Latest Posts by emiguess - Page 2

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.

Half Past Danger, Long Past time

Half Past Danger Issue #1 - Review by Emmet O'Brien Torn from every cliffhanger comic strip, blessed with the same breathless energy as a matinee serial and full of dynamic energy, Stephen Mooney's Half Past Danger is an absolute delight and easily one of the most fun comics being put out at the moment. It's the province of pulp to throw element after element at you and for any thrill seeking heart a comic that packs in retro hi-jinx, femme fatales and "War is (Prehistoric) Hell" asides will charm a particular sort of reader. Comics can be so dour and psychological these days, deconstructing but not celebrating. Now I must admit, my own particular sensibilities run alongside this tonal tornado as a kid weaned on, Indiana Jones, Tintin, The Phantom, Ka-Zar, Doc Savage and their ilk and despite a resolutely Irish hero in HPD's Tommy Flynn the DNA is easy to isolate as being of a very American flavoured action story. It's the Irish aspect that adds a little extra spice to this brew of disparate action tropes. The story of an Army Squad coming face to face with dinosaurs while on patrol on an isolated Japanese Island, the book is fast paced and dangerous, a tricky thing to establish legitimate peril  while having a tongue very much in its cheek but it succeeds with roguish aplomb. If anything almost too much happens, Flynn finds himself traumatised after the Jurassic jaunt and is drowning his sorrows in New York when he is approached by two mysterious British military types, one being a Steve Rogers-esque bruiser while the other is an alluring dame. Pitched at a hyper real level with Mooney's art at its current apex (we can only imagine the more settled he becomes in this world, the even more vibrant the art will become) this is the sort of comic I have been waiting for, for a very long time. Beautifully punched up with Jordie Bellaire's superlative colouring skills, further adding a timeless old world sheen, one can get lost in the tones and textures of the mad-cap world Flynn has to navigate through. With just enough intrigue to hook but not overwhelm and spectacle aplenty, this is derring-do, daringly done right. Keep up to date with Half Past Danger and the talented Stephen Mooney through his site. http://www.halfpastdanger.com/

It Goes Without Saying

The debate was getting lively and from inside the mind Mr. Quote was ready to leave his house. He was fully prepared for the flight. He had been training for it all his life. His wife Chatty was waiting for him at the door. As he kissed her good bye,she was talking incessantly while he remained his stoic self. Noticing his nerves, she softly said "Oscar, don't worry. You'll be well received. We all know you're popular. Weren't you named after Oscar Wilde?" The walk from the Mind to the Mouth was a short enough one. However he wanted to take a steady stride and not rush out. So many thoughts and words stream out too soon. This business was all about the timing. He looked upon a nice neighbourhood in the Larynx. Chatty and he had once thought about getting a rent controlled Statement in that area but he wasn't sure about the area. He was quite vocal about the place failing to strike a chord with him. Stopping to freshen up in a recites-room he took a look at his own inflection and felt good. Confident. He was Wildean and people love Oscar Wilde quotes. He was lucky he was born into such a well respected family.  A piece of food, an obvious out-of-frowner, which had been staying in Lodges, (lodged inside a tooth actually) stopped him asking for directions to the Esophagus. Some people in the Mind and Mouth mistreated such foreign substances in their area but nothing bothered Oscar more than facial tensions so he was only too happy to help. "Follow the path you were on and keep to the cleft, past that Orifice building there and you should be fine!" Oscar then found himself staring at the tooth fields he'd have to navigate across. Lucky for him a breath stop was nearby. Waiting for the next strong Breath he amused himself by reading a newspaper, Tonsil Today which was a publication that was floundering after one of the founding partners had been removed. An editorial touched on the subject. It read: While we will of course miss one of our esteemed editors and wish him well in these troubled times all is still speechy keen here at the paper. We needed to collectively clear our throat as it were, and this was felt to have been the path(ogen) of least resistance. Don't reach for any lymphoid tissues as of yet however, the palate cleanser that we have planned in this issue will not only be a mouthful but shall be quite cheeky in places!

It was obvious this was them paying mere Lip-Service to a disgraced colleague. Oscar sneaked a quick peek at his favourite comic strip Jawbone as the 214 Breath arrived. It was lucky for him too as a saliva shower was just starting. The Breath drove next to Timbre fences and vocal tracts could be seen out in the fields. He heard a Lisp behind him remark, "I'd get the breath more often if the frequency of them improved." They reached the tongue and Oscar prepared himself for his flight. If successful, his Quote would soar in the debate and punctuate some fundamental point that could win the day. He'd hang in the air, having made his mark and would eventually seep back into the mind and be back home before his absence was noted by the Mention family down the street. The tongue launched Oscar and some other Phrases into the air but as they were just getting shy of the mouth, the engine and the speaker stuttered. Oscar felt his body being mangled and distorted as only half of his being was uttered. He was mumbled beyond recognition and as he fell from the argument into the seas of obscurity he thought about Chatty and how she should have married her talkative ex-boyfriend Luke-Quacious. Wildean quips couldn't save him now and due to his now misspoken nature he was wit-out hope as he plummeted to his fate. It was then his panic subsided for a moment and his training kicked in. He quickly looked under his phonetic seating and discovered something that would save him. Placing an item on his back he let his body relax like a slurred sentence. He pulled the string on his Para-phrase and it slowed his descent into the forgotten remarks below.

Review: The Stone Roses: Made of Stone (dir Shane Meadows) - Noise

Review of Shane Meadows' film The Stone Roses: Made of Stone.

A piece I wrote for wearenoise.com on the Shane Meadows music documentary Made of Stone.

Tweeting Action Films With Respect

I don't understand Twitter.  Well I understand how it works and the purpose it serves but I guess I find it hard to utilize it or get too swept up in it.  Thinking about it as a new phenomenon, here are a few classic Action film characters if they had been tweeting about their famous adventures. Die Hard- John McClane  @yippeekiyayroyrogers

You could say I had a pretty "Hans on" weekend. My wife took me back but only after some serious bloodletting on both our parts. #sockittomeplaza Terminator- Sarah Connor @skynetsucks Met a great man but unlike my usual type, the no hopers who have no future, this guy was the only hope from the future. Why are the all the good ones from an alternate timeline?  FML. #judgementdaze The Matrix- Neo @theone55 Stressful few days. Had a lot of trouble with my Agent. Face Off- Sean Archer @wooingdoves I'm glad I have my original face back..but man Castor Troy had some good cheekbones.  Predator- Major Alan Schaefer (Arnie) @notpredator2

Never going back into the jungle again. The mosquitoes are murder. Met an...out of towner. We had words. #wtfwasthatthing?

Kill Bill- The Bride @bridalpower I know, I know. Volume 2 kind of sucked. And Bill was totally wrong about Superman #buddandellesdeathsaresodisappointing Aliens- Ripley @ripleybelieveitornot @alienqueen4realz  @Newt says hi! I hope there's no hard feelings about that whole blasting you into space thing. #INSPACENOONECANHEARYOUTWEET

Bonded Universe

The Aston Martin was bigger on the inside as James Bond was crawling towards it. The door was stiff but a quick flash of his Sonic Q-driver was enough and it dutifully popped open. His whole body glowed in a mass of swirling energy.  He was regenerating. This wasn't the first time. In fact he had been through this twice before. The bland and stilted features of the second Agent, Lazenby morphed into the debonair figure of the 3rd Spy. He was James Bond once again. There were still so many mysteries to solve from his last adventure, like the origin of the oldest game in the universe, 'I-Spy'. He felt the top of his head.  "Hair? Check." He placed a hand on his throat, "Suave, urbane voice?" Check. He raised his eyebrow knowingly with a distinct hint of camp. "Eyebrow? Check. I can raise my eyebrow now. Eyebrows are cool."

MoneyPondy was still amazed at the dimensional impossibility of the vehicle. "An amazing car, this!" She rasped in her Scottish accent, scowling a little as she always did. James sighed. "It's pronounced Cardis, Pond." "What? Are we in Cardiff...again?!" she asked.   James shooed away the question.  "Hardly, we can go anywhere on the planet which has a secret underground base or nefarious organisations. But that's most places as you can see." James' movement became erratic as further regeneration energy was still being expelled. "Woah, something is definitely off with this one. I haven't had this difficult a change, in what feels like an EON." He looked at his watch which caused him further pain. He lunged forward and balanced himself on his Cardis steering wheel. Another huge flash of energy started to build up but this was the start of  an even more unusual effect. James began to scream in pain as a distinct figure seemed to splinter off from his own. Bond slumped down again as this new being got its bearings. It was a man whose face was not that dissimilar to an Easter Island statue. There stood the more traditional 11th Doctor.  "Hello everyone!". He looked at MoneyPondy. "Is that you Amy? You're dressed like a secretary. You're not a kissogram again are you?" James Bond thumbed his Walter PPK, eyeing up the intruder. "And you are old sport?" "I'm the Doctor. Call me 0011 if it makes you more comfortable. I'm guessing you're...." Mondypondy laughed. "Hush, he lives to say it." "Bond, James Bond. You can trust me. I'm the Spy. But how did you...come out of..well..me?" "A-ha! I'm the Doctor. I'm bigger than any story. Actually I'm just being facetious. When I realised what was going on and that I would be subsumed into your being, I took a Rolex and fashioned it  into a crude Fob watch.  I used it to store my personality and in a feat of extraordinary metaphysical engineering I tied it directly into the Tardis or Cardis data core to rematerialise me at a certain point. Like an alarm. The next time you checked your watch, the core would pull me apart from you and restore my memories. I'm like the radio that turns on with the alarm." The Doctor trudged around the room in a panic. "Fusion! Franchise Fusion. Of course! The Tardis is trying to import or graft itself on to something else.." Noting Bonds tuxedo attire he paused for a second, "Nice bowtie." "What are you going on about 11?" Bond was confused while the Doctor was in one of his trademark frantic rants. "Usually I'm good with explanations. No, wait. Scratch that. I'm terrible. My two hearts aren't in it when I'm explaining stuff for too long. I'm from another universe. Well, not exactly. Parts of my universe are here." He pointed to his left. "Like I definitely recognise that chair." MoneyPondy grimaced further. "Can you slow down? You're not giving me a chance to insert the right amount of innuendo." James chimed it. "You can always insert my.." The Doctor was exasperated. "Right, right. Ok. You two want to be all humanly with each other. That's great. Put up a balloon. We have bigger things to worry about. Like the end of our two universes." Bond adjusted his cuff links. "To be honest I don't know what to make of any of this. The last time the universe was in danger, I dealt with it, with no small amount of style it must be said. Ernst Davros Blofeld had a giant infinity bomb and..." The Doctor interrupted him. "Look back where I'm from. This girl called River has done a thing and that's caused another thing and basically that whole universe is dying.  So the Tardis has tried to plug the holes of the universe with anything it could find. Every adventure we ever had, as separate beings are being forced together in a total event collage." "An event collage?" MoneyPondy sneered. "Why would that happen?" "Isn't it obvious? Well to anyone 900 years plus, it should be. The Tardis scanned any nearby stimuli to find elements to incorporate into the broken universe. Rory had a James Bond Box Set. In a multi-verse of infinite possibilities a universe where this piece of fiction actually exists must be out there. The Tardis would automatically seek out some sort of commonality. Although we're not that alike are we Mr.Bond?" "Well from what I know Doctor. We both have impeccable style. We are both British Institutions, we go through many female...ahem...assistants and we both..." "Regenerate. We become new people but remain constant! YES! That's it. Oh I am going to bloody kill River..." Bond dropped his wry tone for a moment. "River? I know a River. I mean I knew her. She...passed away. River Lynd. My first great passion." The Doctor smirked and slyly remarked. "First great passion huh? She'd love that..." Suddenly another woman walked into the Cardis front seat room. "James my love...?" MoneyPondy was incensed. "WHO IS THAT?" "That's Ms. Moans. A Ms. Martha Moans." This caused the Doctor to spin off into another tizzy. "NO! No! No! Can't you see what's happening? The deterioration is already beginning. Martha Moans?! That's not even a clever innuendo name!" Bond replied. "I assure you Doctor. Her name is entirely apt." The Doctor exhaled. "Oh Bond. I'm a fan of you as an idea but I can't say I agree with everything about your character. I met your creator once actually. Ian Fleming. Nice fella. Stubborn though. Got angry with me when I told him he shouldn't name that story 'Quantum of Solace'.." "Doctor, we'll head back to M(offat) Branch and await our orders. Brigadier Boothroyd Lethbridge Quebert could be a great asset here..."

Pond mumbled. "That name is quite a mouthful." Bond couldn't resist adding. "I'll tell you what else is a mouthful.." The Doctor was starting to get frustrated at the repartee. "STOP IT! We need to find a way to disentangle our universes. The internal logic of this place isn't strong enough to handle such an awkward amalgamation. Any slight unbalance and we could lose it all." The crackle of a vortex manipulator was heard and Martha was joined  by a shadowy figure. She addressed the visitor. "You're right. They're BOTH here." A maniacal laughter began to sound and the figure stepped slowly into the light. "GoldMaster!" exclaimed Bond. "Oh yes. Fun! Fun! The Doctor and the Spy. From Gallifrey to Skyfall. It's all been leading us to this moment. I've retained my memories of both universes and I have to say this awkward fusion is my kind of world." He held a key with a central locking control and pressed it. The door of the Aston Martin slid open and two Gold-plated Daleks entered the Cardis. The Doctor looked at Martha. "Why are you working for him?" Bond interjected. "It's classic for my universe old chap. There's always a good girl and a bad one. No use in "moan"-ing about it now." Martha taunted her ex lover. "Bet you haven't been this disappointed since Bad Jaws Bay." What happened there?" The Doctor asked. "My..wife Tracy Tyler got trapped in an alternate universe with my Connery incarnation. These things happen." The Doctor nodded knowingly. "Enough of this talk. Doctor, you are going to steer this Cardis back to the creation of the universe. I mean this universe is fine.." He looked around as he continued. "But I think it could use...a Midas touch." "You expect me to do that?" 11 snapped back. "No Doctor I expect you to die! Oh and keep coming back and dying again. I never get tired of that. Now come on. You know what they say 'No guts, no McClory!'" A Gold Dalek fired a beam that knocked MoneyPondy back towards the wall.  "Now drive this Cardis for me or the next time...I'll give her a proper Gold Star." The Spy cradled the wounded MoneyPondy. "You'll be ok." She could barely speak but whispered. "Promise me, I'll be ok. Promise me on something that matters." Bond thought for a second. "I promise on Albert Broccoli and Custard." She gave little smile before falling into unconsciousness. Angered Bond whipped out his gun and aimed it at GoldMaster. "Now there are two things I never miss. A golden opportunity or what I target with this gun. In this case they're the same thing." A serious expression appeared on GoldMaster's face. "None of you understand it. What I go through every day. The music. I hear it all the time. This cacophony of brass and drums. Over and Over again. 'Ba-da ba-da ba ba da dahhh bahhh ba-da bum..' It haunts me." "Welcome to the 'Theme'" came another unseen voice behind GoldMaster and Martha They were were both struck with a sonic lipstick blast.  "Solitaire Jane Smith, to the rescue!" She stood there confident with a robotic dog next to her. The markings on him read MI-6.  He blasted the two daleks. Delighted to see her Bond quipped. "You always were a master of the 'kiss off'." She approached Bond. "Solitaire is tired of playing a lonely game..." "Well Ms. Smith I always did find you...dalek-table." They embraced and began to kiss passionately.  The Doctor ran over to the Cardis controls. "Ok. I have an idea of how to dislodge us but...it's risky." Bond and Solitaire joined him at the controls. "The mistake my Tardis made..,"The Doctor explained, "is that she tried to mix the elements in such a way that they made a bit of sense. And now she's stirring it all in a big pot of narrative nonsense. Our only hope is to drive this Cardis back into our first moments. The opening adventures. The nexus point from where our legends began." He pushed a number of buttons and pulled on several levers. "We're going back to 'An Unearthly Casino'. The shock of us landing right back where it all started should be enough to shake us loose." "So what you're saying Doctor is that this shared universe of ours is a bit like a martini. It must be..." The Doctor and Bond spoke in unison. "SHAKEN NOT STIRRED!!" Bond and the Doctor smiled at one another.  "Geronimo!", they both said at the same time. And with that a flash of light and The Doctor awoke back on the Tardis. He could overhear Amy and Rory arguing about James Bond. "C'mon Amy, we'll just watch one. 'The Spy who Loved me.' It's a good one! Moore is fantastic in it" "Rory, we are in a spaceship that can go anywhere in space and time. Isn't that enough escapism for you? Do we really have to watch Bond?" "You're Scottish. You should love it." The Doctor appeared. "Alright Kids. I'm dropping you guys home for a bit. I have something I have to do." "Can't we help?" Amy inquired.  "Afraid not Pond."  Rory spoke up. "You're saying No, to us Doctor?" "Indeed. you should call me Doctor No!" ****************************************************************************************** River was lying on a bed in her cell at Stormcage when the familiar sound of the Tardis stirred her. "Hello Professor Song." "Doctor," she beamed back at him. "What would you say River, if I called you 'dalek-table'?" River was unimpressed. "What are you on about?" "Ha." The Doctor walked towards her. "I saved the universe again. You messed it up but you don't remember." "I'll take your word for it sweetie. So where are we off to tonight?" He took Rivers hand in his own. "I was thinking we'd stay in tonight." "You realise this is a cell right? I'm not much of a hostess." "Ha yes, but after saving the universe, paying my respects to an iconic character and having to put up with many groan inducing double entendres I was thinking...Isn't it about time I, just to cool off now...I...dove into my nearest River?" He took her in his arms. "Ohhh Doctor..." The Doctor and James Bond will return in... "From Rassilon, With Love"

Unhooked

Peter Pan soared off once again into the sky of Neverland, Tinker-Bell  was by his side and she left a trail of fairy dust in her wake. The nefarious Hook waved his grotesque left hand at the sky cursing the young adventurers name. It was a typical day in the ever fanciful realm and Peter's last minute defeat of his nemesis was something you could set your crocodile-swallowed-watch by. But as soon as the heroes disappeared from view something had changed. Captain Hook had long been accustomed to being thwarted but in this instance he took it more to heart. Over the next few days the crew noted a change in his demeanour, his florid speech's conspicuous by their absence and he had holed up in his cabin. Those that peered in, saw the once indomitable scoundrel seem depressed and despondent. Needless to say they were  concerned. "Why do I have to go and talk to him?" Starkey rasped dreading the chore. "Because aint you a 'gentleman' Starks? That's what we'se calls you anyway."  Starkey knew he was being wrangled into doing what no-one else wanted to do. He was as much a "gentleman" as Peter Pan was an old timer. "Awright, awright. If I'm not back by the cock crow, tell that parlour wench, of which I'm fond, Ol' Starkey luvs her." He knocked hesitantly at Hooks door. Silence. After a few seconds he decided to take the risk and he crept in. The opening of the door allowed some faint light to spool in and it startled the slumped over pirate. "Who dares...?" Hook bellowed, rising from the ale soaked stupor he had drank himself into. "Awright Cap'n, the lads and me, we've been worried Guv. Seems you're not yourself since ol' Pan took flight, that way 'e does." "Starkey, continue this egress and there's a plank with not only your name on it but I will varnish it with your blood, you thug." Starkey gulped in fear. Hook peered at him, his eyes adjusting to the new light and after a moment of pregnant pause, his exterior seemed to thaw ever so slightly. He sighed. "Very well, enter my chamber. We will converse. I doubt your mewling demeanour could make my mood any worse than it already is".  With a little more confidence Starkey took up a chair at the small table, that Hook was at. "We don' want to pry or be seen to be botherin' you Cap'n but we are worried." Hook gave a short hearty laugh at this. "Ha, well I can't fault the crew for that. It is true that as your superior officer I am to set a tone and I have been re-miss these last few evenings." "You always give good tone Sir. A plundering wicked tone. Best ship I've ever been on." "Forgive me Starkey, but isn't my ship the only ship you've served on that hasn't sank or been blown out of the water? Of course it's the best ship. The greatest ship in all of Neverland..." He put out his arms expansively as he said this. He paused and repeated the word Neverland twice more, with a wistful tone. Shaking himself out of his contemplation he poured another drink for himself and slid the bottle over to his visitor. Starkey promptly, if a little nervously, poured himself a tipple.  "I know what you sea dogs are thinking. Why has the latest fight with that rapscallion so upset our noble leader?!" "Well Sir, I know it's not the best thing to always be...um...losing.." Hook eyed Starkey with a vicious stare. "Losing? Losing? Is that how you perceive these events? God..." He stood up and went over to his nearby book case. He wasn't looking at anything in particular, he had just needed to move from the gaze of his underling.  "Do you like riddles Starks?" "Um...I can't rightly say I do Guv." "Well I'm in the mood for giving you one. So pay attention. When does a man face both defeat and triumph in a single struggle?" Starkey was stumped. "Em..I think I'm going to be a-needin' some more details Cap..." Without warning, Hook slashed his book case with his mighty claw knocking over several volumes before facing Starkey once more. "People think that eternal boy bests me at every turn. But they understand nothing. It's not about victory or loss with that one. No he and I share a greater destiny." Starkey was shaken by the outburst and was struggling to keep his composure. Hook was ruthless and dangerous certainly but there was a honour to his dastardly deeds. He had never seen such an outburst of anger before. Well without there haven been a crocodile or a Lost boy nearby. He stuttered. "It's about the hunt is it then? The fight." "No..no. You don't understand. Nobody, save one, does. I wasn't always like this Starkey. The Cultured and bitter scoundrel you see before you. In my youthful days I plundered. I pillaged. But I enjoyed it.  Sailing the seas, sacking ships. Witnessing wonders and sights even Neverland couldn't match. I may have been less than virtuous but I had a sense of beauty and appreciation for this now wretched world." He slumped back down into his chair and tapped his glass with his hook. "I thrilled to the new and to discovery. Until...I stole a treasure from a powerful witch that was." Starkey mumbled. "A witch. Like a real life witch." Hook replied. "Well she didn't have warts Starks but yes she and her cursed coven placed a spell on me following some thievery." "Cap'n, what did they do?" Hook hesitated. "Oh you silly man. Don't you get it? Peter Pan...is me!" Starkey was stunned and deeply confused. "Peter Pan is Smee? But that makes nooo sense..." Hook snarled in frustration. "NOT SMEE, YOU DAFT HALF WIT!  ME! Pan is me." The drinks had been knocked over but neither had noticed. "The spell the Witches cast, it took something from me. Deep down. My inner child. The part that experiences wonder and immaturity and keeps more youthful reactions ticking over in a persons mind. It sliced off a part of my soul and moulded it into that youthful and mischievous thorn in my side." "You're Peter Pan?? He is you? You are he?" Starkey was dumbfounded. "Why do you think he never grows up? He is a manifestation of infernal and eternal optimism and roguishness. Without my inner child anchoring my soul, I became this. A bitter and cynical pirate. Wealthy but never happy." "Does he know Sir?" "I doubt it. Even though all the clues are there. It's why he loses his shadow so often. Haven't you ever wondered about that? Why It's barely connected? It is what remains of my wickedness, a part that merely skims the surface of his brash exterior." "But then you can never..." "Win, Starkey? True. I can never win and the fight will continue for all eternity." Hook walked over to a window that peered out to sea. "On my stronger days I almost cheer for him. There must be something so wonderful about never having to face the tangled world of adulthood. You know...I was the one who named this realm...Neverland." "Flamin' eck," Starkey exclaimed. "I thought it was because of the magic here." "No, it's my own private little joke. it's because I want him to always be flying above such petty problems and grown up troubles If he ever "lands" then it means his magical existence is over. Kaput. Philosophers say good versus evil is the never-ending struggle. I face a stranger battle. Wonder versus Worldliness. Cynicism versus Optimism. I have been sad these last few days, not because of him escaping, certainly not bu because of how close I came to actually defeating him..." A heavy silence followed. Starkey's worried breathing had become quite audible and he wasn't sure what to say following the Captains confession. "Just go, you cur." Hook muttered, his tone resigned and broken. Starkey got up to leave, still reeling from the secret he had become privy to. He began realis what a precarious position he was now in. Would the dreaded Captain Hook allow an subordinate to walk around knowing this secret? He nervously looked back to make sure Hook was not planning a swift attack to silence him forever.  The Captain remained at the window staring aimlessly out into the ocean. Relaxing a little, Starkey once more turned to the door. It was then a sharp sudden pain went through his entire being and he looked down to see a dark hook plunged into his chest. It was black and featureless. He had been stabbed by Hooks shadow. In his last moments he realised the truth. Just as it was for Peter Pan, Hooks shadow was too a playful sprite, albeit a far deadlier creature. Starkey slumped to the floor, dead. His body was quietly thrown over board by the rest of the crew. They spoke nothing of it, all assuming he had angered the Captain and had been dutifully punished.  Hook marched onto the deck of the ship and was asked by the Helmsman if they needed to change course. After a second of consideration he whispered softly "Second to the right and straight on til morning..."

"Excuse me Cap'n?" The Helmsman hadn't heard the order properly. Hook responded.  "Oh no. No new bearing. We are on this heading. We can't change course now."

Ad verse effects

A friend of mine once told me that "poetry makes him feel ill". Some of the more common conditions like influe-stanza and Janedice or Poe-mentation of the skin are well known but here is a selection of some poetic ailments and injuries that really meter to people.

Tennyson Elbow- 

Byron any further injury, this should sort itself out in no time. Kipling Arthritis- A Rud-Yard stick for every other condition one might face Ben(t) Jonson- It can happen to every man and not in his humerus. Will...em...Shakes Appear?- Carry a medical Bard on your person at all times

Robert Frost-bite - The Road Not Prescribed.

Walt Whiplash- Mobility is the soul of Whit

Plath feet When feet get Hughes and swollen.

Auden-iometry trouble W.H.at are you saying to me??

Severe Back Twain

When life gives you Clemens, make lemonade. 

 Conrad Aching

It's a Pulmonary Symbolism.

This is wrong on so many levels

Well, for Starters...

Amy and Mark had several reservations as they entered the establishment. A tray of champagne glasses bubbling over with resentment glided by them as they were approached by a well dressed man. "We have smoking or non-smoking seething. Which would you prefer?" Mark looked at Amy. "Well her constant smoking is a factor so put us there in smoking. We wanna make a real meal of this." The well dressed man smugly added. "That's our job, Sir. Welcome to Bickerings, known throughout the country for it's fine quizz-ine." "We could have just had this out at home, Mark," Amy sternly said. The couple were being led to their table.  "If we're going to have a proper argument we might as well do it in a five star row-staurant which is what Bickerings is, "Mark retorted. "Let's just try and have some fun here." Amy sighed as she pulled up her seat. Looking around she noticed a number of sobbing couples and a few others completely in silence. "Spend all this money to just sit in silence. That's a good thing?!" Mark didn't reply as he was already perusing the menu.  Amy picked up hers and began to scan it. "Hmm...infidelity is never rare...that's sort of funny..." Mark saw a chance for first blood. "But it can be well done!" Amy glared at him.  "I'm not sure I have the right appetite tonight. Destruction doesn't look all that appealing," Mark was wondering aloud, not really addressing his dinner date. "I'm going to have the salad," Amy flatly said. "I hear they use some of the finest olive vitriol around for it." A waitress walked over to them. "Hi,  my name is Tiffany, Tiff for short. I'll be waiting on you this evening. If you'd care to look at our specials. We have fresh recriminations, chicken bones of contention and of course our famed Fracas bar which is located to my left or if you wish to argue with me, to your right." Mark addressed her. "I know revenge and all that serving cold stuff, but I'd rather it hot. Any suggestions?" "Well, we could bring it out when your conversation is getting more heated or we could have the meat roasted on a spat!" "Hmmm...I don't know," Mark mulled. "I do have a real beef with this woman but I don't want it overdone. Ro-Misery cooking doesn't do it for me. I'll stick with plain revenge. Straight up." Tiff smiled and handed another menu. "The resign list?" Mark took it while Tiff looked at Amy. "Salad was it?" "Yes, with some rude barbs." Tiff corrected her, "Do you mean Rhubarb?" Amy nodded. "Just a pint of Bitter for me then." "And a drink for you Miss?." "Faultless to a tea, thank you." Their first (dis)course were some insults they skewered each other with. Amy was unhappy with the belittle portions but didn't make any more of a scene than the two were already making.  Their main coarse was intense. Mark had to send back his first piece of revenge as it was raw. He settled with the second piece even if it was a little undercooked. Tapping a nearby table he asked. "We got some wounds here, but no salt. Could we trouble you for some of yours?" Over the meal a lot was aired but this was no mere food fight. This was Dinner breaks all. The sort of argument that chews up a couple and then spits them out. They scoffed at one another before they scoffed down some more food.  During a break in the hostilities and as a palate cleanser they decided to engage in perfectly civil chat. Mark laughed."I've heard such good things about this place. It's way nicer that that old dump we'd go for a little bite, I mean fight. What was that placed called?" "Oh yeah Quarrels. I don't know, it had a nice in your face quality. The Anger-biance there was second to none." It wasn't long, though it felt like an eternity like most arguments do, before they had im-gibed enough drink and devoured enough food for thought and were onto their just desserts.  Having had their fill of each other they got up to leave Bickerings and as they were making their way out, Mark noted, "It's a bit steep. But we've had too many disagreements tonight. We won't dispute the bill." Amy replied, "I hear they like when people do that though!" As they neared the door they came across the well dressed man once again. It was clear he was the Haître d' of the place.  "Finest fight we have ever had! Thank you! My compliments and complaints to your staff." The Haître d' just sneered.  "Well, what else would you expect from a 5 Star location such as Bickerings? We're hardly Fast Feud!"

Noteworthy

The character was in searing pain. Thin skinned and only half formed he lay in a foetal position at the bottom of the writers imagination. He needed fleshing out. The oblivious creator was waiting for his next coffee before he'd continue to muse on the brand new being he was willing into existence.  In his local cafe, notepad and pen at the ready, the writer was also hungry. He walked over to the menu and considered the specials of the day. Half jumbled thoughts of a fractured back-story danced around the characters head. It was agony being barely a form but this was the forge all characters had to pass through on their way to either notoriety or obscurity.  He scrambled around in the dark, trying to find a story hook to hold onto but this must have been the beginning. He was being born before the world he had to fit into had been created. He then found himself on an empty white plain. "Hmmm, Should I have soup, or something a bit more tasty...?" The woman behind the counter stood ready but the writer was proving frustratingly slow with his order. Linda, a girl the creator fancied sidled up to him at the counter. "Hey, how is your day going?" The writer smiled, looking down, losing his train of creative thought. The character could see his creator and this woman talk but it was as if they were on the other side of a tunnel, the picture of them getting further and further away... Running one hand down his body he could feel his underdeveloped aspects. His guts were spilling, literally, "out of character". Where were his motivations? His distinguishing features? He kept thinking this was the cruelest way to be. The long wait towards narrative... It was then, he felt a hand grip his own. Looking up through blinkered, squinting eyes, he saw a half familiar face. It looked like the woman his creator had been speaking to, but slightly different. Somehow the figure was more beautiful, like an idealized painting, an unrealistic impression of that person. Linda sat with the writer and they made awkward small talk. He pushed the pen and pad across the table a bit, wanting to give his companion his full attention. The beautiful figure pulled the unfinished character up on to his still unsteady feet. He felt like a deformed creature unsure of what to do in the face of such conventional beauty. He looked away sullenly. The figure put her hands to his face and said in a comforting tone. "I'm the Muse based on that Linda creature out there. I'm here to help you in this strange new world." The character allowed himself a smile as he stared into his rescuers eyes. "Where did you come from?" he asked, his voice feeble, undefined. "From the margin," the Muse explained. "My...I mean her name..was written there and from that I grew. I guess coming from the template of a person has given me a far more solid form than you as an original creation." She beamed a nice benevolent smile at him . She leaned in for a kiss "This is just the beginnin..." Suddenly the two characters found themselves submerged under water. They couldn't breathe and began to thrash around. The Muse frantically looked around trying to find a dry scrap of paper to cling to. 

"Shit!I'm so sorry!" Linda said as she was trying to dry the piece of paper. She had spilled her bottle of water all over it. "I've ruined your work!" "Don't worry about it," the writer said. "It was nothing really, just some random thoughts and notes. Actually my phone battery has died but here...if I could take your number..."

A strange black object with an ink stained nib began to scribble something near the bottom of the page. Cradling the barely formed character, the Muse tried reaching out for what had been written. It seemed to be a collection of numbers but the "0" or the "8" would have been the ideal life preservers for the drowning couple.  "Urgh..." Her hand pushed closer and closer until she could feel the tip of the ink. It was just out of reach. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't close the distance.  Reality itself seemed to fold over as the top of their world began to crumple up. A drop became a wave and bombarded them. The character and the Muse looked back to where their possible salvation had been. The island of numbers was gone. It had been torn away.

How I would have ended "Man of Steel"

Ok, sort of an unusual post here but I've been bothered by aspects of this film and the ending with how Zod is dealt with so here is my personal alternate ending:

Obviously HUGE SPOILERS for anyone who hasn't seen it. In the film we are shown a piece of technology that can put you in someone else's mind and create some sort of landscape there. Now they didn't really elaborate on it, but had I been writing it, I would have presented that process and piece of equipment differently and then at the end used it against Zod. Borrowing from the climax of the Superman story "For the Man Who Has Everything" (a must read for fans, it's wonderful), after the others have been sucked back into the Phantom Zone, I'd had moved the narrative to a point where Zod is tricked using that technology into thinking he had created a New Krypton. It would have been a nice nod to that story and would have been  thematically satisfying cause you could frame him in the same way he was when being "frozen" before entering the Zone first time around. He could be placed in a secret underground installation, built by an up and coming genius named Luthor... One of the last scenes could have been Superman talking with that guy General Swanwick and saying: Superman: Well General, he's in his own sort of Phantom Zone right now, only this one appeals to that monster. Swanwick: And if he ever gets out, are you prepared for that Son? You may have to... Superman: I hope that day never comes. but if he does escape, you can count on me. I'll always be around... *beat*  to help. So Zod has gotten his empty victory. Superman hasn't compromised any morals. It uses established technology within the film. Also It strengthens the bond between humans and Superman and sets him out in a far more traditional hero path.  Yes DC I am available.

Emmet O'Brien takes on Superman.

Here is my review of Man of Steel. I've made it pretty much spoiler free but still approach with caution if you're trying to stay uninformed before the film is released!

Judo Intellectuals

The crowd was going wild as the two combatants social circled each other ready to pronounce, if the chance presented itself. They began to chant the name of the younger fighter, an artist who was given the public tested nickname of Sugar Man Ray Leonard. Thing is he was called that because he was boxing clever. But that would do him no good. This was judo. The more experienced fighter was dubbed the Obscure as he had a plethora of knowledge that served him well in his previous matches. He had swiftly defeated Thesaurus Rex and the Hip-Ocrite was no match for his peerless learned off references and his relentless posturing. He bristled at his nickname, fearing some people would assume a thematic link to the band The Cure, a musical outfit far too well known for this individual to associate himself with.  His coach stood on the sidelines, chewing on his stereo-gum mouthing the lyrics from a million Japan only released b-sides. He had prepared his fighter well but you never know where a heated conversation could go. In this world of Wikipedia as the ultimate training tool, fighters had it tough. Everyone was so well informed these days. As Sugar Man Ray unleashed a shaky but compelling treatise on the disestablishment of outdated draconian governmental ideals the Obscure felt his intellectual mettle take a bit of a knocking. Politics was a weak area and he had made the mistake he always did. He wasn't holding a liberal arts magazine in front of his face as protection. He began to sweat and looked towards the timer. Was it really the same round? It had felt like this particular period of time was stretching on as long as a contemporary art installation. The polymath just didn't add up. Following another well timed satirical swipe from Sugar it was clear he was struggling with his topics and lazily slurred a passage from Franny and Zooey in an attempt to steady himself. "That's as deep as you go Salinger-wise buddy? Pathetic!" his opponent taunted him. "Let me introduce you to my little friend Seymour.." Another direct hit. The Judgemental corner began scribbling in their moleskins and this fight seemed to be ready to Finnish like it was Apocalyptica.  To be fair, in traditional judo punching isn't allowed but the other fighter had gotten in his punchy prose before anyone was talking about getting punches in. Things hadn't always been this way. He had loved to absorb cultural touchstones as a child for the sake of proper learning but it was when a teenage desire to "take on the system" had mutated into a smug 20-something hubris did he realise he had lost his way. What was once a Scott Pilgrimage for him had now become just another Ghost World of thwarted ideals and expressionistic graphic novels. And the fighting industry wasn't the same either. The "Psuits" had it all sewn up, in both meanings of the phrase. Obscure wasn't ready to just fade into obscurity that easily and with a well planted zinger on his opponents moniker. "You should be called Sigur Ros Leonard!" he got his second wind. But it was probably the first wind most of the crowd had heard of. He stepped up his game, readying his signature move, a complicated maneuver his critics had called "The Pullman". It was just an elaborate name for back-Philip that he'd poetry slam on Sugar but the timing was very important. It was his turn to taunt. "Stop hitting your Will Self! Stop hitting your Will Self as he spun his way around Sugar Man Ray he began spouting film reviews of of French New Wave cinema, adding some bland platitudes about a cultural Renaissance. His mixture of classicist film critiques before a swift super(upper)cut of famous film quotes and insults proved too much for his once formidable foe. "I always said I'd hurt you,"The Obscure said in a moment of faux sincerity to his enemy. " I told you I'm a fuck up who would mess you up in the long run." Sugar Man Ray conceded defeat, reasoning that he had a mean Left Agenda. "But then I lean on my left a lot too," he consoled himself. Retiring to his library just outside the ring he began to lick his wounds and apply for unrealistic environmental drives. The Obscure had won the day and perhaps garnered too much acclaim. He knew his career was over but he was going out in a big cult classic way.  The Referee/Lecturer held up his hands to the build of an ecstatic crowd cheer.  This was the crowd who had just minutes ago wanted Sugar Man Ray to truimph but they had quickly changed their minds. I think it's called backlash. "Well Educated Ladies and Thoroughly Well Researched Gentleman. I present to you The Obscure who is our new Noam Chom-pion!!"

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.

Self Pithy

Self felt Less, at a loose end a collection of "what to do" and hazy "what he did" He admired the zest of his friend who had just gotten a tattoo oh that crazy guy, Id! He had gotten an apostrophe When Self saw that tiny mark it sank in and he cried Self was so lost y'see He didn't have that shiny spark that would brand him as an "I'd..."

The Smoking Pun

Conversation was dead. His body was slumped over his chair when the the lights came back on. Silence was in his element, grinning but despite him enjoying the situation, it wasn't clear if he was the murderer. The last thing anyone remembered before the black out was a heated conversation about a burning issue, that of smoking. Cigar had piped in with his view while Pipe tried to get the last word. He was close but no Cigar. As master of ceremonies Conversation had been trying to be fair to all parties. He kept the language clean since Nico was still a tine-ager but when it came to the issue of Cigarettes all the relevant parties were lacking the proper social filters. "Smoking kills," Theory proclaimed,"And there lies the proof!" "Any idea who the murderer could be?" Query was concerned. She had been asking a lot of questions lately and nobody liked that very much. Theory flailed around the room while pontificating loudly. "What we need to do is find out the final quip before Conversation died. We track down that sense of humour and we find the culprit!" Everyone stayed quiet. The scene had been a mess of people shouting their views and trying to come across as more important than they were by blowing smoke.  "We never should have invited that man Tobacco and his 'Lobbyists' to this get together," Count Finite, the Lord of the Manor sighed, speaking to his trophy girlfriend, a model by the name of Tally Marks. "I believe Tobacco is involved in organised crime!" Tally was all set with her rich paramour but couldn't resist some idle gossip. "Well honey, I've spoken to Tobaccos wife InHayley and she seemed very passive in general, even the fact that she heard second hand about this party tells you something. I'm not so sure she knows what her husband is up to. Total smokescreen." Theory was concerned about his ability to solve this crime. He was just a layman, a working Theory, not a definite Explanation. He had failed those exams, because he could find any references or cite himself. "Everyone had a reason to kill Conversation, the guy never shut up," he wondered aloud. "Slip of the Tongue had tried to slip out earlier but that was just cause she was having an affair and was afraid she'd incriminate herself. Why she ever left Schtum is beyond me but I guess she didn't like being a kept woman." Suddenly the lights went out again and Theory was stabbed. "That's one theory eliminated," came a chilling voice from the darkness. His body dropped to the floor but this time the killer had been less careful. His first smoking pun that had killed the conversation had been said in a mysterious tone. The exact line was "That's just how Mr. Tobacco rolls..." followed by Conversations final gasp. No-one could figure out the identity or even the gender of the voice. But happy with his quip about Theory, the murderer had let a slightly grand accent come through and a tone which was distinctly snooty. As the lights came back up, the whole crowd turned to the same person. It was such a cliche, they were annoyed with themselves that they hadn't thought of it already. Who was always being picked on by Conversation when he was making jokes? Who had, due to his past been led ashtray and had definite loyalties to Tobacco and Smoking in general? It was so obvious, the evidence could match nobody else. The Butt-ler had done it.

An Illuminating Encounter

Sam was sick of waiting. The woman on the phone said the Electrician could arrive at any time on the Monday between the hours of 9am and 5pm. That was his whole day gone. He had to book some time off work, which hurt him more in principle than anything. He couldn't have gone in any way, not with this hanging over him. He felt very unfulfilled at his job and it was the one place his ideas were never heard or nurtured. So Sam killed some time, reading, watching TV but in all his pursuits he was distracted. Afraid he would lose it, if some part of his mind wasn't constantly dwelling on it. At 1.43, there was a knock on his door. Cursing the low door ways of his house he carefully ducked as he walked through them into the hallway. "Hello Sir, "came a cheery voice from the Electrician as he entered the house. "I'd ask what's the problem...but I have eyes. I can see it quite clearly!" Sam didn't need to point it out. Over his head, a few feet up, hung a light bulb floating in the air but totally dead and dark, as if someone had turned it off. "I've had this all weekend. Couldn't leave the house and there was no-one on call til Monday, "Sam fumed, leading the Electrician into his kitchen. They both sat at the table. "Thanks for coming out though." The Electrician replied. "Thank you for being here! You have no idea how often I go out to someones house and there's no-one to let me in." "So like a false alarm?" "Oh yeah, I have to remove false alarms from people psyches all the time!" Sam poured a drink for his guest. "Alright Buddy," the Electrician bellowed, "Talk me through it." "Ok, last Friday night, I came up with this ridiculously good idea. We're talking a game changer. Well maybe. I'm a sort of a part time inventor and well I was really excited but then...well this happened. The light bulb appeared over my head but it was switched off. Is this common?" "Sure, happens all the time. You see people are...y'know...tentative with ideas. On like a subconscious level. They worry it mightn't be thought out enough, or sometimes folk are afraid that their idea has been done before. It all depends on how you're wired man." Sam was anxious. "I'm afraid to take a shower! I don't want to get electrocuted!" The Electrician looked in his bag. Rifling through it, it was obvious he was trying to find some thing. He removed various forms of pliers, voltage indicators and insulation. Sam's eyes widened at each new tool that was laid on the table. It looked like it was going to be a physically taxing job. Finally the tradesman found what he was looking for. "There she is, at fucking last." He placed a messy notebook on the table along with a chewed on pen. Noticing Sam taking in all the hardware he laughed. "Oh no. No! This isn't for your job Lad. My next job is a husband and wife. Their relationship needs a little bit of a spark after all these years! For you ,all I need is a notebook." Sam was unsure about this. "For real?" The Electrician began to put away the miscellaneous equipment before testing that the pen could write. He looked up at the poorly illuminated Sam. "Basically we have got to work through your idea a bit more. Flesh it out. And boom, let there be light!" Sam shifted nervously in his chair. "Um...well....I'm not so sure about going through my idea..." "Jesus man, I'm not going to steal your idea. I'm happy with my lot in life and plus I've been privy to far more lucrative jobs than this. I think I'll beat temptation here." For the next hour Sam outlined his great idea. The Electrician was taking notes. As a seasoned worker, he asked the questions that needed to be discussed to ensure the ideas viability. Despite his initial hesitation Sam enjoyed the process and even indulged in a little give and take about the concept. 

Success! The light bulb over his head flickered to life and while it still remained that bit dim, it was nonetheless a nice soft light. "Ha, I wouldn't read by it, "The Electrician joked. "But as ideas go, it gets my volt!" Sam waved off the helpful Electrician, telling him he would have to be credited, should the plan come to fruition. "I'll just take the bill kid. It's my job!" Getting back into his van, he was dismayed to learn it would not start. "Fucks sake," he exhaled. "This is a state of the art vehicle here. It's meant to run on fumes!" A few more tries of the ignition proved fruitless. He took out his mobile and made a call. He was informed that it might take an hour or two for what he asked to be done. "Great, I'll just have to sit here then." He sank back into the drivers seat. "And wait for that damn Fumigator."

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.

Suburban One-trick Blues

I love Bob Dylan and decided to write a sort of potted history of key moments in his career using "Subterranean Homesick Blues" as a template. For the record any ribbing is meant as utterly affectionate. It's Alright Bob (I'm Only Teasing).

  Bobby's in his element making a new precedent he sure as hell isn't thinking about the protest movement man from Newport

Wire cut, pissed off

Said Bob's a traitor

Now Judas gone and kissed off

Look out Bob it's something you distort God knows why But the folkies sure got hurt better crash your bike down an alley way looking for time willing The fans in the Royal Albert Hall

wanted folk Zimmerman they got Bob Dylan Bobby in his neat suit Fans full of what the fuck? feeling in a rut

take amphetamines to strut Many later say, they were never that nay in how the band did play but that's retroactive hearsay Rumours from back in the day! Look out Bob next few years gonna be rough going do bad country stuff domestic bliss, you going to bluff but we will get the basement tapes stuff

you don't need the Jokerman to tell you that's more than enough Get married, get divorced Idiot wind such a force Ring them bells, ride that horse Some gospel stuff to endorse Try out Lanois, then Au Revoir Get burnt out, before really fail Fall ill, but then prevail Jack Frost produce, big sale Mumble in theatres, never ending tours in thousand seaters Get medals from world leaders Scorsese film makes him cool Bob then playing the Christmas fool Dylanologists, silly believers Watch the phrasing of his meters Now Tempest, far from his best Dylan shuffle, enunciating trouble Cowboy dressed, some verses he guessed but he's really trying "Aw Bless" Please the die hard, even when he don't try hard Don't download, buy the damn record 50 years of performin' he must be bored Look out Bob, they keep making you hip Better jump into self parody Masked by some senility give the audience mild hostility Keep on keepin' on while you still got mobility And rally against the censors On your never ending tour adventures The man will always work til the end of his mortality...

N. E. W. S. Conference

The four of them were sitting uneasily around the conference table, eyeing each other up. Two men and two women. It was obvious from the body language that none of them wanted to be there but were compelled out of duty...and also...a geomagnetic field was keeping them in place.  There was a heavy silence but a mumbling could be heard outside the door. One of the men piped up, "That Sun of a bitch. I have things to be doing. I just want this meeting over with." One of the women sighed.  A bookish fair haired man entered the room looking at a clipboard. His hair was bright gold and despite his well kept official appearance, it seemed to want to escape the pony tail it had clumsily been tied up in. It seemed that any second this man would go supernova and shed his accountant-like guise and go up in flames. He sat at the top of the table and was humming as he flicked sheets over on his board. "Hmmm...I see...Yes...Yes...." He warmly smiled as he looked up and in a jovial tone began "So...How are we all doing today?" The four figures looked at each other with a mixture of boredom and incredulity and said nothing. "Fine. We'll get straight to business. I'm happy to report that your yearly reports have been filed and totted up and you've all compassed with flying colours! You must be all very relieved and proud!" Another beat of heavy silence. "Of course it's only regulation that I'm here for a final look see. And to make sure you're all happy in your current positions and well directions...ha...in life." One of the men shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The blond haired official noticed this and said "Ok, East. Tell me what's wrong?" East began first addressing the fair haired man before generally looking at his three other colleagues. "Well Mr. Sun, I'm not happy for a number of reasons. As the direction the Earth rotates on it's axis...I feel I should have more...well...axis in general. Certain levels of clearance are being denied to me and I have to wonder why. I can't help but wonder do people have a problem with my...orientation?" North scoffed at this. East continued. "You know Mr. Sun, we do the morning shift together and I really enjoy our working relationship but as the day goes on I feel frozen out." North interrupted. "You don't know anything about being frozen.." "Mr. North," The Sun chimed in, "You'll get your chance. Go on East." "That was pretty much all I had to say." "Ok...How do the rest of you feel?" North was a cool customer and assumed a leadership role as soon as he began work. "Look, I say it like it is, I mean I'm not called "true north" for nothing and I think East is overreacting. We all get our jobs, and some are better than others. I'm sorry if you're not a morning person but that's just the way it's gone.I mean back me up here South..." South didn't know if she agreed with North but could understand his point of view. She had once been attracted to him but chalked that up to his magnetism. "Well..." she muttered, "I do think as positions go, East gets sort of the short shrift and it's only now...dawning...on him..Ha. Sorry, couldn't resist!" East looked generally unimpressed but was at least grateful South seemed to side with him a little.  She spoke on "Let's give him some latitude here to air his grievances." West grimaced. She picked up a glass as if to drink from it but instead used it to motion while she made her point. "To be honest, I'm with North and I usually don't like what he has to say but come on! We all studied our ass off for our 90 degrees and came to work here and we knew what we were getting into. Let's not deviate too far off course!" North took charge once more."I know I'm not that popular with the rest of you because of my fame. And for working on a fixed scale, "he smugly said, "Look I don't need to map it out for you. I'm the name here and I know it." "What is wrong with you?" East spluttered. "Do you not hear yourself?" South took the chance to comment "I think it's some times a case of 'the northern lights are on but nobody's home'." West groaned. South added. "I know conversations always go...South...when I get involved." She giggled.

"SHUT UP!" shouted the other three in unison, peeved at all the punning.

"That's another thing." East was angry now. "He not only gets all the fame, he gets perks like the Northern Lights and he's an aurora boring-ass as far as I can see." North was incensed."Hey! You get sunrises, you get majestic beauty on a daily basis. My perks are seasonal!" "I know I'm seen as the 'Wild' one, here" West announced "But may I make a suggestion. Maybe we should do something where we  all like I don't know...switch around jobs or something..."

Mr. Sun looked very worried at this. "I was just talking to Mr. Earth outside this room and I don't think he'd sign on for such a major overhaul like that. Things like that require polls...and well poles. It's very complicated." "So what can we do then?" North sneered as he sat back slovenly in his chair. The Sun looked back down at his clipboard. "I will take all of this under advisement and you all know just how fair I am." East still looked unhappy but after having made his point conceded that there was no immeadiate solution.  Mr. Sun stood up. "But now it's time to leave. We're way over time here. The Seven Days of the Week are eager to get in to this conference room and work on their various scheduling conflicts!" North sauntered out giving a mocking wink to East as he left. He and South soon filed out behind him leaving West and Mr. Sun in the room. "So.."Mr Sun whispered, looking around to ensure they were indeed alone, "Your place again tonight?"  West smiled, "Of course, no-one has ever gone down on me quite the way you do. Well...maybe South..." "Sssh...no-one can know about our relationship! They'd think it was awfully inappropriate!" Somehow she had made the Sun go even redder in his cheeks. West wrapped her arms around the bookish star "Actually boss, that reminds me. Can I get a rays?" "Sigh...Fine, I'll see what I can do." He leaned in for a sun-kiss before saying "Oh the things I do for some Wild West action..." (Authors note: This piece was inspired by the Song No Aurora by The David Nelligan Thing. Check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwwlSATDJUQ&list=PL898AB4410575448E&index=6 and their tumblr here: http://davidnelligan.tumblr.com/)

Blocking out a Scene

There once was a shape a square, geometric Who wanted to escape a dull life he wished was more hectic. He felt in his family, that he was the dumb dunce No social circle to speak of, not even a circumference

His Square parents, (in both meanings of the phrase) they were that shape and painfully un-hip, Decided that maybe he had to get aways and take some sort of learning trip It was the only way they could think to ease some of the tensions Father square to mother, "He's always been angle-ling to get away and discover his true dimensions!" Though as a block he was fairly sturdy his mother insisted he keep warm You know how maternal shapes do worry "Make sure you wear something to match your form!" The whole family saw him off on that Rhom-Bus "I wonder," said his rectangle sister,"will he even miss us?" Choosing some coordinates so far away but keeping the location discrete for certain The block looked back at his family, as if to say I will come back a far more rounded person And what came with this new sense of space Love triangles and some right angles in the wrong place Some errors were made, mostly directional Life can hit you with these types of surprises He realised that he was indeed bisection-al and loved things in all shapes and sizes and in his mind, the words of his family he could hear 'em "You still must prove yourself as a trusted theorum!" He lost his virginity to an acute triangle who smoked a lot of hypot, was real bad nuse the opposite of his next romantic entangle was an algebra-burning mathematical muse He didn't contact his family, he really didn't give a damn Only once every few months, would they receive a cursory parallelogram He had a few part time but big enough gigs Mostly in text books hanging out with some graphs You might have seen him as some numbered Figs He made some cash and had some laughs So for a few years this simple country rube Expanded his horizons and became a cube He wrote a letter to his family one night and hoped they wouldn't be too critical He decided to give paper up and have a bit more byte "Mom, dad, your block son has gone digital!" "I'll be working very closely with new people  you can really bet this, Tomorrow guys I'm trying out for some new game named Tetris!"

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

In-Jokes

The Rabbi was late. So I was drafted in. The change of pace was nice since I'm usually behind closed doors. My job description is as the eternal knocker.  I guess my girlfriend is right, it's a dead end job, the stalest set up in joke circles. But I have mouths and...well Lines to feed. Knock, knock. My knuckles are so damn blistered after so many years. I wait for the inevitable first question. Then my hands fumble over the card I've been given. Always a different word.  They ask their second question. I deliver the punchline. The whole world groans. We are the necessary evil of the humour community. It could be worse though. The guys in the physical comedy building bend over backwards, both literally and metaphorically for their laughs. They have to slapstick it out. The poor bastards. Today however I'm spreading my wings. I'm going anecdotal. Posing as a Rabbi and hoping everything is legit. Because outside of a joke context, impersonation of a religious figure might be illegal. Hmmm, maybe I should look into this. I signed my contract or Gag-order as they say in the biz, so I should be covered.

My Vicar co-star isn't being too welcoming but I recognise him from other marquee jokes. He thinks he's so hot under the collar but I know he had some trouble a few years ago, linked to some pretty sexist jokes that dogged his career for a while and if rumours are to be believed...well... let's just say this guy will never be the straight man in a double act if you get my meaning... "Welcome to the team," The Priest extends his hand to me. "You're our Rabbi, yes?" "Yeah, I guess the original Rabbi, well He-brew us off" I laugh, trying to fit in but I'm met with a stony silence from my colleagues. I chide myself for my attempts at a pun. Leave that to the Word Players Union. They are well e-quip-ped for all that. The Vicar chimes in. "He called in sick. Even though he could still work like that. There's a market for sick jokes but I don't want anything to do with that. We're artists." He looks me over and continues.  "Listen Man, I just want this over and done with as quickly as possible. I have a satirical job to get to in about an hour and I have to travel across the funny pages in Read-Hour traffic. So can we just get this done?" I choose to ignore the display of arrogance as I really can't stand folks like that. I can see their punchlines coming a mile off. Conceited, laughing all the way to the Prank. Looking around the bar, I'm trying to find something to talk about. It's then I notice a door marked PRIVATE. I am intrigued and say to the Priest, "What goes on in that room over there?" "Oh that. That's a Private Joke. For V.I.P.s only I'm afraid." A little deflated, I motion over to the Barman, our most significant foil. "Who is performing this joke, if I may ask?" "A real Stand Up guy" comes the response.  I wait for Tongue, the notoriously slippery producer, to usher in the director, a Mr. F. Bone. I've heard about him, Funny Guy, he and his wife are hotly tibiaed to be huge. He addresses the crowd. "Listen everyone, I'm easily tickled. But that doesn't mean I don't want 100% from everyone here. Let's give 'em a good ol' belly laugh!" As the set up begins, I think about my darling Taboo and how I have to nail this for her. This joke will literally open doors for me. No more damn knocking.

Having your Phil of a Bad Day

  One day when I was out at my job, trying to bring home the Francis Bacon, I realised I forgot the key to my existence and was John Locked out of my house. Needless to say I was Episted.

Trying to ponder my way out of this situation I decided to sit in my Kierkegaarden until a solution presented itself. I should have as-humed something like this would happen. I had checked my horoscope earlier in the day, I’m an Aqunias and it didn’t bode well. However when it comes to that sort of stuff I’m a total doubting Thomas.

Thing is, I had remembered every thing else, my shopping nihi-lists were all present, though truth be told I had Bentham a little in my pocket. They were just a list of Utilities needed but it was when I didn’t hear the usual Bertrand Russell-ing of my keys in my pocket did I realise I was up shit creek in a Camus without a paddle.

My friend Plato, who was out getting some tonics, would be home soon and he always had a spare insight into my woes and would surely be able to help. Not that he didn’t love to Socrates me over my personal views. The Imman Kant let anything go.

The Sun Tzu was shining brightly over head as I sat there trying to see if there was another way into my house. There was a window into my soul up high but to squeeze in there would be against the laws of metaphysics and I couldn't stop thinking how I wished I had left the doors of perception unlocked that day. Not to hit on a Søren spot it's the only way to keep certain bad elements out. When dealing with philosophical quandaries so many people have their own Hobbes stories and Buddha, I mean Buddy, I don’t need that.

 It was then I realised that Plato had a cave he was always going on about. Maybe I could stay there til I find the key to my life. As I walked off leaving the area I thought my life is what I make it, I have Descartes Blanche to do with it as I please. I think I am Happy, Therefore I am. So everything was looking up but little did I know, fate had other plans and I was none the Schweitzer.

It Sartred to rain. 

Living, A Lie

So you’re really doing it?

Yeah.

And you’ve thought everything through?

Jesus, yes.

Are you sure? I mean this isn’t something you can just change back if you’re not happy!

Would you just stop! I haven’t considered this lightly. This is what I want. Would you just support me in this?

Well look I’m here for you. No question. But this sort of thing...it makes me...uncomfortable. I’m sorry but I can’t help it. You are talking to the wrong person. I mean you know what I’m like...what my nature is...

I know, I know. A lot of people are going to feel that way but that’s their problem and it’s yours too. I can’t live my life as...a li...as this...just to make you feel better.

You’ve picked a name then?

Yes.

Care to share?

Ha, it'll be very accurate or maybe even Gospel.

Slandy won’t like it. Slandy can take a running jump. Or a rumoured one.

Well if you do this, you two can’t hang out anymore!

I know. Maybe that’s a good thing. Slandy is always talking shit about people. I've never liked it.

Oh wait a minute! Never liked it?! You were in cahoots! I saw the two of ye take apart many a person over the years.

Well I’ve changed. That stuff we used to do.I did it cause I felt I was supposed to. Playing a part that was decided for me by others...But no. I’ve changed.

Not yet. But you’re going to. You know...you won’t be able to wear the same clothes. They'll be less colourful...

I’ll have nicer clothes. Plus I dig the style. It’ll suit me.

And your family. Are they being cool about this?

Ha, well considering my family I’d have to expect to never know what they’re really thinking!

Well Fib is being...well Fib. I mean Fib has his own problems. He got married recently to Guess. She’s very much an Educated one, that girl but it’s still hard work. A member of the Lie family with someone who may or may not be right.

So it’s Guess-work then ammiright?

Har har. What about your Myther? How is she coping with all this?

She doesn’t want to talk to me about it and that’s fine.

She’s from an older generation. My grandfather Fable wouldn’t be able to handle this either. She keeps asking me, didn’t I learn anything from his stories?

When is the operation?

Honestly...and ha...I better get used to that word, I’ll be using it a lot more, I haven’t decided yet. 

I’ll have to tell Slandy..I mean Slander before it’s all over the Libel Express! But it’s happening? You’re really getting a text change?

Yes, really! The Lie you see before you today, the Lie you’ve been living with these last few years has decided to change its gender. This time next year I’ll be a Truth. Always honest, sometimes uncomfortable but never wavering from what is right. I want people to see me walking on the street and say: "Well aint that...the truth?" I mean I had fun, all my running around, living in that rough Falsehood with all those Frauds but my last relationship with Deceit showed me. I’m just not happy any more. So what do you think about that Ms. Prejudice?

The folly of Truth, as my mother would say.

She’s biased.

No, her name is just Bias.

This is a drawing from a book I have written and am trying to get published. Art by the incredibly talented Marie Denham.  mariedenham:

The Moon Fox- Children’s Book

Written by Emmet O’Brien and illustrated by moi

Left

the first time we hold

on this earth

was to the most perfect

flirty dirge

and blessed are the mixed

signals

because it's where false hope

does flourish

in dreams to the left

and in the most solid gray

the amber eyes of the past

with flies out my mouth when i

should have something to say

I can not speak for too many of

this times so called men

but I echo the thwarted

when I say

get me something sharp that I can wield

again

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.

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.