shotgun stories [film review]

[First in a series of ekphrastic responses to the films of Jeff Nichols. Second.]

Acoustic melancholy drenches a rural Southern town. Fishing in a flat green world, water spread out everywhere. Open skies. A slow train passes through downtown. What it’s like to be trapped in a town for life. Yellow light and dogs and decaying industry.

A dead father. A funeral (“I said some things”). Redeemed but not by those left behind.

A walked-out wife. A pair of brothers. Acoustic melancholy. Clouded sky over water. Shirtless males netting fish. The feeling you get inside your chest, like a strangling but in an almost good way. Does beauty go unignored.

“What you doing…”

They set up the window unit on the picnic table to test it out. Run the extension cord out from the house. It works, and they sit there, feeling the cool air on their faces.

“It’s not the gambling. She just wants me to stop screwing around.”

One brother living in a van down by the river.

A young son. A blood feud. Two families, one father. Brother to brother.

“Are we all right?” “Yeah.”

“A lifetime is a long time, just for two people.”

“Your brother’s dead.”

Sorrow will always bring us together. She climbs in bed with him. Is it so often how we try to erase our pain, with new pain…

The pavement is hot. And yet I sit on it and I wait for you. I throw away my cards for you.

“I didn’t know they were there.”

“You raised us to hate those boys. And now it’s come to this.”

Silence.

A tent is something more than a tent after the unchangeable happens.

“Why is this happening?”

Cotton fields, cotton fields. They’re gonna crucify you, in those old cotton fields back home.

“Son’s all I have now. I just want to protect my brother.”

“I’m gonna put an end to it.”

[ominous strings fade to the upward lilt of the guitar]

acoustic melancholy

and the light falls across the porch. and the light falls over what’s left.

there are songs to tell us every way we feel…

georg trakl

On The Marshy Pastures

A man who walks in the black wind; the dry reeds
            rustle quietly
Through the silence of the marshy pastures. In
            the grey skies
A migration of wild birds move in ranks
Catty-corner over dark waters.

Insurgence. In the collapsing houses
Decay is fluttering out with black wings;
Crippled-up birches breathe heavily in the wind.

Evening in empty roadhouses. The longing for home
            settles about
The delicate despair of the grazing flocks,
Vision of the night: toads plunge from silver waters.

—Georg Trakl, Twenty Poems of Georg Trakl

the one and the other dance in the rain

Hello, one.

Hello, other.

It’s raining today.

Yes…wait, are we doing this on Tuesdays now.

I don’t know. Is that a problem.

Well, you know how I am about change…it makes me nervous.

Yes, that’s true…I do know that. But is this really such a big change.

Sometimes it’s not the size of the change, other. Sometimes it’s just how I feel inside.

Maybe it’s the rain.

It could be…is there something we can do about that…

We could dance in it!

Oh!

What do you think.

I like it but I’m feeling shy…

Well, I am rusty, if that makes you feel better.

Do you know the steps.

No…let’s just wing it.

Okay. I just want to feel free, you know.

I know.

Thank you, other.

It’s why I’m here, one.

Maybe it will be a misty rain!

I hope so…let’s go.

Okay.

[interlude of wet frenetic dancing]

I feel so much better, other!

I know! That was fantastic!

We should dance more often.

We really should.

Will you remind us.

I’ll try.

Goodbye, other!

‘Til next time!

erasure published

Hi.

My erasure text, part of a larger work-in-progress called Book of Thoughts, was published the other day at Ink Sweat & Tears, a U.K.-based poetry and prose webzine, whose “tastes are eclectic and magpie-like.” I like that.

Goodbye!

the one and the other discuss the weather

What is up with this winter, other.

I don’t know, one, but it is a strange one for sure.

I have a bad feeling that this winter is going to be like last winter where I felt so unworthy of spring!

Ah, yes, I remember…you were in a state, one, a real fragile state.

I know! cried the one. What ever will I do if it is like that again?

We’ll make it through together. Please don’t worry, one.

Oh thank you, other, thank you…you are too sweet. Tell me again how you got to be so sweet. Tell me the story. Tell me, other, telllll meeeee!

I took a distance learning course!

Wheee! You are ridiculous, other. Did I ever tell you that?

Yes, one…many times! But now I must go lie down.

Ohhh…do you have a sadness in you today, other?

Yes, one, I do.

Can I help?

Just your being here is helping. The way I feel you listening even when there are no words, one…that means so much.

I’m glad, other, I really am…but this sadness, see, I just want to wring its spiny little neck! I want to banish it!

I appreciate that, one. I really do.

But does it ever go away, other? The sadness…does it…does it ever leave you…

Not really…there are always traces. But it helps to not feel so alone with it.

I like to help you, other. I don’t always understand but it’s okay, right?

Of course it is! You help me so much, one. Now, where is that chocolate bar you’ve been saving for emergencies…

continuing studies in probability

I have suddenly begun encountering my neighbors all the time. Maybe they read what I wrote about them. Actually that is highly improbable. It’s funny to think about, though. Yes, it is. To me, at least. That they would intentionally make themselves more accessible to me based upon reading my musings on why I never see them is hilarious. But it’s more likely that this is related to the phenomenon I encounter with things like mist and nemesis birds, wherein something once recognized and acknowledged suddenly becomes omnipresent. Yes, that must be it. I must let it simmer longer, though.

A poem-fragment-something of mine called “The sights and sounds of leaving” appears in the 2012 issue of Paper Nautilus. Being a paper nautilus it only creeps out into the world in paper form. Copies are available here. I have one more forthcoming publication in 2013 (an erasure text) but that will likely be it for a while. The submission process strangles the life out of me and punctures holes into my dreamy writing life (for an extended even darker view, see also: this). I am reclaiming that life.

the one and the other tackle tuesdays

Hello Other!

Hello One!

How are you.

I’m okay. And yourself?

Well, I am glad we busted out of that place they locked us up in.

Yes, me too. It felt so ignominious there. That was clever of you to prop that door open.

Why thank you. So, other….it appears that this is a Tuesday. Usually we are in the habit of convening here on Mondays.

Hmm…I believe you are correct.

What do you think about Tuesdays, other?

Well, it’s my understanding that they are generally neutral.

Other! That is not what I asked! How do you feeeeel about them, other.

Okay…well, the icy horror of Monday has begun to fade a bit. I think Tuesdays are akin to sitting in a tepid bath. The top of one’s body is still chilly and the lower parts are only mildly warm.

Good analogy, other! I think you have something there. I hate tepid baths. They are of no use to me.

So what do we do now. I don’t feel much like griping about Tuesdays.

I know. It’s a conundrum. And I feel unsettled by the sounds of someone trying to saw a hole  into our space here.

Yes, what is that? Is it the telltale saw of Monday still chiseling and chipping away at our souls?

Could be.  All I know is I want it to stop.

Maybe it won’t until Wednesday. What a horrible thought.

Other?

Yes?

What do you think would happen if a being with no feelings came together with a being with too many feelings?

I’m not sure. I think it would be difficult. I think each being would need to be careful to avoid becoming a spectator to the other’s unique pain. They would each need to learn how to speak the other’s language. Wait…are you talking about us?

I don’t know.

More of The One and the Other.

pierrot’s mist

His mind contained nothing but a mental, light, and almost luminous mist, like the fog on a beautiful winter morning, nothing but a flight of anonymous midges
Raymond Queneau, Pierrot Mon Ami

Click on the mist category below for more instances of mist.

piskarev’s mist / fragment 10

But it stopped the breath in his breast, everything in him turned into a vague trembling, all his senses were aflame, and everything before him was covered with a sort of mist
Nikolai Gogol, “Nevsky Prospect”

fragment 10

Stay still now
in the mist
and watch this tree
inch upwards
as your hands
grow cold
and time
leaches light
from the sky.

More on mist here, here, and here.

peering out from dormancy

The recently sliced up confetti of old words sifts through my fingers as the primitive beats of old heavy music pulses in the other room. Winter is upon us, oh yes, with the wind and the snow and the sleet and the penetrating coldness. Every year the shock of how slowly real winter arrives here beats me about the head with a large stick come late December, early Januaryish. Cold fingers tapping on the keys, the chill of the glass in these windows, how reading in the sunroom suddenly means reading in the ice fishing shack. And how I become a grumbly old man, rug thrown across my lap, scarf encircling my neck, unwashed hair standing on end, burning words in my brain to stay warm somewhere, if not on the outer surfaces, then at least on the inner ones.

I still prefer it to the stifling madness of a city summer. I find it easier to get warmer than to get cooler. The lack of mosquitoes in winter thrills me. Sometimes I loiter in my front yard, teeth chattering, for the mere joy of not being eaten alive by those tiny flying demons.

The bitter cold purifies. Most living things die out there. Or go dormant. I go semi-dormant myself, though this state is not dissimilar from other times of year for me.

On cold days, humans appear on the street as rapid bundles of fabric. On hot days, humans appear on the street as languid loops of flesh. Take your pick.

I’m making good use of my vacation from the-place-that-shall-not-be-mentioned-by-name. In addition to copious reading, I’m indulging in a bit of paper management, something which I tend to ignore the necessity of for months at a time. This activity chiefly entails clearing off a desk I no longer use, famed dumping ground of mail that may or may not require saving and paper scraps scrawled with cryptic notations that I must now decipher in order to determine their value. But it also extends to shredding old writing: abandoned manuscripts, hard copies of blog entries, failed stories, and handwritten pieces that have since been either typed up or rejected. Destroying my own words gives me secret pleasure (well, it’s no secret anymore). So much of what I’ve written is dead to me, and I am merely finalizing that. The end of the year is a good time to do this. One desires a clean slate, at least on some levels. We are of course multi-slated individuals, and not all slates require erasing.

Yes, so here I am talking about the weather and my fascinating domestic life. It’s not what I wanted to write about, but I have not figured out yet how to write about what it is that I want to write about. Oddly enough this past summer was more fertile for that, so perhaps the heat is good for something after all.

Playlist for above activities and subsequent transposition into words:

Universal Order of Armageddon – Discography
Sleep – Volume One
Charles Mingus – Mingus Moves

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