Happy F’ing New Year

Just me and an eight ounce glass of seltzer. Sweat seeps out my pores. There’s the big looming question–Pretend to have fun tonight with a bunch of “friends” or go off somewhere far away, get wasted in a diner, fuck a disease-infested whore somewhere and then come back months later, bearded, speak only in Farsi and just sit there selling guns, crack anything to keep me afloat, put some money away as three months later my AIDS-infested baby will pop out of the bitch’s womb. Hard choice if you ask me.

2013! Woo-hoo! I can hardly wait. Here’s how I see it. I’m gonna shit honesty. Yeah, this might turn some of you off but really…do I fucking care? I wasn’t put here to have everyone on this planet like me. As a matter of fact, I could do a little toilet flushing. Get in. My fingers are riding the handle. Go back to your homes, your countries, as your energy does not truly resonate with me.

Feels like eons that I’ve been taking care of one too many people. How it felt as if I was walking on egg shells, fearful that any crack, I’d fall through a haunted abyss. Mid-flight, an ogre would gobble pieces of me up. As I’d take my last breath, that ogre would be the individual I was tending to. How fucking convenient!

2013, what is it? It’s the year of me deciding whether or not I got time for you or not. Be prepared to wait a long fucking time because ladies, gentlemen and ogres in disguise, I’m taking care of myself first. My health, my writings, my passions, my everything. Call me a narcissist, my middle finger will be waiting for you.

So, happy fucking new year!

Lethargy

Yesterday’s snow induced somewhat of an intense lethargy. Yes I went to crossfit at 5:30, however, all the other parts of the day was filled with total laziness. Today, the leftovers–a tiny headache. Since this is so, I’ll say nothing more and instead post the next installment of the script.

INT. LOG CABIN - MORNING

Seated on the bed, Damian watches Charlie freshen up.

Charlie makes eye contact with Damian.

CHARLIE
What?

DAMIAN
I don't know. You tell me.

CHARLIE
You're staring. You need
something. More wine? Oh sorry.
We ran out of it. Maybe some feta
cheese. Woah, oh God, forgive me.
That's all been eaten. What could
you possibly want?

DAMIAN
How are you feeling?

CHARLIE
(sarcastic)
You really want to know how I'm
feeling? Aww. You care. Well, I
feel pretty fucking humiliated and
stupid.

DAMIAN
I'm sorry.

CHARLIE
Yeah, okay.

Charlie opens the cooler. Pulls out a dozen eggs.

CHARLIE (CONT'D)
We need to do something with these
eggs.

DAMIAN
We can have an egg fight.

CHARLIE
I was thinking more like deviled
eggs. Got any paprika?

Damian jumps off the bed. Lands atop Charlie. Punches him
the face.

Will dashes in. Face flushed.

WILL
You have to stop.

DAMIAN
Why? The fun's just beginning.

WILL
I'm serious. They're coming.

EXT. ISLAND WATERFRONT - MORNING

Less than five nautical miles from shore, the speed boat
approaches.

Damian and Will duck behind a shrub.

DAMIAN
The boat's not headed in our
direction.

WILL
Sure it is.

DAMIAN
Look.

The speed boat veers to the right.

WILL
Where...

DAMIAN
I have an idea...but you've gotta
hide.

EXT. BAY- MORNING

Damian slows his rowing down till he sees the speed boat
anchored to the docks.

EXT. DOCKS/SPEED BOAT - LATE MORNING

Damian ties his row boat to the speed boat. Climbs on board.
Opens cabinets and drawers. Finds nothing.

Someone clears her throat.

Damian looks up. Finds Kate, her eyes welling up in tears.

KATE
It's Aunt Bella.

DAMIAN
What about her?

KATE
She's not well.

Damian jumps atop the docks. Holds Kate's shaking arms.

DAMIAN
How can she not be well? She seems
fine. I was just with her this
morning.

The Quiet After Christmas

The day after Christmas can be eerily quiet. Since I was raised Jewish, the question of what happens in a Christmas-celebrating household arises. In the homes where alcohol’s permitted, I assume there’s much drinking…perhaps under the Christmas tree. There’s the game, How Far Under The Christmas Tree Can You Get. Kids are excluded from this game as they aren’t allowed to consume alcohol (maybe in some households kids do drink…yikes!). Once under the tree, someone measures the distance. There’s an art to getting out from underneath the Christmas tree. Can it be done without ruining the tree? Do any baubles fall off? In a drunken stupor, has tinsel accidentally been torn off?

In the sober homes, I see adults and children praying obsessively. Maybe the men remember their drunken days…the days when they considered themselves “heathens”. They go out in the freezing cold, stand behind an evergreen, a much larger version of their Christmas tree (undecorated, of course), shivering as they light up a cigar. Every now and then, they check to see if their mothers are peering through the windows, “Oh, where did Johnny go? It’s his turn to lead the prayer!”

On December 26th, these two groups, the alcoholics and sober Christmas celebrators, meet up for a tug-of-war. They literally take a thick rope, one that mid-game could rip skin off if careless, and tug. They do it over a raging fire. “Doesn’t matter who wins,” yells Jesus. “I love you all.” The tuggers can’t hear. They’re too busy trying to win. Eventually one group, the alcoholics, of course (not because they’re alcoholics, ethically speaking, but because the blood-alcohol content is so high. They think only of sleeping or grabbing another bottle of rum), fall near the raging fire. No flesh burned! The sober Christmas celebrators jump up, scream so loud that even Jesus has to place His hands over His ears.

Their breath recovered, the two groups visit a warm eggnog push-cart, run by some Egyptian fellow. They care little for his name. “What a nice man,” they all agree. “So what if he’s Muslim. He’s handsome. He’s always laughing. It’s clear he cares about everyone.” Empty cups, the two groups hug, part ways, head into their proper households. And so maybe, just maybe, this is why it’s always so quiet the day after Christmas.

Action

Several years ago, I wrote the beginning of a screenplay. Maybe the total page count went to eight. All the scenes were pure description and action. The action, though, was of a woman bathing. She then washed her hands. It then cut to a man walking on sand. Very dull action. Not sure what I was thinking back then.

The excerpt I’m posting today has one short action scene, almost reminiscent of a Charlie Chaplin film. Prior to this scene there’s a moment that segues into a flashback. This moment can easily be interpreted as sexual. I can tell you it isn’t. And no, Will is not pregnant…just in pain.

INT. LOG CABIN - MORNING

Damian closes the battery cover on the cassette player.
Glances over at Charlie whose curled up on the floor, snoring
a way. A grin takes over Damian's face. He pushes play.
Mozart's Requiem in D Minor broadcasts.

EXT. ISLAND WATERFRONT - MORNING

A fishing pole stands up right, lodged in the sand. Will
yawns and lies down. Stretches. Rubs his belly.

MATCH CUT TO:

BEGIN FLASHBACK

EXT. SCHOOLYARD - DAY

JESSICA, a bright-eyed curly-haired girl bundled in winter
gear, rubs Will's belly.

WILL
Does it feel weird?

JESSICA
Feels normal to me.

Jessica withdraws her hand.

WILL
It hurts.

JESSICA
Go see nurse Kate.

WILL
Why do you call your mother, "Nurse
Kate"? That's creepy.

END FLASHBACK

EXT. ISLAND WATERFRONT - MORNING

Mozart's Requiem in D Minor intensifies.

A sharp bend in the fishing pole. Will crawls over to it.
Lifts it out of the sand. Tugs the pole side to side. The
bend in the pole intensifies.

Will digs his feet deep in the sand. Struggles with the
strength of whatever might be caught on the hook. Sweat
drips down his arms. Looses grip on the pole. It flies
into the water. He goes after the pole but it moves too
fast.

Will kicks the water, screams and shouts. He stops short.
Squints.

In the distance, a speed boat approaches at a rather rapid
pace.

Will runs out of the water, hides behind a shrub.

The speed boat continues straight on course.

Will runs into the woods.

Vulnerability

Things haven’t exactly been easy lately. Yesterday was the end of the world, apparently. What the shit was that? Talk about tone setting, my God! Imagine this, you wake up, stretch, do your morning prayer, head down to the kitchen, pour yourself some orange juice, pop on NPR only to hear, “…the world will end on December 21st, 2012.” Excuse me? End? Really?

I don’t care what belief system one has, this end of the world crap had to have affected everyone in some form another. Looking back, I was a lunatic. Read the posts from the last few days. Bitching and moaning. Deleting them crossed my mind. My greater self vetoed that idea. The whole purpose behind this blog is to show my vulnerability. It’s real. It’s who I am. I think of these posts as excerpts from some classical sonata, where all the emotions are represented in some form.

Speaking of classical music, here is the next segment of the screenplay–

EXT. RURAL ROAD - DAWN

In exercise clothes, Damian leaps over the cracked pavement.
Continues his morning run. He stops suddenly.

In the distance, a hunched over silhouetted figure canes its
way through the broken road. It's Bella.

DAMIAN
Hey.

Bella squints, clearly confused by the distant voice.

BELLA
Hello?

Damian makes his way over to Bella.

DAMIAN
Mrs. Argrove, what brings you here?

BELLA
Bird watching. There was this
most unusual bird.
Looked like a flamingo but it was
turquoise. So darn pretty. Well,
a dog bark must have scared it.
Flew over here. I had to follow
it.

DAMIAN
Just you?

BELLA
Just me? Of course! Who else?
Thomas has been dead for twelve
years.

Bella retrieves a handkerchief from her pocket. Blows her
nose.

DAMIAN
Sorry, I didn't mean...

BELLA
Got this damned cold. I've been
meaning to tell you. Be wary.

DAMIAN
No need to worry. My immune system
is as strong as an ox.

BELLA
Phaw! Not talking about your
immune system. Talking about some
lady. She came into the store. I
sold her a red dress.

DAMIAN
Mrs. Argrove, that's not a...

BELLA
Red because of the devil. That's
right. She's got the devil in her.
Been praying ever since I saw
what's in that behemoth's eyes.

Clearly amused, Damian places his hand on Bella's hands.

DAMIAN
Mrs. Argrove...

Bella yanks her hand out from underneath Damian's. She
trembles. Her dentures nearly falling out of her mouth.

BELLA
She's found you! I can feel her in
your essence.

DAMIAN
You insist she's a woman.

BELLA
Because she is. A demon woman.
Come with me.

INT. STORE - MORNING

Damian shifts about uncomfortably as Bella pulls out boxes of
cassettes.

BELLA
Where is this? I just saw this a
few days ago.

DAMIAN
What are you looking for?

BELLA
It's this cassette. You like
classical?

DAMIAN
Yeah, I guess.

Bella beams a grin. Puts on the radio. Mozart fills the
room.

BELLA
Oh, Bastien and Bastienne. One of
my favorites.

DAMIAN
Never heard it.

BELLA
Well, you're hearing it now. Ever
dance to opera?

DAMIAN
I rarely dance.

Bella holds out her hands. Damian grabs them. The two swing
side to side.

DAMIAN (CONT'D)
Mrs. Argrove, this is really
nice...

BELLA
Isn't it? Listen to that voice!
How beautiful!

DAMIAN
It's quite beautiful. Listen,
Will's alone with that woman you
speak of.

Bella gasps. Breaks away from Damian.

BELLA
Is he? Well, we need to get you
home. First...

Bella turns back toward the boxes of cassettes. Grunts as
she pulls out a pile of them. Shuffles through them.

BELLA (CONT'D)
Ah, here it is. Take this.

Bella hands Damian the cassette.

DAMIAN
What's this for?

Bermuda Triangle of Communication

I need a documentary filmmaker to follow me around. Nobody in their right mind would believe some of the shit that goes down. The gist of it…there’s a Bermuda Triangle of communication, where emails and phone calls just obliterate. Some examples. The one minute plus film I made a few days ago, I had submitted to something called Artist Strike. Thrice, they were contacted but heard nothing back. Not even a simple, “Thank you for the submission but this doesn’t match what we’re looking for.” Another example, I’m in the process of producing a video for a local sports supplement store. Put an ad on craigslist for a bodybuilder. It’s been up for several weeks now. Finally, one individual emailed me at four in the morning with a photograph. Looked perfect, so I responded. He, like all my correspondents, disappeared.

This is no longer angering to me. It’s totally absurd. Since I can’t film this myself (without some odd contraption, that I don’t have, attached to my body) I urge a documentary (or mockumentary) filmmaker to contact me. Email me at sazerfilms@gmail.com.

After The Mania

“What’s up with Johnny? Don’t ya know he’s got that awful voice when he’s in that terrible mood I mean my God, what’s gonna happen to him? I swear, Margaret, sometimes I wanna take that fucking kid and drown him. Just take that worthless bastard and shove his head in the fucking toilet bowl and then at the very last minute, right before he turns blue, release him. Smack him around and shit. What kind of fucking demon is he? Making a fortune off of wounded souls! Ah shit, he’s at it again. JOHNNY! SHUT THE HELL UP OR I’LL RACE IN THERE AND GIVE YOU A SMACKING!”

Ben kept at it all night, irritating Margaret as she dozed off. Shook her. Trembled in the bed, fearing that Johnny would charge into the bedroom, kitchen knifes displayed like a violent deck of cards. Smash! Right in the neck. No, he wasn’t gonna face that kind of slaughter.

“Will you knock if off, Ben! Please. I wanna get me some shut eye. Can’t a woman get some shut eye around here? Between you and Johnny, I’ll have to rent a hotel room.” She rolled over, grunted, leaving Ben awestruck.

“She never mouths off to me. Wow, she really must be tired. Fine, I’ll make my way through the frigid corridor and sit beside Johnny’s door, pounding on it after ever sharp-piercing decible.”

In the morning, indents on Ben’s back. He slept all weird. Dreamed about Johnny and Margaret having an affair…

No! The italicized words are shit! Total fucking shit! There was a streak of mania riding through my brain on the way home from the gym. They were dangerous. This here is Hollywood nonsense. Something I’ve never experienced before. An affair! Shit in my last relationship, a million years ago, I encouraged my ex-girlfriend to fool around with her band mate. I wanted to watch. Eventually, she broke up with me. Claimed that when it came to love she didn’t “know what it meant anymore.” They did fuck. Must have been good. Now they’re married with a kid, maybe two.

Pregnant With Giants

I feel pregnant with giants. The harder I push, the greater the resistance. Fragments of them fall out. They have strangenames (strange names, strangenames someone has strange names) like Zembrawr and Kendilickan. They all claim to be metrosexual, their behaviors though are asexual. The couch upon where they sit has puncture marks.

At night they keep me up. During the day, I attempt to counsel them but they’re nowhere to be found. Sometimes, a ghoulish fragment pulls me aside. He possesses no eyes. Somehow he sees everything. He tells me about a woman who will appear in my life. We’ll marry. Maybe have kids. When I press for further details, he vanishes.

What remains is emptiness and the next segment of my screenplay–

EXT. LOG CABIN - NIGHT

Damian gasps for air.

Will slides down a rope, lands inches from Damian.

WILL
This shit's crazy! What's in this
wine?

Damian snorts. Picks himself off the ground.

DAMIAN
Grapes.

Will climbs halfway up the rope, swings and shouts--

WILL
Grapes! How I love grapes!

Damian heads inside.

INT. LOG CABIN - NIGHT

On the floor, beside the kitchen sink, Charlie's curled up in
a ball.

Damian kicks him.

DAMIAN
Wake up.

Charlie doesn't budge.

CHARLIE
I'm awake.

DAMIAN
Sit up, then.

CHARLIE
Why?

DAMIAN
I wanna talk.

Charlie opens one eye.

CHARLIE
You wanna talk? That's a new one.
You never wanna talk.

DAMIAN
Why did Kate send you here?

Charlie picks himself off the floor. Rifles through the
cooler.

CHARLIE
Where's the feta cheese?

DAMIAN
Charlie...

CHARLIE
Tell me you two didn't eat the feta
cheese.

DAMIAN
We didn't eat the feta cheese.
Kate promised she wouldn't send
anyone here. What the fuck are you
doing here?

CHARLIE
If you didn't eat the feta, where
the hell is it? I did bring it
didn't I? I remember it in the
basket.

Damian pulls Charlie away from the cooler. Grabs him by the
neck. Pushes him into the wall.

DAMIAN
Was she upset?

CHARLIE
No. Everything was peachy.

Damian pushes Charlie onto the floor. Gives him a swift kick
in the back.

Will rushes in, arms flailing about.

WILL
Yo, Damian you gotta try--

Charlie spits up blood.

DAMIAN
What, Will?

WILL
The swing. You gotta try it.

DAMIAN
Yeah. I will.

Exiting the log cabin, Damian pushes past Will, nearly knocks
the boy over.

WILL
What's with him?

CHARLIE
Everything.

WILL
I'm hungry.

CHARLIE
Well, you can't have feta cheese.

WILL
Yeah, I know. I ate it all.

A Peaceful Solution To Doomsday

According to the Mayans, there are only five days left before the world ends. The behaviors of the last couple of days lead me to believe that some are acting as if this prophecy’s written in stone (well, technically it was written in stone…you get the meaning). I refer specifically to two horrific behaviors: the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre and the shooting at the Newport Beach mall. As if the massacre wasn’t enough, a bomb threat against a Newtown Catholic Church surfaced yesterday afternoon.

Let’s just say the Mayans are correct. Come with me on a hopefully fictional journey where what we know, our roads, our loved ones, our running sneakers, our childhood dog’s tombstone, our most hated buildings burn to total smithereens by some supernatural force Friday mid-breakfast. The days that precede this so-called obliteration of what is, could go in many directions. It could be business as usual. Head to the office, drop your kids off at soccer practice, bake those delicious sugar cookies, attend your reading clubs. It could be filled with the continuance of utter hate and rage. More gun violence. Bombs explode at every street corner. Mothers are raped. Fathers are murdered. Children are kidnapped and tortured. Mass suicides.

I propose a totally different response. Bury your guns. Snip the wires to your homemade bombs. Lock your cutlery drawer. Most importantly, go inward. That’s right, GO INWARD. Go beyond meditation. Reflect on the person you are/wish to be. Feel that heartbreak that you continue to deny. Instead of acting out against the person who broke your heart, cry your eyes out. Punch a pillow. Jump up and down till you feel lighter. Feel…

Should all this sound fluffy to you, talk to someone. You have nobody in your life, call a helpline. There are people out there that do wish to help.

Below is a fragment of how I dealt with my terror yesterday. It’s a video I wrote, directed and edited all in five hours.

P.S. This video is satirical. It’s my hope, should Congress vote against extended unemployment benefits, nobody kills themselves in response.

Toni Collette

My shrine for Toni Collette exists solely in my mind. As the day passes, the thought of working with her arrives at least fifteen different times. She makes the subtlest movements that after a quick examination scream, “I am this character. I’ve always been this character and will die this character.” Regardless of the role, regardless of the absurdity, she breathes honesty.

Using Toni as a muse, I sketched out a story for a film that is so personal. It delineates my discomfort in romance and with family. I’d be delighted if she played the female lead. Who knows?

The below excerpt is not (I underlined the word not so that if this happens to be read on opposite day, it’s clear that this is not) from the story; it’s a continuation of the script titled Descent.

INT. STORE - DAY

BELLA, a shaking octogenarian, dusts the register. She
looks over at Charlie who is sifting through the ladies'
dresses.

BELLA
It's a nice selection here, isn't
it?

CHARLIE
Sure is. My wife...

BELLA
Try something on. We got dressing
rooms, ya know?

Bella canes her way over to Charlie. After examining a
dress, she violently pushes it away.

CHARLIE
Thank you but I'm...

BELLA
I think you'd look excellent in
red. Ah, I saw a nice red dress
here yesterday. Where's the damn
thing. Oops, pardon my language.
I used to never curse until my
husband died. You married?

CHARLIE
Not yet.

BELLA
Well, be patient. Someday you'll
find a man of your own.

CHARLIE
Oh, I get it! You think I'm a
woman because I'm...

BELLA
You're a beautiful woman. There's
no reason why you shouldn't be
married.

CHARLIE
Well, okay.

BELLA
Well, I speak the truth. Ah, okay
here's the dress.

Bella holds the dress up against Charlie's body.

INT. LOG CABIN - EVENING

Will downs his glass of wine.

WILL
More, please.

Charlie wearing a red dress refills Will's glass.

CHARLIE
That's a ton of wine for a boy your
age.

WILL
Did I ask for a commentary?

CHARLIE
No?

WILL
Then step away, woman.

Shivers run down Charlie's back as he steps away.

In the corner, Damian whittles a stick and hums.

CHARLIE
How long do I have to wear this?

WILL
Until either you leave or truly
morph into a woman.

DAMIAN
Knowing Charlie, he'll fall in love
with the dress but never leave nor
morph into a woman.

Damian and Will chuckle.

WILL
Woman, refill his glass.

Charlie refills Damian's glass.

Damian joins Will at the table. He hands Will the whittled
stick.

DAMIAN
What do you think?

WILL
That should do. I'll test it.

DAMIAN
On what?

Will tosses the whittled wood at Charlie's back.

CHARLIE
Fucking prick!

WILL
Exactly!

Damian and Will roar in wild laughter.

BEGIN DREAM SEQUENCE

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

It's clearly winter. Everyone's bundled up in warm clothing
including Kate and Charlie.

Kate fishes in her pocket. Pulls out a quarter. Hands it to
Charlie.

KATE
That's all I got.

CHARLIE
I'm jonesing for a smoke, Kate.
What the hell will I do with a
quarter?

KATE
Buy gum. Kill the boy.

CHARLIE
Will?

KATE
No. Not Will.

CHARLIE
Then who?

Kate points across the street to Damian. He's dressed like
a schoolboy. Sucks his thumb.

A thick rope unravels in the air. It falls to the ground.

THUD

Damian's eyes widen.

END DREAM SEQUENCE

The Whine

It feels like forever since my last post. Life’s been rather insane. On December 8th, a letter from Department of Labor came in reminding me that my unemployment benefits could expire on the 30th of this month. My finances are in the hands of congress. This is so fucked up! All I need is one more month.

Last Monday, I visited an organization in New York City called The Actors Fund. This wonderful organization helps actors, filmmakers, writers, dancers, etc find work in everything but the entertainment industry. There are networking opportunities, seminars, career counselors, so much! Since I’ve never earned a dime in the entertainment industry, I’m in the process of asking former actors, musicians, collaborators of all sorts to write letters, vouching for my validity as a writer/filmmaker. Maybe, just maybe, I can receive their assistance. Isn’t this fucking blog enough?

In other news, this evening I’m auditioning for a role or two in a Vassar film. There’s no pay but fuck I need something in life to feel good. Yeah, I know, I sound whiny. But if you were to walk in my shoes, you’d probably be dead…or lose your feet.

Enough of “me”. Here’s the next installment of the script —

EXT. CLEARING - EARLY MORNING

Smoke rises from the log cabin's chimney.

Damian and Will run through the clearing toward the cabin.

EXT/INT. LOG CABIN - EARLY MORNING

Damian and Will duck beneath the window.

WILL
(whispers)
I'm gonna take the shot.

DAMIAN
Hold on.

Damian raises his eyes to window level. Bites his lip.
Crumbles to the ground.

WILL
What? Can I take it?

DAMIAN
No. Fuck!

WILL
What?

Will peers through the window.

Charlie smokes a cigarette while hot water boils on the wood
stove.

WILL (CONT'D)
Who the fuck is that?

DAMIAN
It's Charlie Hammond.
(loud)
What the fuck are you doing here,
Charlie?

CHARLIE (O.S.)
Oh you're back. Thank God. It's
been lonely without you. Thought
maybe you got eaten by a bear or
drowned or something. Where are
you? I'm making some coffee. Want
some?

INT. LOG CABIN - MORNING

Damian and Charlie sip their coffees.

Will's perched on the bed, his rifle aimed at Charlie's feet.

CHARLIE
(to Will)
You can have some. It's good.
Picked it up at this health food
store. Don't worry it's fresh.
Organic and fair trade...

WILL
I don't drink coffee.

CHARLIE
Well, it's here if you want it. I
mean it's like really...

WILL
I won't.

Damian slams his coffee on the table.

DAMIAN
You can't be here.

CHARLIE
I know, yes. You keep telling me.
This island must be messing up your
memory. Is this island like the
island from Lost? You know the TV
show?

DAMIAN
Never saw it.

CHARLIE
It's all supernatural. Creepy.
Only seen a couple of episodes.
Induced the worst insomnia. Had to
stop watching it.

Will leaps off the bed and signals for Damian him.

DAMIAN
What?

WILL
Outside.

EXT. LOG CABIN - MORNING

Damian and Will sit on the last step, huddled close.

WILL
You invited him. Didn't you?

DAMIAN
Will...

WILL
You just want to sabotage this
whole operation.

DAMIAN
Don't be ridiculous. The man's
obsessed with me.

A lump wells up in Will's throat.

WILL
I thought you'd fix this shit with
Kate?

DAMIAN
She's stubborn.

Will cracks the step with the butt of his rifle.

WILL
This is fucked!

DAMIAN
Calm the hell down! And loose the
rifle. He's not gonna kill us.
He's a neurotic comedian.

EXT. ISLAND WATERFRONT - DAY

Damian rolls the row boat right side up onto the sand.
Pushes the boat into the water. He then hands Charlie the
oars.

DAMIAN
Get in.

CHARLIE
Oh no, no. I need a life
preserver. How can I get into a
boat without the extra security?

DAMIAN
Charlie...

CHARLIE
Fine!

Charlie fumbles onto the boat. Once settled, he jumps off
the boat. Kicks and screams in the water.

DAMIAN
Charlie, what's gotten into you?
C'mon now. Get the hell back in
the boat.

CHARLIE
No, I can't. I love it here.
This is my dream island. It's
where I'll channel Tolkien. Trust
me. Give me a month. I'll stay
out of your hair. I promise. Just
a month.

DAMIAN
No.

CHARLIE
What's you mean no? You're
leaving and that's that.

Will jumps off a boulder. Tosses his rifle to the side.

WILL
Damian, let him stay.

CHARLIE
Really? Oh God, I love you! Ho
lord, I love you...

WILL
There are conditions, though.

CHARLIE
What kind of conditions?

A Little Blurb on the True Inner Voice

The seemingly endless search for one’s true voice. Yesterday I heard mine. It terrified me greatly. In time, you will see this voice beaming through the writing. In the meantime, I’ll post more of the script which I had titled Descent.

INT. LOG CABIN - NIGHT

Only a few items are illuminated. A rusty lantern. A
clouded up mirror. A clay mug.

Glass SHATTERS.

A hand reaches through the open pane, turns the knob.
Someone stumbles through the dark, ignites a match which
powers the lantern. Light fills the room.

Damian approaches the bed. Shakes the lump underneath the
wool blanket.

DAMIAN
Hey. Why was the door locked?

Will, shirtless and half asleep, crawls out from underneath
the wool blanket.

WILL
What?

DAMIAN
You didn't hear me come in?

WILL
No.

DAMIAN
I had to break the glass. Why was
it locked?

WILL
It was locked?

Damian moves further into the bed.

DAMIAN
Yeah. Move over.

WILL
You're here so late.

DAMIAN
I got here as soon as I could.

Damian sprawls out on the bed.

WILL
You stink.

Will crawls over Damian, reaches for the cooler. Pulls out a
beer. POPS the cap off.

DAMIAN
Where the hell'd you get that?

WILL
The store.

DAMIAN
Which store?

WILL
(laughs)
The store.

DAMIAN
Got another?

Will hands Damian another beer. Their fingers rub against
one another.

WILL
What's up with your hand?

DAMIAN
Ah, it's nothing.

WILL
Grabbed the honey locust, didn't
ya?

DAMIAN
Something like that.

WILL
Didn't think you'd make it.

DAMIAN
What? And leave you here to rot?

WILL
I wouldn't rot.

DAMIAN
Will, listen, there's someone else
here.

WILL
Here?

DAMIAN
Not here here. On the island.

WILL
Who?

DAMIAN
I don't know. A figure ran past
me.

WILL
Human?

Damian nods.

Will takes a wrinkled shirt off the floor. Reaches for his
boots.

DAMIAN
You can't be serious!

WILL
We gotta find him.

DAMIAN
I just got here. I wanna sleep,
man.

WILL
Then sleep. I'm gonna find him.

Will rushes out the door.

EXT. LOG CABIN - NIGHT

Will pulls the floorboard off the porch. Retrieves a rifle.
Grabs a hemp satchel loaded with bullets. Tosses the satchel
over his shoulder. As he steps off the porch, a hand stops
him.

DAMIAN
I'm coming with you.

WILL
Thought you wanted to sleep.

DAMIAN
I do. Let's go.

EXT. RURAL ROAD - NIGHT

Damian reaches out, preventing Will from walking any further.

DAMIAN
It was right around here.

Will pushes past Damian. Cocks the rifle. Disappears into
the brush.

DAMIAN (CONT'D)
Will! Where the...

Damian follows after him.

EXT. WOODS - DAWN

Damian lags thirty feet behind Will. At a boulder, he stops,
leans against it.

DAMIAN
Will!

Will doesn't stop.

DAMIAN (CONT'D)
C'mon, dude, what the fuck! We've
circled this island five times.
The sun's coming up.

Trembling, Will stops. He turns back at Damian. Charges
after him. Pointing the loaded rifle at him.

WILL
Did you see a figure or not?

DAMIAN
Yes. I'm pretty sure I did.

The rifle inches from Damian's forehead, Will cocks the
rifle.

WILL
I could kill you.

DAMIAN
I know, Will. But you won't. You
need me.

Will lowers the rifle. Shuffles in uncertainty.

WILL
Didn't meant to...

Will falls to the ground. Tears drip down his cheek.

DAMIAN
It's fine.

WILL
No, it's not. I don't like what
I'm becoming.

Will tears the rifle off, throws it over a stump.

DAMIAN
It's only temporary.

WILL
Bullshit.

Will crawls over to the rifle, throws it over his body.

DAMIAN
Onward?

Continuation of Script

I have this tendency to take what’s already written and do an overhaul. Although I’m trying to get out of this pattern, it’s essential an overhaul occurs. Why? Something else presses me…

Memories from my most recent job. Although it was rather nightmarish (for four years, every day, nonstop), I’ve decided to take a satirical look at it. The characters from the Descent script will be transferred over to this more personal story.

In the meantime, I will continue to post the script in the order in which it was written. Here it goes —

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

               CHARLIE, unshaven and bug-eyed paces the room.   An unlit
               cigarette dangles in his hand.  He charges at Damian the
               moment he enters.

                                   CHARLIE
                         My God!  That woman with the nice
                         hair, didn't seem happy to see me. 
                         What's up with that?  Oh, she's
                         your lady friend you were talking
                         about.   How's everything going
                         with you and her?  

                                   DAMIAN
                         Just peachy.

               Damian pours some whiskey into a glass.

                                   CHARLIE
                         "Peachy"?  Great word.   Listen,
                         I've been up all night, man.  I
                         just figured it out. I should say
                         fuck it to comedy and write books.  
                         Adventures like Tolkien.   What do
                         you say?  I mean like fuck, Damian,
                         I'm not getting any younger.   You
                         know my birthday was on Tuesday. 
                         Turned thirty-one.  Not that you
                         care.

                                   DAMIAN
                         Want any?

                                   CHARLIE
                         What?

               Damian raises his glass of whiskey.

                                   CHARLIE (CONT'D)
                         Alcohol?  Are you crazy?  It's like
                         12:15.  What the fuck man?   Why
                         would I want to drink?  I barely
                         ate breakfast.  Just a tiny bowl of
                         Greek yogurt with bananas.   You
                         ever have that combo?   Greek
                         yogurt and bananas?   It's great. 
                         You should try it.

               Damian takes a seat at the head of the conference table.  His
               face stricken with horror.

                                   CHARLIE (CONT'D)
                         What?  You're scaring me.   Stop
                         scaring me.   You're looking at me
                         all weird.

                                   DAMIAN
                         Charlie, I need you to shut the
                         fuck up and sit down.

               Without hesitation, Charlie takes a seat.

                                   CHARLIE
                         Okay.  Hi!  What's up?

                                   DAMIAN
                         I'm dropping you.

                                   CHARLIE
                         What? I thought we were tight man. 
                         Aren't we friends?  What's this all
                         about?  You can't be serious.  How
                         is this possible?   

                                   DAMIAN
                         I'm dropping everyone.

                                   CHARLIE
                         You're not suicidal are you? 
                         Please tell me you're not suicidal. 
                         If you're suicidal you should get
                         some help. Lots of help.  
                         All sorts of professionals out
                         there that can help you with this
                         kind of stuff.  Tell me you're not
                         suicidal.

                                   DAMIAN
                         I'm not suicidal.  

                                   CHARLIE
                         Wooh!  Well, that's a relief.  But
                         you're dropping everyone?   Why?

                                   DAMIAN
                         It's time.   

                                   CHARLIE
                         Time?  Time for what?

               EXT. WATERFRONT - DAY

               The day couldn't be cloudier.

               Damian, in torn khaki shorts and a fluorescent tank top,
               drags a row boat on the muddied sand.  He heads toward the
               crystalline water. 

               The boat catches onto a hump in the sand.

               Damian tugs but falls forward.   He leaps to the front of the
               boat, lifts it from the hump.   Continues pulling the boat
               toward the water.  At the water's edge, he jumps in the row
               boat.  Paddles away.

               EXT. RURAL ROAD - EVENING

               The pavement's cracked.  Regardless, Damian, out of breath,
               saunters about.   Knapsack slung over his shoulder.   

               A dark figure runs across the street.

               Fatigued, Damian grabs a tree branch.

                                   DAMIAN
                         Hello?
                             (beat)
                         Shit!  

               Damian yanks his hand off the branch.  Blood pools up on each
               finger.  He licks the blood.