fat woman has been talking to the driver. The girl thinks how she will never be like them. Her conversation with the driver is terse and sharp, uncomfortable shouts of, ‘Hi!’ and, ‘Cheers!’ as the blackness envelops her. She is not dressed for the chill that parts the trees.'

No - try again:

'At first we see a girl walking quickly down an alleyway in a small, flat town. She is not old enough to disregard the looks of the skateboarding adolescents that break up her path. Then we see a boy who is with them. The girl sees him as part of the group. He sees her as a representation of himself. Everyone else sees sick jumps off scraps of chipboard.'

No - again:

'Before we begin, I want to eliminate the idea in your head that we are separate people. We are not. Any idea you have to the contrary is wrong. At best it is a brilliant illusion. That's just the way it is. Now listen: '

I think maybe I need a beer or something.

Hey - wanna go grab a beer?

No comments: