various agonies

So I had all my ideas for my second post laid out when Friday afternoon I started getting this horrible, miserable sore throat. I ended up seeing Prince at the Forum anyway, but I was so messed up on Dayquil, it was a very alien affair.

I’ve been stuck in bed literally all weekend. I pushed myself out this afternoon to buy liquids, ice cream and drugs at Walgreen’s, and looked like one of the many shambling homeless people that mingles in with the snappy interracial couples and hipsters on bikes that zing up and down Wilshire Blvd on any given Sunday.

Now, I don’t at the moment feel sufficiently metal to go into my ideas for that-stoner-metal-guy-fantasy-movie. How I don’t have a title for this I have no idea. It needs to be something truly epic. Anyway…

I’ll save up my metal notions for when I’m somewhere close to human (or more human than human, amiright?). However, I have had the benefit of a couple of sleepless, fevered, cyclopean musings thanks to this miserable flu, that would be totally unrelated projects, so I thought I’d describe one of those for your edification.

So most of my ideas come to me over months or years. I have one kind of spark about an image, or a super quick scene, and it has no context whatsoever. It will probably connect to a piece of music, or a piece of landscape that happens to fly by on a train or some such, and that piece will just roll and roll and roll in my head hundreds and hundreds of time until it starts to roll up other little pieces of lyrical detritus, some of which stick, but many of which fall away because they don’t match, until this thing is complex enough to imply to me a whole narrative. The one exception I can think of, and this is very vivid, was way back when I was living in WV, I was doing my regular jog through South Park and up around 1st Ward, and as I was going up the Dorsey Ave. incline next to the small cemetery (there’s also a big cemetery on the incline on Dorsey Ave), I was struck, seriously like a bolt of lightning, with the whole idea for a feature starring all little people about three-piece-suit wearing Wall Street big shots that would also be a contemporary musical. All the sets would be .66 size, and full sized people would be placed randomly for surreal effect. It’s called BIG TIME, and would feature modern covers of classic 80s songs. Nobody will ever steal this movie idea.

Alright, so rolling around, unable to fall asleep last night with a fever and a misery and a grand old time, apparently my brain decided to pick one interesting little visual lyric and run it through the meat grinder. A couple years ago, the idea popped into my head to do the zombie movie that nobody would ever do, basically because it’s impossible: the New York apocalypse zombie movie. The reason you don’t do this, is because it would be a cost and planning nightmare. The reason you never see what happens IN major metropolises until after the big zombie freakout is because it’s just impossible to film. You’d have millions of terrible humanoid creatures flowing over every available surface, like a plague of ants. But recently it occurred to me you could truncate this problem by carving these scenes into maybe two or three actual on-screen occurrences, and shoot the rest of the film Hitchcock style, in bank vault style settings, where 98% of zombie film business occurs anyway, with all the survivors going at each other, showing how inhuman we really are, bla bla bla.

This movie would be called PANDEMONIUM. Or, if you really wanted the exploitation factor ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE: NEW YORK.

All of this had already occurred to me, but the appendage that it grew last night in between my sweaty pillows, was the image of this dude on a skinny little 70s honda motorcycle with a backpack worn backwards (on his front), slithering in between hundreds of thousands of cars on a bridge. I got the image of backpack dude, stealing the bike from a shop, getting spotted by another guy doing the same thing, and neither of them giving a shit, I got the image of him pointing a crossbow, and I got the image of him stopping at a dead cop, putting on the dead cops rubber gloves, and then taking his utility belt. Someone else had already taken his gun. I got the image of this guy arriving at some kind of facility, say like a veterinarian’s, clearing a table for the bag, putting it down, scrounging the building for supplies, and standing over a sink to eat something really unsatisfying in a ravenous way like canned green beans or dog food, when you would finally hear the bag crying, and it’s his baby. There’s your fucking movie right there. But, although that’s a funny line, my brain decided, kind of without me, that this would be something better to write as a novel first. Have you ever read some of the shit people get away with publishing (and profiting from!), in horror fiction these days? I don’t even want to go into it. Anyway, people are doing such awful things to horror and the zombie genre in film, I would have to wash my brain by going all out and writing all Stephen King style on a tv tray in Maine or something.

So there’s that.

To wrap up, I hope that given my state, I was still marginally entertaining and informative. This is the only thing even in the realm of useful I’ve done all weekend. Don’t worry, the hyperbole and metal will back with double force next week. I’m going to watch the first three episodes of Game of Thrones again right now just to be sure of it.

Hess Out!


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