Tag Archives: movies

I Am A Graduate Of Young Emilio Estevez Disguised In Old Man Makeup University

24 Nov

I Am A Graduate Of Young Emilio Estevez Disguised In Old Man Makeup University

 

Everything I know about writing I learned from a young Emilio Estevez disguised in old man makeup, like he was disguised at the beginning and end and throughout the various voiceovers of Young Guns 2.

 

It was a hell of a school I was the only student. There were no vending machines There was no campus. Classes were held beside a couple of dumpsters Emilio had used in his film Men At Work.

 

Tuition was affordable. Acceptable forms of payment: Milk Duds, information pertaining to the current whereabouts of Kiefer Sutherland, and used DVDs. We didn’t have to get the banks involved. Professor Estevez didn’t have time for FASFA. I graduated from Young Emilio Estevez Disguised In Old Man Makeup University with a non-accredited BA in creative writing and debt fucking free.

 

Our school mascot was Paula Abdul. Professor Estevez emphasized life experience over form.

 

“Tonight you’re going to write me a story about what it feels like to do homework when you’ve been stabbed.” Professor Estevez would say. “Have you ever been stabbed?” and while I’d sit there trying to remember if I’d ever been stabbed before he’d pull out a long bone handled knife and stab me in the leg. I’d scream and bleed a lot while he cleaned the knife using one of his dusty cowboy bandanas. After the knife had been cleaned and returned to his satchel he’d remind me that he wasn’t a big fan of double spacing and dismiss class.

 

I wrote a lot of stories about what it was like to try to do homework with a knife wound. For an entire semester he assigned this particular exercise at least once a week.

 

In the advanced classes instead of inflicting the pain manually and sending me off to write about it he’d ask me about things that were breaking my heart that day and tell me to go write about that.

 

It was most times hard to tell if Professor Estevez liked what I was writing. His face was hard to read under all that old man makeup and feedback was not given easily. It had to be earned.

 

Professor Estevez didn’t believe in grading papers. He also hated to be read to, so on those days he’d ask me to read to the class something he’d assigned the day before he’d always walk away from the dumpsters before I’d made it through the first paragraph. He’d stand far enough away so he couldn’t hear me, staring with a wild west looking-glass pointed at my lips, so he could tell when I was done.

 

When I’d finished he’d adjust his old man hat and false limp back to the dumpster, where he’d say something gravely and profound like ‘I don’t know about that one’ or ‘Write it in a world where the government has massacred all the commas. Them sons of bitches are now extinct.

 

So I’d go home and write it again without the commas and the next day he’d be all ‘What’s the matter with you boy? You write like you’re racist against commas.’.

 

I’d go home and get drunk, pass out writing, and wake up with pages emancipated with comas.

 

I’d show it to Professor Estevez. He’d light it on fire with his hand rolled cigarette without reading it and tell me to go home and write something that didn’t comma pander about what it’s like to have an old man kick me in the nuts. Post nut kicking I’d limp to the bus stop, my hands like a wheelbarrow, cradling my boot printed testicles as gently as one can.

 

It was a tough school, but Professor Estevez taught me how to translate all the lost love and pain in this world into words.

 

I learned a lot at my school. According to Professor Estevez, cellar door isn’t the most phonesthetically beautiful combination of words. The most beautiful word combination ever constructed is ‘No no, Pendleton’ or ‘sweet frost’.

 

Professor Estevez was an enormous fan of cake and confusing his movie roles with his real life adventures. He’d tell me stories about how John Tunstall had taught him how to read and long nights between ambushings when Doc Scurlock learned him about poetry and how it’s wrong to shoot innocent kids who collect marbles and how Lou Diamond Phillips taught him the true meaning of the word ‘pals’.

 

Professor Estevez knew all these things about stuff and because I was his student, I know them too.

 

Without his mentorship, I would’ve never written It Was Always Cyber Monday In Their Pants, the store of a lonely guy from the future unable to reconcile humanity’s greedy consumption of a dying planet’s natural resources with the fact that his dick was 3 inches longer when it was flaccid than it was when it was erect. His dick actually shrunk when he was excited. Everyone in the future mad fun of him. So he stopped being excited. It was a metaphor for water rights and globalization.

 

The story was a big hit in West Paris and went on to win The Martin Sheen Literary Award in 2014.

 

And that’s why your schools suck and my school is the best. Front Range? Fuck that. Front Range was my safety school. Red Rocks was my safety school’s safety school. CCD was my safety school’s safety school’s high school diaphragm.

 

Young Emilio Estevez Disguised In Old Man Makeup University rules.

 

 

 

written for the Nov 21 2017 FBomb Battle of the Writing Programs reading hosted by Jonathan Montgomery Mercury Café Denver CO

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Even My Teeth Are In Love With You

31 Aug

 

Even My Teeth Are In Love With You

 

At the dentist

They were playing Dido

 

They were fluffing their nipples against all the Novocain

They were comparing their own

Previous night’s erections to tooth decay on nitric

Slapping old ‘I Voted’ stickers atop their visible hickys

Attempting to un-memorize the plot

(moves the pawn a space or two)

 

While I sat in the space chair waiting for my x-rays

Reading more Chekov while wearing

That blue hat surrounded

By spit sinks and drill bits glazed in goodbyes

 

Eventually,

 

A raven approached, offering the deluxe co-pay quaking cleaning

In easy to feel bad about installments

And it was the end of the month, where I have no money, so

I told the goddamn bird that I wasn’t Poe

And that I’m pretty sure Chekov wouldn’t have

Put up with this shit, thusly and things like that

I sidestepped the big bill

(chess moves hounded by chess moves)

And chose the free polish option they offered after

I threw what could be considered a mini-fit

Instead

 

Still, on the way out I agreed to call them later

To schedule an appointment for the expenso-clean

Because what else am I going to do?

Your Queen controls the board and

I’ve grown used to my teeth

And everything at some point finds itself

Dependant on a cleaning

 

That said (hits the ‘play again’ button

Or whatever it’s called on the remote control thingy

In order to hear the new Taylor Swift single again)

 

It just pisses me off

Everything is made out of somethings

And it’s always something

 

Why does everyday have to feel like

The guy playing chess with Death in ‘Seventh Seal’

To the sounds of a surf war, thick step after thick step

For the ability to tread water

 

Historical Note:

 

If they made The Seventh Seal today

They wouldn’t be playing chess

They’d be playing something more intellectually relevant

To the times

They’d be playing Pokeemon Go

 

That’s what they’d fucking be playing!

Because life is just: Pokeemon Go?!

 

Maybe,

 

We spend our whole lives with our heads down

Tracking things that aren’t really there and pretending to catch them

In order to get us through to the next day

 

Just so we can go to the dentist, where we never fucking want to be

Just so we can get our hearts broken, weaved with the need to limp forward

Just so we can still fucking exist

Covfefe

29 Jun

Covfefe

 

As the ashtrays pop like a steady invasion of phone-cams

and cream cheese

We all scream into the same bucket of water

We can all feel our own tanks slowly chipping away, under fire

Until the only thing left are the treds………….

 

Are you watching Fury again?. Covfefe asked the question like a statement

because I was always watching Fury again these days

I was always praising Brad Pitt’s performance

as a broken souled tank driver or sketching Hitler mustaches

just below the crotches of shitty modern day billionaires

or reading about Winston Churchill out loud

 

Since the election of this new goddamn reality show president

I’d become significantly obsessed with masturbation and not sleeping well

and learning lots of things about World War 2

 

Leave me alone, Covfefe. I said

Which made Covfefe laugh

Which was horrible, because a Covfefe laugh

sounds like the cross between Tom Cruise farting during a meter reading

and Ricardo Montalban waking from death screaming

because he’s spent the past chunk of years

dreaming about how he accidentally killed Tattoo  

 

Leader gets two scoops of ice cream

when everyone else in the room gets only one

Covfefe gloated

One scoop because America is so gullible

and one scoop because it’s arrogant about its ignorance

and  still pretty fucking racist

so: shit

 

That makes 2.

 

One + One……..I mean, I don’t know

where you learned math but where I learned math

we always said the pledge of allegiance before pooping

and didn’t eat our bologna sandwiches like afraid-of-mayonnaise pussies

I can tell you, with complete straight bullshit honesty,

that where I come from one + one: makes two

 

Covfefe! I found myself screaming voluntarily, Knock it off

Your shitty math hole

can’t tell algebra and a shark’s asshole

apart, how the fuck do you expect…….

 

Covfefe’s response was immediate

and misdirected

 

Love is for people.

I think my sister really likes you

Knock it off

Caring Tan

13 Jun

Caring Tan

 

The sun clung to her skin

like a marching band in soft slippers

 

and when she walked by

the whole world turned into headphones

because she was playing my favorite song

 

it was a marching band version

so it had that tone, and too many trumpets

staring into their cell phones as

the trombones utterly butchered the verses

 

Shit! It’s still a great song though,

no matter how you play it

I counted all the big drums

 

until she was gone

This New Internet Troll Who Keeps Threatening To Kill Me Is Kind Of A Prick

1 Jun

This New Internet Troll Who Keeps Threatening To Kill Me Is Kind Of A Prick

 

I suppose I should be flattered, maybe

or disappointed in humanity

or equally outraged

or sitting in a quiet bar somewhere listening to Steve Perry

and re-reading Dune

but I’ve got my very own literary Internet Troll stalker now

He’s read a bunch of my books

and in his initial internet introduction there was the implication

that he liked them, that they’d made a connection

and he even apologized for intruding but he was wondering if I could share

a little insight into a few of the broken hearted ones

that I’ve put out there over the years

and his tone was gentle, almost tender

like how I imagine a self-involved prick would speak to a stern cop

writing him a ticket for making love to an Arbys roast beef sandwich in public

or the way John Hinkley Jr. tried to come across

when he was writing Jodie Foster about how great it must be,

just being Jodie Foster

and even more so when it rains

but I’m not Jodie Foster

ass hole (learn how to separate words you stunted prick)

so when he started ranting like a fist full of stolen lunch money

bunkered down in the 39 year old sweaty pocket

of a spoiled 8 year old

about a particular person who I will always care for

and wish only the best things that are still possible to obtain

in this bullshit Trump inspired hate filled version of new America

I skipped straight to the end

because I’ve got better things to do

(finish reading this importantly great book about tyranny,

and I’ve got a novel to finish, and also on the TV right now

they’re playing back to back episodes of The Incredible Hulk)

then trudge through an unsolicited manifesto like that

and I replied like they replied in the 1930’s

honestly, respectfully, while snorting something they used to call Rum

I replied with a simple response, super-simply

 

“Fuck off, Carl.”

 

while also maybe thinking, whoever said it was always nice meeting a fan

had a warped definition of ‘nice’ while also part-way figuring

that was that

which it wasn’t, my brand new stalker who’s favorite hobbies

seem to be tough guy talking on the internet, sloppily referencing

long sections from the Mad Max movies, and reiterating the cliché-fact

that he’s secret named himself after a 1970’s Charlie Bronson vigilante

who’s superpower is squinting like he hasn’t taken a bowl movement

since the 1960’s and shooting stunt guys in the head

 

(Ha! not so long story (it’s only been a week now maybe) short

Mister Smoochbritches has spent his recent days doing that thing that he does,

sticking his dick in and out of an old Easy Bake Oven while screaming “Oh Bethany!”

and threatening to kill me

 

Well, Sir!

(if that is your dick’s real name)

I am no stunt double

There is only one of me

And you’re gonna have a hard time sneaking up on me

while I’m at work at Chuck E. Cheese

when I don’t actually work at Chuck E. Cheese!

That’s just false info I’ve floated out into internetspace

because 1. I love Chuck E. Cheese

and also 2. I thought it was funny

and now that that’s where you’ve promised I’ll meet my own doom

  1. Because now it makes you funny

 

Funny little man

with his multi-paragraph stutter

(Historical note: You don’t need to send every draft version threat

about how you’re going to kill me. Just send the one you like best.)

 

 

 

 

 

Everything Is Fucking Something

5 May

 

Everything is fucking something

 

Where’d you learn to fight?

From watching Good Will Hunting?

It shows

Notes on Skull Island aka What if Kong Had Survived The Fall

15 Mar

 

Notes on Skull Island aka What if Kong Had Survived The Fall

 

(the world is one big spoiler alert, so naturally spoilers (Kong: Skull Island) exist here too.)

 

Remaking the original 1933 King Kong is a pointless act, like repainting Van Gogh’s wheat fields or fucking a ukulele with a tuba on a deadpan Wagner-tuned rainy night shaped bassoon. It’s sad madness but that hasn’t stopped humanity from doing it anyway. Dino De Laurentis fucked it up in the 70’s with his goofy monkey suit version and Peter Jackson gave us a big budget take in the early 2000’s that had Jack Black attempting to fill Robert Armstrong’s movie boots and a flawed CGI Kong ice skating in the middle of New York for some goddamn reason. [Historical Note: Jackson’s heart was in the right place, loving the original as much as all of us who love the original, and I respect him for that, still it’s a tough thing to forgive, all that goddamn ice skating in a script that just never felt right.]

 

[Historical Note 2: Son of Kong was pretty great, but that’s because they didn’t try to remake something that’s in no need of remaking. They made a sequel. Sure it doesn’t have the Kong-equals-unrequited-love-type-layers of the original and can play sort of like a jungle island version of Home Alone with Kong Jr. taking over a role originally played by Macaulay Culkin, but fuck it. Leave it alone, cynical bastards. I like the hell out of Son of Kong. (and Andy Schneidkraut digs it too.]

 

Just like I liked the hell out of Kong: Skull Island. Skull Island isn’t a remake. It’s a brand new movie that plays out like an alternate timeline sequel that goes something like this:

 

What if, in the original movie, Kong didn’t die at the end? What if he survived the fall somehow? The fall and the knowledge that the only lady he loved didn’t love him and the fact that half of the entire city of New York had seen his weiner (from both a distance and up close and unconsciously personal) because he’d been abducted against his Kong-will and wasn’t adequately packed for life in a big city/he didn’t have any pants on/I don’t have any pants on/We’ve all found ourselves inadequately packed for the city at one point or another in our lives/let’s move on.

 

Ah, but that’s the thing now, ain’t it. Kong can’t move on! And that’s what this Skull Island thing’s all about. Say Kong survived the fall. Say he managed to crawl his way out of the city un-re-captured and booked passage on a crab fishing boat of some kind working odd jobs here and there at sea until he eventually made it back to Skull Island. Say he made it home and now it’s 40 years later and he’s spent the entire time eating octopus, staring at a lake like it was Netflix, and missing the girl he’s still hung up on and will always love.

 

That’s where we find our hero in Skull Island. We find a post-lost-love Kong mangled by the effects of all those years that have followed the loss. We find a Kong alive in a world that at all times holds its stomach in like it’s trying to pick a fight. The metaphor has been shifted to the island in this one. The island is lost love. This is what the world looks like post losing your Helen. Lost love is an island full of loneliness and terror and monsters that must be fought daily.

 

And Kong fights them. Because that’s what we have to do. Oblivion is inevitable and also oblivion is not an option. And even on Skull Island, as hopeless as it is, not everything is inevitably hopeless. There’s a small group of natives that are still alive on the island, a small group of natives and John C Reilly, a small group of natives and John C Reilly who still have a shot at this. They are born and then they die but between all of that they fall in love. Even on an island that represents a post-love nightmare, there’s still love. And this new Kong can relate to that. So he protects it. He’s re-dedicated his post-Helen years to protecting the love that’s still out there. And when he’s not doing that he eats octopus and stares at lakes like he’s watching Netflix while wishing that Fay Wray’s happy out there, somewhere, wherever she is.

 

Because that’s all Kong really wanted from her. To be happy. He wanted her to be happy. That’s what this new Kong wants from everyone. That’s what this new Kong movie’s all about. Kong wants you to fall in love. Kong wants you to be happy. And he’s willing to go on fighting inside his own nightmare because of this. He’s still willing to fight for it. Because Kong knows what something like that feels like.

 

Because Kong still remembers like we all still remember.

 

Kong fights because

 

Flash forward to the past a little bit:

 

For a couple of million minutes or something like that, Kong was happy too.