Microfiction: Up

The two of them walk in the dark. No romance here. Only dark, and stars, and the moon, and science. In the distance, the space port has a rocket on the launch pad. They continue to walk over a hill and into a depression away from their own light pollution so they can look at the sky.

"What do you see when you look up?" she says.

"Possibility. The future. You?"

"Where we belong."

My current notebooks

A couple of books, three screenplays, a TV show, a game, and some general writing:

On the Violence in NOLA Today

Today was an awful day in New Orleans. There was a shooting at a Mothers Day Second Line. Nineteen shot is the current report.

Violence is everywhere. On the day of the bombing in Boston there were also bombing in Baghdad. Last week there were two car bombs in Turkey. Violence is an unfortunate part of life. But we can't be defeated by it. We can be sad and heartbroken and upset, but we don't give up on our city and we don't stop fighting for it.

The best way to fight the violence in our city is to testify, to get involved, to invest, and to create.

We have to get over this anti snitching attitude that prevails. If you know someone who committed violence, you have to report them. You have to turn them in. You have to testify against them. There is no honor in sitting back and letting someone who committed violence get away with it. There is no street cred to it. If one sites back and does nothing because he or she isn't a snitch, then one is just as guilty and just as much a part of the problem. And we as citizens need to support and protect those who testify against those who cause violence.

We have to get involved in any way we can. We have to work with youth whether in schools or parks or youth groups of any types from Scouts to sports. We have to get to know our neighbors and stop being afraid and distrustful of each other. Get to know the people who live on your block and who live in your city. Don't make judgements based on race or socioeconomics. Understand we are all New Orleanians. You can get involved by simply having a cookout and inviting everyone around over. Simply be nice to those around us.

We have to invest in out city and its people. We have to start helping each other to create local businesses of all types. If you know someone who is trying to  start a business out of their home or in the neighborhood, support them and encourage them. Shop and support local businesses. Show people we want them here and we want their money invested in our city. The city and the area has to invest in wireless and internet access across the city, from private homes and businesses to free public wifi in parks and monuments. And we have to invest and welcome new businesses, industries, and entrepreneurs to town.

We have to embrace the creativity of this city from our music and dance to our culture  to any new class of creatives coming in. This creativity is our greatest strength. It is one of the biggest things that attracts peoples to this city where you can hear great music on street corners or walk streets made famous in books and movies. We have to encourage multiple creative outlets for our youth and our city so everyone can tell their story and the story of our city.

It was an ugly day today NOLA. But we don't give up. We keep fighting for our city and our people. The best response to today's shooting is for EVERYONE to show up at the next Second Line and show these thugs we are not afraid and the city belongs to us. Thugs with guns don't get to win. You have to keep fighting for New Orleans.

Media and Violence

Or what Tarantino should have said:

"Does violence in the media cause violence in the real world?"

"If you take a person, one who doesn't have any psychological issues or problems, and you break that person down mentally and physically; humiliate the person, insult him or her; work the person until they break down; then start building the person back up, teach him or her weapons and tactics; then yes, violent media can be used to reinforce what you have done. It won't cause the violence, it will only act as an enhancer. The military calls this training boot camp. The civilian world calls this severe bullying or a break down in civility. Violence in media alone does not cause a sane person to act violent. There are exceptions, as always, for those with mental disorders; but those are the exception, not the rule. So no, violence in the media does not cause people to be violent on its own. It must be combined with a breakdown, on purpose or by neglect, of the actor of violence."

Jack Reacher - Thoughts

The more I think on Jack Reacher, the more it seems like a film that really wants to be a cool throw back film, but it winds up throwing back to just the 90's and some of the 80's. This would have been a great film if it was made in the 60's with Steve McQueen. I love Way of the Gun, and this film shows McQuarrie still has some action chops. But there are some bad flaws there.

But the editing and shot framing of Rosamund Pike is just uncomfortable. A lot of the film she is framed from cleavage up. And she wears a shocked expression most of the movie that gives her the appearance of a blow up sex doll.

I also just don't buy the stares Cruise as Reacher gets a lot of the movie from women.This works if Reacher is cast like he is written in the books: 6' 5" and 250 lbs. But somehow Tom Cruise at 5 ft and with a bad hair dye job doesn't seem like the guy every woman would be in awe for.

The more I think on Jack Reacher the less I like the movie.The car chase is solid and the bathroom fight  is great. The other action beats are solid too (but the last fight shouldn't have happened).

This is a disappointing film that should have been cast with The Rock.

Stories, Roundtables, White Males

So I just got done watching the Directors' Roundtable from The Hollywood Reporter. And i absolutely love that THR does these. But something I have notice about this one and the Writers' Roundtable is that they are very white male centric. I really wish the Directors one had had Katheryn Bigelow.

So my question is are we, meaning filmmakers and film workers and film/tv production people, telling the stories that need to be told? Are we telling relevant stories? Are we allowing and helping others to tell their stories?

Violence - No Knife

“Oh crap!”

Probably not a good idea to say that aloud with my hand back for my knife. But, I realized it wasn’t there. I took it out earlier when I was taking a nap. It kept jabbing me in my side. Like a knife. Yeah, I’m an idiot.

Of course that exclamation just encouraged him further to charge me. Why not hit me hard and take me down? He had at least fifty pounds and six inches on me.

The chest blow hurt some, but the real pain came when we (me) hit the floor. My air exploded out of my lungs, and my back felt like an instant bruise.

It didn’t help either of us that when he speared me he wrapped his arms around me. For me, it meant it felt like I had rocks in my lower back: Oh joy, more pain. For him, it meant his arms were trapped under me.

He squeezed hard, so there was still no air in my lungs. I knew what he was trying to do: slam me down again. I couldn’t beat him on strength for strength.

I looked around. Quickly. Needle nose pliers. Those would hurt.

I grabbed them and jabbed hard into that soft spot between the shoulder and the neck. I got lucky. Pretty sure I wouldn’t have done much if I hit hard bone since they were old and dull and a bit rusty.

I will take the luck.

Yanking them back out did it. He was done then. He recognized it, but still tried to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t going to stop. And I was damned if I was going to help him.

I kicked him hard in the face. Childish, but I said it out loud, “Sweet chin music.”

He dropped and bled out there.

Rewriting Learning To Throw A Curve

Trying to rewrite a short story from memory. Because I can't find where my copy of the story is. Probably in storage. I so need a house with my own office again. Ugh. Frustrated. But, I am going to work on it. And you all wonder why I drink.

Heathen

“Hey yall! How was Mass?

“Mass was good Uncle Ernie.”

“Yeah, Mass was good. You should try it.”

“I leave that to you. I hope prayers were offered for my soul?”

“Prayers are always offered for everyone’s soul.”

“Always good to know.”

“Daddy, why can’t I stay home on Sundays and watch TV like Uncle Ernie?”

“Because you are not a heathen.”

“Ha!”

“What’s a heathen?”

“Someone who enjoys pleasure rather than going to Church.”

“Is that the same as a pagan?”

“No a pagan doesn’t believe what we believe.”

“Yes. I am not a pagan buddy. I was an altar boy. Even your dad can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because he was a latecomer to the faith.”

“I converted.”

“And the converted are always the most fervent.”

“You are still a heathen.”

“Not even sure how you got up this morning, and got ready for Mass.”

“It was painful. But that is being a good Catholic.”

“So a heathen sleeps in late?”

“Only a Sunday buddy.”

No Story

“You fucked up again.”

“Yeah .. I am good at that.”

“That you are. Anything to say?”

“Not really. You know it all.”

“No pleading? No story?”

“Nah. What’s the fucking point? I did it. I fucked up.”

“Most people would tell some livid story. Some would cry. They would say something to save their asses.”

“Sorry. Not me. Unless you just want to be entertained. If so, I can recommend some good books and films.”

“Ha! I like that. ‘It is what it is.’”

“Yep. No dispute. No point in putting a spin on it.”

“You know I gotta do it it anyway.”

“Yeah. Just make sure I can work. No money coming in is no good for anyone.”

“I heard that. Ribs?”

“Yeah. Head some too is ok.”

Shaking Off

Stepping to the plate, all the ghosts vanished and he wore the cocky smile he knew pissed off opposing pitchers (and had led to his getting on base numerous times from getting hit). The ghosts used to come with him into the batter’s box. The ghost of the one who could have played, but had the chance taken away from him. The ghost of the one who wanted to play, but didn’t have the skill. The ghosts of all those who loved the game, but just didn’t play. He had realized in here it had to be him and the pitcher and the challenge of the ball.


Copyright 2012 by Casey Moore

Stupid Thoughts

He didn’t like the look of the three guys walking down the street towards him. He know this was stupid, and more than likely there would be nothing, and they would pass and say hi or howdy to each other (he had never been able to shake from saying howdy - maybe too many cowboy movies as a kid). But he still didn’t like the look of the three, so he moved his hand to his knife on his hip. In reality, the knife was nothing more than a security blanket, and he knew this. Sure, in his head and fantasies he liked to think he could use it fast enough to take out any attacker, like Zatoichi. He knew though he would just wind up a bloody mess on the ground like any other victim.

He flipped his shirt up just like in those old westerns, but his common sense was right and the three passed him except there was no hi or howdy since the boys could care less about him and were more interested in talking to each other.


Copyright 2012 by Casey Moore

Every Day/Meanest Thing

"Well, ten days of no drinking for me."

Sigh.

"You know, you don't have to drink every day."

He shoots her a look.

"Is that the meanest thing I have ever said to you?"

"One of them," he whines.

Violence - The Shoulder

He tries to raise his right arm. He gets the gun up; points it at the door. Then the arm drops. He tries again. Holding it there. Shaking. Pain. His arm drops again. He looks down at the blood coming from his shoulder.

“Figures I get shot in my shooting arm,” he thinks.

He reaches over with his left hand and picks up the gun. It feels awkward in this hand. He raises it and points at the door again. Propped up in the bed like a sick school boy. Waiting, his left arm shakes not used to the weight. Holding the gun. He knows his aim will be off. But at this distance, all that matters is he hits center mass. As long as he can stay conscious. The blood flowing out of him. He waits for the door to open.

Loose - Microfiction

“Whoa.”

He realizes he almost hit another car.

Switched lanes too close, he thinks.

Wheel feels loose in his hands. Car speeding up. Not really thinking through the driving. Just doing and reacting.

He enters a turn.

Car feels like it is sliding in the bend. He knows it isn’t, but in his head he isn’t holding his lane and is sliding out through the outside lanes.

“Hold on.”

He races to catch them. He knows they are somewhere ahead.

“Get control.”

Two cars ahead. One right in front. The other on the left. One in front is going to slow. Gap between is shrinking.

The Husband

“You need to stay away from my wife.”

He stares at the Husband across the table.

“I can’t threaten your kids. That is what I would normally do. But, as she has told me numerous times, they are her heart.”

“Bastard. You - “

“Yes. So, I can’t threaten the kids. Or her. But, I can threaten you.”

The Husband blinks.

“Oh, I won’t kill you. I can, however, make you suffer.”

“There is nothing …”

“Trust me. There is plenty. Suffering in all new ways. I never have to touch you even.”

“She doesn’t love you.”

“Yes she does. She just never got the chance before.”

Scary Knowledge - 1

A man and a woman walk through a large box store. He stops when they get to the massive aisles of cleaning supplies.

“This is one stop shopping for chemical warfare. Ammonia and bleach next to each other: I love it.”

“Your knowledge base scares me.”

They walk on. He looks at a row filled with Tide.

“Know what this aisle is?”

“What?”

“The beginning of napalm.”

“Why do you know this?”

“Gotta survive the apocalypse or revolution that is coming.”

They walk past cosmetics.

“In there: fingernail polish remover. Shit can warp a pan it gets so hot.”

She sighs.

“How do you know this?”

“Practice.”

Relax

He realizes his hands are gripping the wheel too tight.

 "No reaction time."

 He breathes heavily. He feels his weight settling and everything relaxing from the head down. The car in front is coming up fast, but he must take these few seconds. Finally it hits his hands, and they loosen on the wheel.

 He presses down on the accelerator and moves to the right passing the car.

 He can see the lines now. Not real lines. not hallucinations. These are lines he superimposes as hem oves through the traffic to show all the ways around and through the other cars.

 Relaxed he presses play. The music starts, and he presses down harder on the accelerator. 

"Stereotype."

 The car is moving faster now. He checks the dashboard clock and his watch.

 "Soon."

T.S. Lee - 1

He stares at the doorway watching the rain and the wind.

"What's the weather like?"

He looks at her. Just looks like he doesn't know what she is.

"It's a tropical storm. Sitting right on top of us. Three days of wet and windy."

"When does the bad stuff get here?"

Stares.

"Go look at the radar on TV. All that green and yellow - us for the next three days."

She walks away. He watches.

He turns back to watching the rain fall and the wind move the rain and trees all around.

He hopes she knows what disdain he has for her; but he knows that like the storm it might be too complex a thought.

A Morning Warm Up

Something to try and get the brain working this morning:

"You think this is going to work out well?"

"I don't see why I shouldn't try."

"Pretty much puts you on one side."

"Oh darling, I was always on this side. You just didn't want to accept that."