Thursday, March 29, 2012

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD: review by Crispy Flotilla

To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
129 min - Crime | Drama | Mystery - 16 March 1963 (USA)

Atticus Finch, a lawyer in the Depression-era South, defends a black man against an undeserved rape charge, and his kids against prejudice.

Director: Robert Mulligan
Writers: Harper Lee (novel), Horton Foote (screenplay)
Stars: Gregory Peck, John Megna and Frank Overton


REVIEW: Man, adults can look creepy in this movie.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

MONDAY, JUNE 31, 1999

It was then that I finally realized that the kidney bean and the almond were related. And so I called them up, and invited them to dinner. The kidney bean said it would be delighted; the almond didn’t answer the phone. In the end, neither showed up and I ate alone. Fiber, salt.

How I miss my family!

HERE'S THE FUNNY THING

When Lassie was first on the air, it wasn’t called LASSIE at all. It was called JEFF’S COLLIE. Why didn’t they just call it LASSIE? It’s hard to imagine a world where Jeff was more recognizable and had more star power than Lassie. And I mean any Jeff at all. There is no famous Jeff more famous than Lassie. Of course, there was a time when there was no Lassie. But then again, there was a time where there was no Jeff. Or at least, no one cared that there was a Jeff, except Jeff’s parents. Or perhaps just his mother. Jeff’s father was also Jeff. Need I say more? Perhaps not.

Except this. It was called LASSIE, at first. Many years later, they changed it to JEFF’S COLLIE. I wish I could understand everything. I can’t.

Then Jeff died of a heart attack. Jeff’s mother would have buried him, but she was dead, too.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

MY WALLS

My walls wouldn’t be covered in paint if my chair wasn’t covered in paint. And my sofa, also covered in paint like my stool is covered in paint. My fridge, my ashtray, my shoes, yes. Covered in paint. I own a beautiful painting on my wall - and it is also covered in paint, but it is the wrong paint. Well, some of it is, some of it isn’t. But the nightstand, the throw rug, the fireplace? All paint, everywhere, it’s all wrong, it’s all all wrong, what do I do. No. No. None of this would be covered in paint if I wasn’t holding a bucket of paint in my hand, covered in paint. The funny part is, the bucket is empty. But it does talk about paint. On the outside it says: PAINT, on the inside, nothing. Funny. Where’s my brush. I need to change all of this.

Monday, March 19, 2012

WHY BOTHER

Why Bother Loving Anyone
is what a sleeping pill once told me

If you do, they quickly lose interest
fall asleep and dream of something
utterly unrelated to the joy you just
provided when they touched you and
held you for a moment in their mouth

Monday, March 05, 2012

LESBIAN TWINS, a study by B.J. Perske

HERE’S THE STORY

Bill’s at the bottom of the staircase with his hands on his hips. He has a curly lock of brown hair on his forehead, and strong, brown eyebrows. His belt is brown and his pants are brown, although his pants are not as brown as his belt. His pen is in his breast pocket and it is red. 

Three stairs above Bill walks Hilda. Hilda is wearing a salmon colored, form-fitting sleeveless dress covered in small, colorful amoebas and question marks. Her hair is blonde, and she is not looking at Bill, but at you. She is walking up the stairs in her smart white pumps, ready to take a nap with her lesbian sister Jane, who awaits her sister Hilda, upstairs.

Upstairs, Jane's door is open. She is on either the salmon-colored bathtub, or the salmon-colored bed. It’s hard to tell. She is either shaving her legs or putting on her shoes or taking them off, as she awaits her lesbian sister Hilda who is on the third stair in her form fitting salmon colored sleeveless dress. Again, it is hard to tell. One thing is for certain: Jane’s dress matches Hilda’s to a T. 

Jane is also ready to take a nap with her equally lesbian sister, Hilda, although you cannot tell this from the way she either puts on her shoes or shaves her legs. Jane is looking at her legs rather than at you, unlike Hilda, and her legs, like Hilda’s, are quite beautiful, even though they are make believe.

Not pictured is the mother of Hilda and Jane, who insists that Hilda and Jane take a nap together. Even though she is not pictured, her presence is strong, as evidenced by the fact that Hilda is walking up the stairs in her salmon dress and Jane awaits her on the bathtub or bed in her salmon colored dress, fully prepared to nap. The word that would describe both Hilda and Jane’s attitude towards their mother in general would be “obedient.”

Still, whether or not Hilda and Jane’s Mom is mean or strange or loving or Swiss German or well dressed or a Communist is impossible to say. Nevertheless, her presence is felt, even though it is mysterious, and her powers are daunting, even without a face or voice or dress or anything at least according to the way in which she is able to convince her lesbian daughters to take a nap, which they are now preparing to do. 

It is worth mentioning that Bill, to my mind a lesser character, is furious. Jealousy stabs at Bill’s heart as ugly visions multiply in Bill’s brain as he stands with his hands on his hips and his curly look, unmoving at the bottom of the staircase, still three steps away from Hilda who looks like she is moving but so far not so much. What Bill’s ugly visions might be we cannot say: suffice to say they are quite ugly. One must ask: who the hell IS Bill? I don’t know. Still, like Hilda, he does not budge. He remains stalwart in pose, simply reflecting on the ugly visions that he claims to have in his brain, no matter who he is or what he is doing there. Bill, like the mother of Hilda and Jane, is mysterious, and although present, inert.

Not that you mention it, Jane hasn’t moved an inch, either. Jane is equally inert, although inherently more provocative. However much shaving she needed to do at the beginning, or however many shoes she needed to put on, the shaving still needs to be done and the shoe still needs to be put on. It's kind of sad, really.

Hilda has not moved, nor has Jane, nor has Bill, and as for Hilda and Jane’s mother, she might not even exist. It’s really hard to imagine anyone moving any time soon. I am not sure that I am prepared to wait for nothing.

I find that this is often a problem with paperbacks.

Thursday, March 01, 2012

I KNOW WHAT I WOULD SAY IF SUPERMAN HIT ME IN THE FACE

Goddam it!

Eleuthéria by William j. Clifton

There are some problems with the translation. For example “Ton canotier avait un couteau” becomes “your oarsman had a knife”; a “canotier” is a straw hat, a “couteau”, an osprey feather. Everyone knows an oarsman has a knife, everyone knows a straw hat has an osprey feather, but it gives me comfort and great cheer to meet the oarsman who has the osprey feather, as it does to meet the straw hat that has the knife. Without translations, I stay at home. I play cards, watch television. I think about the old days. I am unable to meet the odd oarsman or hat. What do I long for without the mistakes of knives?
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