SWEETER
THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS, ‘THE PURSUIT’ BEING THE THING, IS WHAT I HEAR. NO ONE RINGS YOUR LINE WITH GOOD NEWS, ENCOURAGING WORDS, OR LOTS OF MONEY BECAUSE YOU WRITE THE FUNNY. WHAT’S THE WORD? WHAT’S THE EFFORT ABOUT? WAS SOME TROMBONE PLAYER LOOKING TO BANK BIG LIKE EVERY ONE OF US. POOR, LITTLE, TROMBONE PLAYER, WHO WANTS YOUR EXPOSITION ON CD-ROM? NOBODY, POOR, LITTLE, TROMBONE PLAYER. IS SOME MAGIC THAT EXISTS 'THIS TIME OF THE YEAR. COULD BE MIDNIGHT, COULD BE A FEW MINUTES AFTER, I THINK OUR GUY FINDS THOSE FIVE MINUTES AND FUCKS A HOT LADY, SUPER HOT BABY MOMS TYPE. ALL HE HAS TO DO IS FIND THOSE FIVE MINUTES. WE’RE NOT TALKING AN HOUR, NOT THIRTY, NOT TWENTY. WE’RE TALKING FIVE MINUTES WORTH OF A SOLO — AND THAT’S THE STORY, MAN! THAT’S THE TRUTH, CAN YOU HANDLE THAT? FORGET THE PLAY, THAT’S WHAT’S REAL, YA’ KNOW? OUR MAN IS AT WORK MAKING THOSE FIVE MINUTES HAPPEN. HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR TIME, IS WHAT I’M ASKING. EXIST AN OUT OF WORK TROMBONE PLAYER MAKING HIS STEAK SHINING SHOES IN THE BIG CITY, GUESS YOU CAN SAY, ‘LIFE BLOWS.’ FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES A STORY IS WRITTEN. A PRODUCTION MEANS PLENTY, BELIEVE IT OR NOT — THE PEOPLE WANT WORK, THE TITLES, THE ROLES, THE RESPONSIBILITY, NO MATTER HOW MUCH A MORNING JOG SUCKS, NO MATTER HOW LOATHSOME AN AFTERNOON MEETING MAY BE, NO MATTER HOW MUCH ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING WITH THE COFFEE, THE CRAFTY WITH THE CHEESE AND BAGELS, WE WANT WORK, LOTS OF STRAWBERRIES, AND CANTALOUPE. IS THE POOL OF TALENT OUT THERE, CLOCKING THEIR HOURS FOR AN OPPORTUNITY TO BE SEEN, TO BE HEARD, TO BE CONSIDERED. SHE’S THE DAUGHTER OF A SUCCESSFUL JEWELER, HER LIFE IS WAY BETTER THAN OURS, BRO! VACATIONS, WORKING FIREPLACE, LOTS OF JORDANS, BUT THAT’S LADY LUCK, KNAW-MEAN. WHAT BEING RICH GOT TO DO WITH IT? THAT’S A PERSON THAT FEELS LIKE WE FEEL. IT IS AN UNLIKELY MEETING OF TWO, BUT NOT SO RARE ALMOST CLICHE HOLLYWOOD TALE ABOUT THE ROUGH AROUND THE EDGES TALENT AND SAD RICH GIRL PAIRING, PROMISING THE READER A NIGHT TO REMEMBER. THE PLAY’S AN OPPORTUNITY TO WRAP IT ALL TOGETHER. MEDIA MEMBERS LOVE A SCANDAL AND NO ONE’S BETTER AT MAKING HEADLINES THAN POPULAR FILMMAKER PIERRE DE POTRASKY. AN EMBELLISHMENT OF DETAILS REGARDING A CELEBRITY DIVORCE HAS LED TO PUBLIC UPROAR AND OUTCRY. THE AMBITIOUS DIRECTOR REMAINS STERN ON THE STORY’S DIRECTION, CLAIMING AN ORIGINAL NOT SO TRUE CRIME STORY ABOUT A HEARTBREAK THAT LEADS TO A FUCK IT! KILL THE BITCH, STASH HER IN THE TRUNK, AND DRIVE OFF A CLIFF BECAUSE IT’S A SEXY SORT’VE CONCLUSION. I’LL WRITE SOME MORE STUFF LATER, Lol
2024/11/21
the grass appeared dry this morning. i step outside to water it. a few young fellas on bikes slide the brakes. ‘you’re the guy,'one of them says.
my location has been compromised.
‘we found him,’ says the other guy. ten seconds later, maybach sedans make their arrival. a big guy steps out of the vehicle, let’s call him, ‘the professional.’ we call him the professional because this is what he does for his green, his gouda, his can’t stop, won’t stop dollar dollar bill y’all!
the professional makes his way to me and places two bags at my feet. he reaches into his business coat, ‘no, to whatever you are going to say,’ i intervene. ‘but, you gotta let me do the thing,’ he responds. ‘no. i don’t want to hear it,’ i say. ‘i must read you these words,’ he insists and continues, ‘you must take these bags, and follow our instruction.’
‘i don’t do that stuff anymore.’ i answer. ‘but — why?’ jaw-locks and all that. ‘i always get into some sort’ve trouble whenever i get behind a toshiba,’ i answer. ‘no. no, toshiba. we bring you a fresh harvest,’ he responds. ‘you got that sweet-thing in there, man?’ i ask the professional. ‘you’re favorite, un-touched. you can break her off, make some money, and you ain’t gotta put your name on it or nothing,’ he responds. ‘i don’t know. these things rarely end well,’ i warn. ‘listen man, my boss gave me an assignment. if i don’t deliver, heads are going to freaking spin, you hear?’ he insists.
are you having a good time? do i bring you entertainment?
‘no, too dangerous.’ i plea.
the director steps out,
‘danger?' he makes his way to me. ‘this is no mystikal music video, man. i got the double ‘m’ sedans out, cameras to your left, cameras to your right,’
camera men and women show themselves.
‘a wide, a master, my close up is over there,’ the director continues, helicopters arrive.
‘see this shit. this is my high angle shot! live and direct! see these helicopters. that ain’t cheap! you must make!’ he continues, ‘for us, the people. for the young men and women sick of this pre-teen romance drama — we want a raw and unfiltered interpretation of the social diagram that implores a disruption from practitioners such as yourself. do you hear me at the door?’
the director’s an intense guy, he yells for a, ‘diet coke.’
an intern arrives with the soda.
he pops it open, takes a big gulp, crushes and tosses the aluminum.
‘so! what do you say?’ he asks.
‘it’s not an easy task you are requesting of me. money eventually loses its incentive value when there is a lack of enthusiasm from the participant. a task of this magnitude for what you are offering me will only lead to a shallow conclusion.’
he laughs. and laughs. the film crew laughs. he cleans up his tears. and concludes his laughter.
‘i like you and this whole gold versus passion thing you are doing. substance versus superficial gain. yes, i like this. we can sell this,’ he says.
‘no, i’m not selling you anything,’ i respond.
‘of course you are. it’s how guys like you and me eat.’ the director replies.
‘i don’t think you understand what i’m saying.’ i respond.
‘oh! but — i do.’ he says,
‘so!’ the director turns to the professional, ‘bigger bag.’
the cameras continue to record.
nothing is said, the reason, the director has one more line.
‘this makes sense,’ says the boom-operator. he is ignored.
‘it’s your line. this makes sense.’ the boom operator pleads. ‘be quiet, boom! i’m thinking about my line.’ says the director.
'this makes sense, is, your line.’ says the guy on the bike.’where’d ya get this amateur, culver city?’ the guy on the bike, mocks.
everyone on set chuckles.
the laughter concludes.
but — it’s only the beginning for the director.
‘ha. haha! ha! haha! ha! who’s in charge of management?’ requests the director.
a child with the clipboard raises his hand.
'you! listen, and listen to me good! go over there and fire that man. and you fire him really, really, good! go to town on this guy. tell him to get the fuck off the set! tell him to go back to handheld videos on youtube, call him a cocksucker while you’re at it, have fun with it, you know. you’re a kid, be creative about the way you crush your subordinate. go!’
the twelve year old child walks up to the guy on the bike, an actor whom’s finally found a decent paying gig, all to be fired for his sense of humor. the child lays it on him pretty fair, ‘hey there, sir. i have to fire you.’
the director yells, ‘tell him to get the fuck off the set.’
‘get the fuck off the set?’ the child says to the actor.
the director responds, ‘it’s very important that you call him a cocksucker.’
‘get off the fucking set. ‘cuz you’re fired. you fucking cocksucker?’ says the child.
the actor goes up the director, ‘you can’t do that.’
‘i’m the director, i can do whatever the fuck i want to do.’ he replies.
‘you’re the director. not the producer. the only person doing the firing here is the big lady. and you don’t look like you can sing much, muthafucker!’ the actor replies.
‘touché, the only person firing anyone here is the big lady, but i’m the director. you the actor, do whatever i say. and as the director, i direct you to go over there and figure out how to juggle. tennis balls! i need tennis balls!’ yells the director.
some intern arrives on set with three tennis balls.
'go, over there, i want you to juggle.’ the director says to the actor.
‘ain’t this some bullshit. no. i’m not going over there to juggle a damn thing,' replies the actor.
‘yes, you will. this is my direction to you the actor, if you the actor are not capable of following my direction, i must fire you. now, go. juggle for this man.’ the director says to the actor.
‘you don’t have to do that,’ i say.
‘no. he must. or you can leave my set. maybe, you’d like to call the big lady, talk to her about feelings and tragedies and whatever else candy-ass marshmallow bullshit you can think of,’ the director’s a mean son of gun.
check and mate; the actor could spend the next hour or two complaining to the big lady about the director and his power trip, but he would then run the risk of being looked at as a punk. less of a man for forfeiting the game of wits he and the director have found themselves in when he decided to showoff. the director was hired for a reason.
the actor makes a decision, he begins to juggle.
‘i thought so!’ the director says.
this was fucking brutal to witness, a director high strung on his power, production dollars down the drain, a scene that might not even make the final cut.
‘we’ll make a call, talk to the producer, tell her the deal, we bring more and you will make. take this bag. here’s a hoodie. we got hats too. hat! i need a hat!’ yells the director.
HALLOWEEN ARRIVES AND A CELEBRATION TAKES PLACE AT A LOCAL ELEMENTARY SCHOOL FOR SCHOLARS. FACULTY, EDUCATORS, AND CHILDREN DRESS UP FOR THE DAY OF HORROR. ARRIVES A FOURTH GRADE TEACHER IN A DINOSAUR’S COSTUME, BUT NOT JUST YOUR COMMON TRICERATOPS NOR TYRANNOSAURUS, IT’S A ARCHAEOPTERYX, A FLYING DINOSAUR. OUR SENSE OF HUMOR IS EITHER THE DESTRUCTION OF ALL MANKIND OR THE REASON TO STICK AROUND AND SEE WHERE IT ALL GOES. A CHILD WALKS UP TO HIS TEACHER, ‘WHAT’S YOUR COSTUME?’ HE ASKS. ’I’M AN ARCHAEOPTERYX, A PRIMEVAL BIRD,’ SHE ANSWERS. THE KID CONTINUES WITH HIS INQUIRY, ‘WHY’D YOU WANT TO DRESS UP LIKE A BIRD FOR HALLOWEEN?’ FAIR QUESTION, WE’VE SEEN ALL SORTS OF COSTUMES SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE TRADITION, A BIRD’S A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY. ‘NOT JUST A BIRD, WE’RE TALKING A 100 MILLION YEAR OLD DINOSAUR.’ SHE REPLIES. THE KID DOESN’T GET IT, ‘I DON’T GET IT,’ HE SAYS. ‘I THINK DINOSAURS ARE SCARY, SO I DRESSED UP AS ONE FOR HALLOWEEN’ SAYS THE TEACHER. A KID BUDS IN, ‘I DON’T THINK BIRDS ARE SCARY.’ ALMOST INSULTED, ‘OH, NO?’ SHE REPLIES AND CONTINUES, ‘AN ARCHAEOPTERYX DIVES FROM THE SKY AT 80 AND HALF MILES AN HOUR, SNATCHES YOU FROM THE GROUND, TAKES YOU THREE HUNDRED FEET IN THE AIR, AND DROPS YOU TO A CERTAIN DEATH. THE BIRD MAKES ITS WAY DOWN AND EATS YOU! NOW THAT’S FRIGHTENING.’ THE KIDS SURROUNDING HER ALMOST NEED AN ADDITIONAL SECOND MAYBE TWO FOR THE INFORMATION TO REGISTER, THE KID YELLS A CRY AND THE TEACHER FINDS HERSELF NEGOTIATING SENSITIVITY TRAINING HOURS WITH THE SCHOOL’S PRINCIPAL. ‘JULIE, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?’ THE SCHOOL PRINCIPAL PLEADS. ‘I JUST FIND IT A BIT UNFAIR THAT WE HAVE A NATIONAL HOLIDAY ALLOWING KIDS TO RUN AROUND WITH MACHETES AND TOY GUNS, BUT I HAVE TO TALK TO THE HEAD OF THE SCHOOL FOR BRINGING UP FACTS ABOUT THE SORT’VE LIFE THAT HAS EXISTED ON EARTH MILLIONS OF YEARS AGO,’ SHE RESPONDS. THE GUY’S COOL, HE HAS A SENSE OF HUMOR TOO, ‘SHOULD I WRITE A LETTER TO THE STATE SUGGESTING WE GET RID OF THE COSTUMES AND DECORATIONS?’ HE REPLIES. ‘WELL, NO. I DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM WITH DEATH AND REPULSION. IT’S THESE LITTLE BITCHES,’ SHE ANSWERS. HOW DO YOU THINK ADULTS TALK? SHOULD AN ADULT CENSOR HIS OR HERSELF? THE GUIDELINES OF THE HOUSE, DO WE COMPROMISE OR DO WE KEEP A FIRM GRIP ON OUR INDIVIDUALITY? ‘HOW ABOUT THIS, WOULD YOU SPARE AN HOUR TWICE A WEEK FOR TRAINING? AND A LETTER TO THE CHILD’S MOTHER APOLOGIZING FOR THE ERROR.’ THE PRINCIPAL SUGGESTS. ‘ADDITIONAL HOURS? AND AN ASSIGNMENT FOR SOMETHING I DON’T FEEL I WAS IN THE WRONG ABOUT,’ SHE CONTESTS. ‘BUT — YOU’RE WRONG. YOU ARE MOST DEFINITELY IN THE WRONG WHEN IT COMES TO SOMEONE ELSE’S CHILD. YOU DON’T HAVE SAY SO ABOUT WHAT THAT CHILD AND PARENT MAY OR MAY NOT FIND OFFENSIVE. FRIGHTENING, IN THIS CASE.’ HE ANSWERS. ‘WELL, NO. I DON’T WANT TO DO IT.’ SHE ANSWERS. ‘FINE, THAT’S FINE. IT’S OKAY FOR YOU TO FEEL THAT WAY, BECAUSE YOU’RE GOING TO DO IT ANYWAY, BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.’ THE PRINCIPAL ANSWERS.
ACTION MEANS EFFORT, MIND IN MOTION BODY IN MOTION, FOR WHAT IS IN MIND TO BE. THE MORE I WRITE THE FURTHER AWAY FROM THE CONCLUSION FEELS LIKE I’VE BEEN HERE FOR HOURS. YOU CAN’T FORCE IT, BUT THE REPS HELP. YOU ARE MORE LIKELY TO FIND THE MAGIC WHILE IN MOTION THAN YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT WHAT YOU WISH TO BUILD. AT TIMES, IT MAY FEEL LIKE WHAT LIVES IN YOUR IMAGINATION IS BETTER OR MORE EXCITING THAN WHAT YOU’VE MADE — BETTER THAN WHAT EXIST? CAN’T BE BETTER THAN WHAT IS IF IT DON’T EXIST. WE PREFER THE REAL. WHEN YOU CONSIDER THE DETAILS, YOU SORT’VE GET WHY THESE THINGS DON'T HAPPEN. TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT, IT’S WHAT YA’ GOT. MUCH BETTER THAN A DICK IN YOUR HAND. LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, THANK YOU FOR OPENING UP DRAFT #3,477. THE COMPLETE IS ON ITS WAY. THE CHALLENGE, NOT SO-MUCH THE TASK OF SCRIBBLING, IT’S THE SLICING FOR A SIMPLE ENOUGH READ. IMPRESSIVE NOT ALWAYS EASY-TO-READ, EASYTO-READ NOT ALWAYS IMPRESSIVE. THE SELECTION AND CHOICES MADE NOT ALWAYS ABOUT THE PRACTITIONER’S FAVORITE THING RATHER WHAT SATISFIES READER EXPERIENCE, DOES THE DARN THING MAKE SENSE? WAS A MAN THAT TOSSED HIS CHARACTERS INTO FILTH, ALMOST TO PROVE A POINT. SOME LESSON ON LIFE AND WORTH. EVEN AT ITS WORSE, A FEW BLACKLISTS AND REVOKED SCRIPTS LATER, YOU FIND YOURSELF WORKING A BIG ASS CALCULATOR, ADJUSTING RECEIPTS AND FUCK! GOTTA SEND A HALF A DOZEN EMAILS, TONIGHT. BE OF VALUE, WORK! YOU’LL BE FINE.
‘YOU’RE A LIAR AND A THIEF OF HEARTS. I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU, AGAIN.’
MEET DENNIS. DENNIS WAS A WALKING DOORMAT FOR SOME OF THE PUB BULLIES. THE BULLIES — NOT TOO BRIGHT, NOT TOO SPECIAL, JUST SOME BIG BLOKES WITH LOTS OF ATTITUDE BECAUSE THE BIGGER YOU ARE THE LESS LIKELY SOMEONE IS TO CALL YOU ON A BLUFF. DON’T HELP THAT DENNIS AIN’T NO-GOOD WITH WORDS NEITHER, BUT THE KID’S TALENTED WITH A CAMERA, CLEVER AS A FOX TOO. MEET HIS PARTNER AND BEST-FRIEND, TOMMY; BIG, CHARMING, WITH A FAIR GAZE, NOT THE TYPE TO FOOL TWICE, IF AT ALL. GOOD MAN, LOOKS AFTER DENNIS, BUMPS HIM, CHECKS HIM, TOUGHENS HIM UP, PROTECTS AND SHARES WITH HIM. THEY MET A FEW YEARS BACK, DENNIS CAUGHT HEAT AT A POOL TABLE, COLLECTING ALL SORTS OF DOUGH, ALL TO HAVE THE BULLIES SNATCH UP HIS EARNINGS. TOMMY DIDN’T LIKE THAT TOO MUCH. WALKS UP THE BULLIES, ATTEMPTS TO REASON WITH THEM. THE BIG FUCK, WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT? SPITS ON TOMMY’S SHOES. TOMMY GRABS A POOL STICK AND LANDS A WHACK TO THE DOME. AFTER THE INCIDENT, THE BULLIES DIDN’T PUSH DENNIS AROUND LIKE THEY USE-TO. IT TOOK A FEW NIGHTS FOR DENNIS AND TOMMY TO WARM UP TO ONE ANOTHER, EVENTUALLY, FINDING SIMILARITIES IN THEIR SHAMELESS SENSE OF HUMOR. BEFORE YOU KNOW IT, THEY FIGURE OUT A WAY TO MAKE SOME GOOD MONEY, TOGETHER. OUTSIDE OF THE SCHOOL GROUNDS IS A PARKED HONDA WITH TOMMY AS THE DRIVER AND DENNIS TAKING SNAPS OF THE SCHOOLTEACHER, MAKING HER WAY TO HER CAR. ‘GOT IT!’ SAYS DENNIS. ‘ARE YOU SURE? TAKE A FEW MORE,’ REPLIES TOMMY. ‘TOMMY, AIN’T NO SQUEEZE WORTH THE JUICE WHEN YOU FIND YOUR SHOT OF MONEY,’ SAYS DENNIS. ‘MONEYSHOT, DENNIS. THE WORD IS MONEYSHOT, AND IT AIN’T LIKE YOU’RE PERFORMING OPEN HEART SURGERY, TAKE A COUPLE OF MORE SNAPS, WHY DON’T SHA,’ INSISTS TOMMY. ‘YOU CAN’T COOK A CHICKEN WITH TWO CHEFS, TOMMY,’ INSISTS DENNIS. ‘WHAT IN THE WORLD IS YOUR BLATHERING ABOUT? IT’S A PICTURE, TAKE A COUPLE MORE — OH GREAT!’ TOMMY STOPS, THE SCHOOLTEACHER MAKES HER WAY INTO THE CAR AND OUT THE DRIVEWAY. ‘YOU SEE,’ SAYS TOMMY. ‘FOLLOW HER, I GOT AN IDEA,’ SAYS DENNIS. ‘AN IDEA,’ QUESTIONS TOMMY. ‘YES. NOW GO, BEFORE WE LOSE HER,’ SAYS DENNIS.
