Quill & Claw/Pen & Paw

I have no idea where this is going...correction, I have an idea, but this was not what I intended....figured it was time to post something after four months! Roger had developed a love and hate relationship over the years with the gawkers beyond his second story apartment's window. He was old enough now to know that life is much more complicated the older you get and no where near the black and white friends your childhood brought. He learned he loved his family; but liking was still up for discussion. The people outside his window were annoying him. They came by day and night and just stood there, failing to whisper at what they stared at. He supposed that he could move his computer away from the window and close the curtain more often. And, even though he hated the smell of smoke, he loved his cigarettes, so the location in his bedroom was maintained. He could smoke, chat online and stare at the annoying passersby. He knew why they were there. He admitted to himself, long after,...

He hated the label, "monster," but he could understand why they called him that. He saw the papers; he knew the routine. They refused to meet with him, discuss what he figured out was the most important--deciding on an agenda that worked only for them. Yet he was the monster. He exercised as they did. He ate at thei same restaurants. And he practiced his ability to love just like everyone else. They let the fucking homos do what they want--even gave them their own television shows. But not him. There was a time, when he was younger, he would sit on the stoop in front of his house and have a cricket or a cicada taped to teh pavement. They never cried out as used his mother's twizzers pull it's legs in opposite directions. It did not weep. Instead it merely appeared annoyed at the procedure and tried to pull away. And he wondered, why don't humans do the same? He practiced with his subjects. He told them what we was going to do, but they protested. They were the lon...

Ah, what be said about Harry Potter that hasn't been said already. I love the kid, frankly, seeing how he gets kids gett so riled over his printed page. I wish my students could do the same. My kids can't read their own names a majority of the time. But even they know Harry. The books and movies go beyond a tremendous success. They connect with audiences on a different levels. Here, we remember that time in our own lives--starting with such promise as we are young and starting out to when we leave to the adult world, when reality has moved in and shoved ideals to the back. Such is the journey of Mr. Potter; such is our jouney with him. The time of this movie is when we realize the wonderment of the world around us becomes oh-so-much smaller. Harry's friend has died in the last movie; but the world he livees in refused to believe him when he says that Voldemort, the nememis of this tale, did it. It's like when adults refuse to believe their children's dreams or vis...

A time existed, not that very long ago, when musicals did more then bring tourists to New York City. The pop standards, still found on the occasion internet radio, were brought the public in these small wonders. Songs covered almost every allowable topic--but mostly the important stuff, you know, love. And people would pay to hear the songs they could hear for free on the radio (or the internet) and maybe sing along. That was the power of the musical. It never really went away, either. The sixties brought Hair, and ability for the audience to understand what the boomers were going through; the sevenites brough A Chorus Line and the audience could understand teh angst of very show before them. The message, of course, was neatly tucked away behind a delicious hummable tune of happily rhyming words or powerful, emotional ballads. All approachable by the wiling ear. That, too, was teh power of the musical. Broadway is an interesting place--using audience's knowledge to drag them back ...

Did you honestly think that I could write a bad review for a DisneyPixar release of any kind? I didn't think you could. But the fact is, I'm more than willing to admit that this is not one of their stronger releases. There I said it! Ratatouille is not a strong Disney/Pixar release. Garsh that is cathartic. Now I don't want you to think that I went in specifically looking for a problem with this movie, for there is little wrong. It wasn’t as if I needed something wrong to point out the fallibility of this wunderkind studio. It is a pretty cute little tale of a rodent named Remy with dreams of cooking at a great Parisian restaurant like Maxim's named Gasteau’s. He reads the books by the author and when the opportunity is afforded to him, he takes the chance to cook. Pretty simple—and what could be predicted by the trailers. The young rat finds a decent enough patsy, a quasi-nerd that just wants to succeed at something. The rodent uses the young man as a front to make...

My journal ideas said that a sunset is virtually impossible to describe. Guess what this story is about? Hortie had always thought she would fall for a Deaf man. She knew it. She figured they would never tease her fro her weird sounding name; she knew they never would tell her that her singing was bad, even in the shower. She never thought she would have fallen for a man who was blind. Robert Banks was everyone a single woman at her age would have hoped for. He had finished high school early, he played on the only sports team offered to him, goalball. He ran daily and read and spoke three different languages. He played the guiltar to calm himself on rainy days when the thunder confused him and made his dog anxious. They worked together for a strong five years at the Deaf and Blind school in varying capacities. Working together was a bad description--they were separate buildings but their concerns and comrades were the same. They saw each other almost daily. She admired him and his dri...

More random fiction---unfinished and unedited. Whilst in spinning class--I heard the song, "I'm Your BoogeyMan" by KC and the Sunshine Band. This is the result. Rob had finished driving a good two hours from Grand Forks into Devil’s Lake. He checked out bright and early from the Best Western, in hopes of beating any traffic out of that city. He realized as he greeted the roads that he was still stuck on several big city ways—there never was any traffic any where near Grand Forks. But the early rising of unfamiliar surroundings of Eastern North Dakota did not fulfill his need for breakfast. He could have stopped in several of the truckers’ stops along the way, but he knew that many the roadsters were piloted by the husbands of the women in Devil’s Lake. He could not risk discovery from someone. He arrived in the Lake shortly before ten am and felt it would be safe enough to hit only coffeehouse in area. He was normally there, however m...

Have you ever heard of a melodrama? In the olden days of the Wild West, they were theatre for masses. Storylines bordered complex, but the presentation was kept juvenile enough that a man, drunk off his butt could come in and get the story midstream. They were the purest form of entertainment--really hard work for sophisticated actors to take a great idea and whittle it down into something a general audience could digest. I think I just saw a melodrama. Transformers is what Pirates of Caribean should have been; it is what all summer movies really should become. I felt like I was in a drive-in. Micheal Bay, for some reason, is continulally given this big budget pictures for really crappy movies. Armaggedon ? Crap. Pearl Harbor ? Historical crap. Sure, both movies had their moments. They seamlessly combined top-of-the-line special effects with actors and kept your jaw on the floor and your head spinning. Depth? That was down the hall at the art theatre. Mr. Bay wants explosions, lotsa,...

Suppose they told a joke and no one laughed? That's what happened to me, I mean, was I the only one in on the joke? I knew that my fellow Coloradoans, Matt Stone and Trey Parker are notoroius for terrific satire, labblasting everything from themselves to the world-at-large. You grow to expect it from the creators of South Park . In fact, it is one of the few comedies I'm willing to watch. I know, I suppose I could have seen Team America: World Police in the movies--but it was released in that nadir of cinema, springtime. .The place where movies in search of a Very Specific Audience are wont to go. This is actually a decent movie. Now I didn't say good. For it is really a one note joke. And if you get it, it all kinda goes down from there. And if you don't get it, you'll think it is very, very weird. The entire movie is told in puppets. Big marionettes like they used to have on the early seventies television kids' programs, you know, ...

He observed, unconsciously, the face of his colleague before him. It smirked some, then became furrowed in a deeper thought. At first, I thought the youth was just copying my face in jest, but then I realized. He was imaging my thoughts. Reading them, if youwill. My heart returned it a heavy rhythm fueled by anger and intrigue. The monster in front of me was readying my mind. I mimmediately tried to remember the feelings I had when I was in yoga class, or in meditation. Empty, empty, empty. But my heart, retched into a position upon my aunt's passing, was taking power over the rational mind. I held an image in my head of a jet black playing card--hoping that this would be a ticket to freedom. "It won't work, Gary, it won't work. It's okay. Look, I know you have a schedule to keep, as do I. But I need to speak to you, I really do. Do you mind stepping downstairs?" The young man stretched as if his yard work had taken it's toll on his spine. I made a pop ...

I gave up watching videos because I worked at a video store and had seen everything. I started working at a movie theatre, for I wanted to see more movies. I got rid of my NetFlix, for I got to see everything I wanted. Then there was Ghost Rider. I wasn't renting movies, but for any readers of my blog know, this is a genre of film that my partner and I adore and love to abhor--super hero movies. Growing up the geeks we are, this style of film became popular just as our life started together. Then there was the evitable fallout. Too much of a good thing, they say, brings about sequels and bad movies. Bowing to the almighty dollar the studios knew they had something in those Spiderman and X-Men titles. People were lining up to buy tickets. Worse, actors, especially male actors, have always wanted to done a cape and fly. Heck, it is the motivation to why my better half and I can donate 15 hours a week to City of Heroes. For an hour every night, we can put on (digital) costumes and f...

My heart began to pound in chest and I felt a pain in the front of my throat. I had to see my aunt. I knew there was little I could do at this point to protect mysel from the stranger--other than give him a very wide berth. So I fled to the stairs beyond him. Leaving him behind. As I passed him, and I cannot ever forget this, he did not move, but I caught his personal aroma. He smelled of sweat, that was evident, but my brain, in that gleemin moment, caught a sweeter smell. I would later use the word 'flowers, but I realized that wasn't the case. I only grasped 'flowers' becuase of his look of a greensman. I guess I could say 'honey' or 'sugar' and have the same idea. I glanced over my shoulder but all I remember was the sunlight hitting his sweat and shining at me as I took the stairs two by two. I was panting before I started the dash. At the top of the stairs, I saw that my aunt's bedroom door was open slightly....

Love is a many splendored thing. Love brings us up where we belong. I'll be loving you...always. All clichés, I'm fully aware of that. But the facts of the matter all are correct. See love is a very complicated topic. Very. For every artist I've seen capture a glimpse of this elusive emotion, great many fail. I'm stuck thinking of Whoopi Goldberg as Gianaan on Star Trek: TNG. After ensign Crusher lost his first love, he informed her that he'll love again. He insisted he'll never feel that way again. She says he will, for, "every time you feel love, it will be different." So this emotion, this thing that everyone feels at some point in their loves--sometimes multiple times with multiple forms--is as imperative to our lives on earth as breathing or eating. And as complex as quantum physics. But why is it so difficult to capture in poetry, lyric or film? Because, like Whoopi said, “every time you feel love, it will be different." I might love this ...

Not only has summer arrived---I've been on a writing kick, if you've not noticed. I treated myself to the "On Writing Horror" text from Writer's Digest and getting back into the swing of things that go bump in the night. So it comes to be that I wanted to see this horror flick, to kinda rekindle a zombie story I had worked on two years ago for my partner. I suppose I could should have picked up Brooks' "World War Z" instead. I really wanted this movie to be good, I really did. A recent conversation with my better half renewed in my mind something of an alarming trend in summer fare--bigger special effects and lesser storylines. It seems that Hollywood keeps thinking that if they dazzle us with the lighting, we won't see that we really don't give a crap about what's happening. Which is interesting. Callium Murphy (yeah, I spelled it wrong, you have an issue with that?) powered us into the first part of this tale, way back in Danny Boyle...

Dear all, I'm unsure what this is borne from--but here is the beginning of a tale I've been working on for the last two days. It is unedited. Feedback, as always, is welcome. I suppose I remember the moment like some people remember where they were when Kennedy died or the second plane hit the World Trade Center. See? Your brain immediately clicked into that moment as I mentioned them. For me, it was no different that sweltering day. I knew something was amiss as I drove home to change my clothes from work. You see, I had elected to use the alleyway to arrive at my Aunt Gracie’s house instead of the front as I had been doing for several months now. When she had moved into her home before my arrival into this world, it was on the edge of town, quite solitary. She could build her gardens and run her dogs without another neighbor in sight. The city caught up with her. Down the street a Home Depot and a Walmart had taken up residence and the once quite locat...

Yes, it's officially the start of summer. I start off by mentioning that because, for the first time this many moons, I'm seated here and I don't have the stressors that have kept me from writing. No aggravations of papers to be graded; no whining from a voice in the back of my head saying I have to get this-and-that completed. The reason I point this out BEFORE I review this, the latest from Disney, is because it profoundly will bias my review. Let's just say I have a guilty pleasure and this is it. Pirates is a bad movie. Now, now, now, take a deep breath. Being a bad movie doesn't mean I didn't like it. Seriously. You've gone from yelling at me to laughing and pointing at your monitor, haven't you. Look at it from my perspective, if you will. No stressors. The sure sign that summer has arrived. I love me an art film more than most, but when it comes to summertime, I know it's arrived when the movies drop in quality, up the special effects quoitent...