In The Event Of Being Unliked

Total Crop Out

A lot of people would not like my life. I get it. I mean when your entire world is basically 4 x 6 and you're frozen to the spot, stuck in a continuous moment of "action", it can get pretty tedious. But see, I don't view it like that. I prefer to think I have a smile on my face forever. Stuck in a moment of happiness, my arm around the person I assume my real life counterpart is involved with. Well that may be way off the mark. Once the picture was taken, my whole universe cooled into existence, but I'm the reflection of what I hope is a happy memory. I see my picture-mates real life counterpart hovering in the sky every so often. She owns us. Her hands are soft and she takes care of our reality. Minimum bending. Now the real person I represent isn't much to look at, so I share that burden but who do I have to impress? I got my version of a gal right beside me. Although...she can be a bit much at times. Manic Pixel Girl. You know the type.  As a life though this is limited but rewarding. Sure it has its other problems. Being on the other side of the gloss can be uncomfortable and those photo albums are dusty and full of bugs. And if you're framed, there's an awful glare that bounces back at you. It's also like one gigantic contact lens hitting your eyes at all times. It makes me squirm. At least I don't have those red eyes some of my friends got though. It's funny, a whole underground scene has popped up about that, because those afflicted have tried to spin it in their favour. "Hey baby, it's not red eye...we call it "Lens Flair" and I got it!"  Ha! Good luck with that. It's a little strange knowing I have a digital twin who has probably been copied a million times by now. That day was odd. Like going to the dentist if I knew what that was like. I may have an eternal smile but it's thankfully a toothless one! But yeah, the Day of the Scanner. It was very invasive and to be digitally reproduced like that was unnerving to say the least. If that's the only way for us to have offspring, count me out. So yeah all is pretty goo...Wait a second. I see something strange in the sky of the photograph, a silver streak moving across it. It is coming in at an unusual angle and the whole world seems to be bending to accommodate this strange device. It suddenly has a sibling, another stretch of gleaming silver. They have now come incredibly close to each other and appear to be...kissing? Maybe sibling is the wrong word and these two are...lovers?  I don't know what's happening but the backdrop, my home for the last few years is falling away. I'm being plucked out of everything I've ever known. I still smile because I can't do anything else. I want to shut my eyes but I wasn't a blinking shot.  If a photograph could bleed I would be now as I've just lost my arm, most of it staying behind, as it remains awkwardly wrapped around my co-star. She whispers a heartfelt goodbye and as much as I'm in pain I can't help but feel even worse for her. She now has a wound in her entire world and she's stuck there beside an abyss where I once was. The way I see it, I have no idea where I'm going to end up, the slums of a scrapbook, the gallery of a notice board, the grim black of a bin or bag, exiled and torn, a two dimensional reject left to crumple. Maybe worse, it could be the flames of perdition through an ordinary fireplace. Cool wood. I am flat down on a desk. **************************************************************************************************

So this is it. I have been assigned my new position. The face who most often looked at me from the heavens, smiling, is now some distance away but I can still make her out but only as a silhouette. She laughs sometimes, when the darts hit a certain part of my anatomy, a point below my belt. She always gets one right in my forehead as well. She has impeccable aim, no doubt spurred on by anger. The first dart is usually off target and hits the spartan white wall I now call home. Staring across its vast never-ending plain offers two things, the hint of escape and the certainty of how futile that would be. Traversing the white would be impossible and besides I am pinned here at the sides.

People say things are gone in a flash. That's where it began for me. All I can do is wait for the onset of stains and the approach of natural fading. I've heard that on some days, in a certain light, it looks a little like Sepia. Well, I always wanted to be so rich.

This is wrong on so many levels

by Emmet O’Brien Khan Noonien Singh opened the curtains of his modest hovel. It h...

A short piece I did to celebrate the life of Khan Noonien Singh.

Independent Artist (Pt.1)

Beyonce fever seems to have gripped the world with her new album coming out of nowhere. So I wrote this to celebrate such an "Independent Woman" (Pt.1) "The marriage to Jay- Z, she got it better solo career than Kelly, she got it The booty she's shaking, she got it, cause she depends on royalties Another platinum release that's hot she'll record it Another "featuring" guest spot She'll work it The album she made is strong She'll drop it 17 videos for each song You can't stop it I depend on the original melody (it's a good melody) All the producers who have been contracted Throw your tracks at me! All the directors who have been contacted Throw your plans at me! All the survivors who are ticket holders Throw your cash at me! All the internet trolls who can't touch the Knowles, Throw your trash at me! Girl, I don't know how you hit the notes like that..."

Arriving at "Conclusions"

And the cowboy, knowing he could never return to the town he had just saved sauntered off into the picturesque sunset, the darkening sky overhead looking like a candle dying out, it's orange coat stuck in perpetual shadow. His cowboy hatted silhouette became smaller and smaller as his story ended... Stirrup Trouble Sam reached the Sunset wall and swiftly found the door handle. Opening the door on the Sun, he stepped outside his story. It had been a long day and he was all narratived out. But he was looking forward to the after party drink. For the longest time as he reached the end of each chapter, or scene in the movie adaptation he had chanced him arm getting into that exclusive club. Each time however he was turned away. "If you aint winding down, you don't get in." The Bouncer would bark at him. "This establishment is for a certain final-tele." The 'Conclusions Lounge' was the hottest ticket in town and getting inside was about as hard as lassoing a rain cloud. However Sam had earned his free pass and he was legitimately a resolved character now. Endings are tough on everyone and having a nice place to go for the aftermath was a great source of solace for any character. The Bouncer eyed him but knowing he had finally made the list, he stepped aside pointedly. "Appreciated pardner," the poorly written archetype said tipping on his hat as he walked past. Inside the bar was quite crowded, it was Summer which meant a lot of TV shows were ending and movies were being watched. The Summer reading folk had a good few months to look forward to and wouldn't be darkening these doors for a while yet. People were buzzing around and telling each other the stories of how they ended up here. "Well I have to admit it, " a random man pontificated loudly nearby, "I wasn't sure about my particular storyline ending but it seemed to be very popular and i was so tired anyway, I just said, 'Bring it on!!'I'm thirsty!" The woman next to him responded. "Well at least you had a clear ending. I just dropped out of the story. I know I was a bit part but if they had given me one line indicating my life had continued...Well it would have been work anyway." Sam leaned against the bar and took a look at the drinks menu. He wasn't much of a drinker, all those saloon scenes were a misnomer but a few of the cocktails looked appealing.  "Give me an "Abrupt Stop." "That's not a drink Sir. That's when we cut people off. We had to introduce it after materials started having those multiple endings. Lord of the Rings had a lot to answer for." "Emm..ok then, " Sam pondered. "An 'Up in the Air' then?" "Excellent choice. You never know what you're getting!" Sam was a loner by nature and narrative and so he continued to eavesdrop on the people around instead of engaging with anyone. A soldier was talking to an Alien. "'Conclusions' is so much better than that last place we used to get dropped off at .Remember "Finishing Touches?" That place was always falling apart!" The Alien replied,"Have you heard? It's become a wrap-dancing club now." The solider just shook his head in disbelief. Another man who was standing next to them but wasn't involved in the conversation piped up. "Uhhh...do they provide...um...like...happy endings?" The Solider and the Alien just turned away. A sassy 20 -something year old female protagonist was giving directions to a friend of hers on a contemporary mobile phone. "I'm at the club. Where are you? You're where? Midsection Point? Jesus, that's ages away! You need to follow the arc along the coast and take a left at the Narrative Dead End and you should be able to see this place. It's a light at the end of a tunnel. No don't worry about it! I want you to experience a brand new culmi-nation. I'm just sorry I couldn't pick you up at the Foreword!" The bar man leaned into the cowboy. "Ah listen man, how are you going to pay for that drink? Have you prepared for every eventuality here?" Sam was quick to reply. "Oh don't worry, I have enough. I had a great payoff!" He did wonder where all his co-stars had gone to. Probably a private house party somewhere in the Third Act district. It didn't matter. Being surrounded by those people wouldn't have helped him come to terms with his big ending. Sam was a smart man. This wasn't just the end of his story. He had long felt the Western was running on empty as a genre. His sunset would be the last sunset for a while. 

Hours passed and he drank a lot of different concoctions. Outcome Rum, Sting in the tale, Anything with a Twist but the night was winding down. He looked around at all the various supporting casts, the backstory bunch and the tale-ing offs. He slumped his head onto the bar and began to drift off. Waking up a little while later he realised he had to go to the restroom. Staggering, his stirrups scraping across the floor he made his way from the bar. It was then he heard the barman on the phone in the backroom having a loud argument. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME. I'M FINISHED!...NO I DON'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT YOU ARROGANT PRICK! I mean if you go through with this deal, this establishment will be gone. And we got a good thing going here. All stories end and we have a reputation for being the best. I mean Penultimates will always be second best. I can't go back to my old job there!" Sam was saddened for the bar-man but also felt expired by what he had heard. He quickly left the bar and began the long walk into posterity.  **************************************************************************************** Conclusions quickly went into for closure. Lots of other venues vied for their business but Endings became quiet affairs. It became the norm for the gatherings to take place in a characters house or for people to spend time with friends and family somewhere special and private. On his first day the conflicted and flawed character stepped out of his story to get some air. He noticed a new building with an enticing sign. "Opening Soon". He couldn't tell if that was a sign or indeed, a bar name.

A Contortionist Writes a Poem about his Job

We fit into boxes when             needs be I can bend my arms sdrawkcab the same with my                          knee I both meta(liter)phorically(ally) put my mofootuth                                           north When something should be        its usually                                             south. They dont need to twist my arm much you can see from how flexible my skkkkiiinnnn is I'm a soft enough touch.   I do get tangled pu at the best of times and in most social situations I'm all thumb(x1000000) I can fit in any drawer, use it like a bed I love my work from toe to head,   the act of c   n   o  t  n                     o   t   r   i  g is my life's work. I make my living from a quirk it's what I'm head                   heels for its what pays for my meals I cant ask for any more.

M

the ghostly air between the cars

i checked the moon obsessively like a watch

legs like trees caught in a typhoon

my exhale hoped it would brush against your breath

my head never pounded, in fact it sang

something old, the thing that falls behind

cabinets

the letters that become too tangled

to ever write

the dreams that rise to be the debris

of the heavens

these things re-discovered through you 

I felt like the lonely soul embraced 

back into a fold

the most simple paradox

of returning but still arriving for 

that first time

you leaned back with your legs coiled

hair swirled, words tumbled,

it was as if my iris stretched to breaking point

by the light of a thousand houses

but instead it was just a lazy gaze

my direction

amongst some greying figures

tiny stones that are strewn around

I dreamt I knew what to say

I dreamt your heart purred in reply

An Overview of the Cork French Film Festival 2013

  For fans of classic French Cinema this years 24th Cork French Film Festival provided a wide array of delights ranging from hugely influential New Wave films to more recent examples of monochromatic mischief.

Making a virtue of its “Noir et Blanc” theme the programme emanated that elusive and trademark kind of cool that we associate with Franco film-making, the expressive shadows concealing what seemed like a million askew narratives. Whether  it was dealing with a straight ahead Film Noir, surely the province of such dark pools and austere skies, a matinee type serial fare or tackling social and economic pressures in far flung countries it never failed to, at its heart, entertain with wit and flair.

  Godard, one of the most iconic of the French New Wave lot was well represented in the screening of “Alphaville”, an odd fusion of  dystopic science fiction filtered through a gumshoe detective story, the influences of this seminal film providing templates for future hits such as Blade Runner. Featuring a brooding central performance by Eddie Constatine, admittedly never the most versatile of actors but his granite like face and natural stoicism put to good use and when set against the luminous presence of Goddess  (and Godard muse) Anna Karina the films hypnotic gaze remains hard to resist. A science fiction film bereft of any real special effects, the sleek architecture of Paris stands in for the distant future and it’s metropolitan beauty is given an ominous and menacing sheen here. One of my favourite Godard pieces even with some of its odd storytelling lurches.

  Keeping with the New Wave for a moment, “Shoot the Piano Player” was screened, Truffauts follow on to his stunning debut The 400 Blows, it’s easy to see why on it intitial release, the reception was so muted. Following 400 Blows would be a daunting task for anyone and a genre fusion of gangster farce and existential musing must have puzzled the audience first time around. Seen from a distance there is no doubting that it’s a minor work for the director, its attempts to marry disparate threads never quite cohering as much as you like. For every well observed, tense moment you get a throwaway gag that is quite jarring and the film prides itself on being almost wilfully obscure from an exposition point of view. Tyring to figure out the relationships becomes gradually less important as the more farcical elements get amped up. Best to just forget it and enjoy some of its well staged scenes, an awkward fight sequence gets special attention for its attempts to convey a really messy scuffle and how something like that might go in real life. For all its comedy moments that don’t quite work, the film has a chilly  unsettling air that is interesting when contrasted against its on the surface fluff. Not essential to be seen but diverting enough while it lasts.

  A highlight of the festival was a multi-media event in which La Jetee was screened alongside an exhibit of photographs from the film in the Wandesford Quay art gallery. This evening was completed with a performance by electronic musicians I AM THE COMOS. La Jetee itself, is an undisputed masterpiece, directed by Chris Marker (his only foray into Sci-Fi alas) and its tight story of fate and time travel mechanics is a disquieting creation. Filmed using only still photographs and voice over it shows that when a concept is strong enough,like Alaphaville no special effects are required and the clipped nature of its production adds intriguing layers to the piece. It makes the audience feel that we are, less seeing a narrative, than unearthing a horrific document of sorts that outlines a terrifying temporal cautionary tale. With language that finds an elegiac balance between technical and poetic La Jetee has earned its place as towering science fiction and it’s no surprise it gave a template to the still most satisfying film of Terry Gilliams career, “Twelve Monkeys” (sorry Brazil fans).

  Persepolis, one of the most contemporary films at the festival this year, is an utterly charming coming of age tale about a girl named Marjane living under a strict Iranian regime and her curiosity about the world at large. Based on a graphic novel which had a distinctive look, thankfully retained for its cinematic translation, the story is an fascinating insight into the conservative traditions and violent past of Iran. Following Marjane’s attempts to explore the wider world, it encompasses a great many tones, the comedy is sweet natured and truthful but the film isn’t afraid to show just how bleak things can get for the central character, not just within Iran's borders but beyond in Europe as she makes a number of mistakes and ends up homeless. What emerges is a truthful, touching story that if played straight might not have been anywhere near as poignant. The cartoonish presentation allows many inspired flights of visual imagination, the narrative strains at the leash of standard storytelling devices and it’s this fluid integration between reality and the more abstract dreams and thoughts of its central character that makes it so affecting. For anyone who feels a stigma with regards to animation, this should be seen as sophisticated and mature film making.

  Maturity was in short supply in the best film of the festival, Aki Kaurismäki’s 1992 take on the famous novel La Vie de Bohème, it follows three Bohemian artists, a writer, a painter and musician and their strange meandering adventures chasing fortune and romance. Rodolfo played by Kaurismäki regular

Matti Pellonpää gets the meat of the story, his relationship with a woman named Mimi giving the film its main emotional hook. Pellonpää had this ability to essay a perfect man child, an emotionally stunted adult who with just one laconic expression could convey a depth of feeling, be it love or longing. His awkward courtship and the genuinely sweet relationship that springs up contains some of the films best gags but it is in the unusual formation of bonds between the characters that the film really takes hold. There’s just no reason we should be so charmed by these individuals but each actor brings a sort of lived-in nuance to the role and it makes their interactions very effective. While episodic in nature and a bit too over long, it is surprising how much this gets under your skin and it’s all down to the subtlety Kaurismäki brings to the affair. Nothing is overstated, and while some longeurs are heavy with melancholy it never gets too grim and even at its bleakest the film has a winning edge and many laughs. It certainly wouldn’t suit everyones tastes but as an exercise in bohemian whimsy it packs a pretty big emotional punch.

  A festival then which covered a myriad of tones all coated in eternal monochrome cool, it showed most definitely who indeed was hue when it comes to the possibilities of classic French cinema.

Jeffrey Lewis and The Rain || The Crane Lane Wednesday 17th July 2013 - Noise

A review I did for Jeffrey Lewis and The Rain. To say I enjoyed it would be an understatement.

mortal eye

This mortal eye scratched like vinyl and popping like sun burst skies the bow of hands to chattering rain a soothing river to the front all the way to the dry back garden the people at rest in the alcove blackened with text are the walls and the nooks those patches of wisdom in these sorts of houses we talk in swift and unmistakable looks and the dead body language of rhythm All in all it's what must be done to feel warm or failing that, at least reborn back to a trusting age there's the myth about time having talons and we are all bound by something so vast that cues nature's stage