Monday, March 31, 2008

The Throes (Part 5)

Artwork by ADEE

The Throes

Part 5
"No, You're Actually Killing Me."

(Read parts 1-4 HERE)
(List of Characters HERE)

Sonja is driving a girl, Rona, around the block in her BMW.
Sonja/Why did you say you were drugged? I didn’t tell you to say that.
Rona/How else am I supposed to explain why I didn’t come home?
S/You should’ve said you drank too much, which you did, and that you don’t remember.
R/I don’t blackout. Everyone knows that. Listen, I don’t know what this guy did to you, but he is a friend of a friend so I am done being part of whatever kind of sick joke this is. I don’t know what you were doing in his apartment when we got there, for all I know you’re stalking him, or trying to frame him or something. I don’t know. I shouldn’t have taken you up on it. So if you picked me up to try and have me do something else, forget it.
There is a long pause. They are both staring off into the road.
S/I’ll give you another $300.
Silence. They are both frozen.
Rona closes her eyes in a slow surrender.

________________________________________________________________________

Sonja is in the dank basement apartment of Chet Grover. He is shirtless, skinny and scruffy. He is sitting on an old, beat-up couch. She is standing over him.
Chet/What do you want me to do when I meet him?
Sonja/Just scare him.
C/Scare him?
S/Yeah, you know.
C/No. How?
S/Talk shit.
Chet takes it in. Starts nodding slowly.
C/Being that you’re not giving me specifics, I assume you mean random shit.
S/Yeah. Loosely wrapped threats.
She goes to the table in the hallway, puts something down on it and makes her way to the door.
S/I’m leaving the address on this table.
C/Are you fucking this guy?
S/Fuck off, Chet.
She opens the door. Waves.
S/So long.
C/Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget to call Mom tomorrow at work.

________________________________________________________________________

Sonja is at the kitchen sink in her apartment. She is washing the toaster in a frighteningly methodical way. Kira facing her on the other side of the island.
Kira/This is so sick. You are so fucking disgusting.
Sonja is not facing her; she is calmly engrossed in her chore.
Sonja/Don’t talk to me like that.
K/Fuck you, you’re not my mother. Why are you using me to lie to him?
S/Because he needs to learn a lesson.
K/That is so fucked up! That’s not even what it’s about. There’s something else going on. I’m telling my father. I can’t let this-
S/Kira, you tell your father and I’ll tell him about Carl.
Kira’s face drops.
S/And about what’s under you trunk in the corner.
Kira looks at her frightened, like she just performed some slight-of-hand trick that defies the laws of science.
S/Don’t think I won’t.
Sonja finally turns to look at her. She smiles coldly.
S/I don’t want your dad worrying about anything. Now, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do or else what I have to tell your father will make him barricade you so long in your room you won’t remember what a boy is, or sunlight for that matter. And I don’t even have to make anything up.
Kira turns red. She looks like she is about to stomp her feet. She dashes off down the hall toward her room
Sonja cracks a smile. Then under her breath…
S/Love you too, honey.
_________________________________________________________________

The Flynn family is standing around the kitchen table. There are take-out food containers everywhere. Sonja, Kira and Mr. Flynn are all cheerfully scooping various selections onto their plates. Light, high-toned small talk abounds. There is no tension to be found anywhere in this snapshot. To the unsuspecting observer, this is a fun, free-spirited family. Mr. Flynn reaches to grab the Seafood delight and finds himself in kissing distance to his wife. He partakes. They smile. A shrimp falls from his spoon.

________________________________________________________________________


John lifts his head. It’s morning.
He is in his new apartment. It seems much more spacious than his last one, but it is hard to tell because there are boxes everywhere and no furniture. He is on the floor in a spot that was cleared. There are three empty champagne bottles laying next to him along with a half empty bottle of JD and a sleeping, half-dressed woman.
When John scans the vicinity’s contents he is confused. For a second, he doesn’t even recognize the girl. But a moment later it comes back to him.
Yelana is her name. From the Agency. She brought over some pizza and some champagne. Pleading with her that he shouldn’t drink only made her insist on it more. But why the JD? That was packed away. He can’t remember. It must have been his drunken alter ego, operating on auto pilot in a desperate search for something to fuel the fire of inebriation. It makes him sick to think of it. And, isn’t it just how the mind works, that one sad depressing thought leads to another. “I impregnated my boss’ child” he says, almost out loud. The thought makes him weak and he falls semi-limp to the floor. It wakes Yelana up. She turns over to him, still drunk probably.
Yelana/What?
John/(in an almost inaudible mumble)I had sex with my boss’ daughter in a blackout. How could I do that?
But Yelana heard it before.
Y/Will you stop it! Stop saying that.
This strikes John as funny. He didn’t think he ever said it.
J/Yelana, it’s very important that I stay sober at this time. It’s actually dangerous. It’s fucking up my life. I told you not to get me drunk.
She is smiling like it is all fun and games.
Y/I’m a naughty girl, huh?
John puts a quick end to the flirtatious banter.
J/No, you’re actually killing me.
John’s eye catches the writing on the box behind her. It is the “Kira” box. He jumps up like it’s an omen and quickly turns the box around so he can’t see it. Getting up so quickly to his feet sends a shot of clarity to his brain.
J/Alright, time to go.
The BUZZER rings.
J/Oh shit.

to be continued...

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Bedbugs XXV

Bedbugs XXV



Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.





No matter how you lie, the answer’s imprinted on you.
You should go while I promise someone will care
for her is a better solution than the groups
running the rake have endured while sitting down
uncomfortably close to each other. All the sounds turned off
leave nothing but the soul’s atmosphere and harmonics
which 99 percent of them think is a joke. Convincing
someone in the chair to make me one with everything
seems to work when the sharp tools come out.
Jack can’t remember who he is. He’s been here before,
waste of ten year’s time carved into him. He remembers
her and all of them up in the mountain watching the
days cycle past. Battering, managing to keep me intrigued
while distracting me from the things that promise
true spiritual passion where the gloves REALLY come off.
Nothing rhymes with apathy.




Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:



-soft shoulders tugged and gripped
-mesmerized by kaleidoscopic falsified intention
-wood rot in the third through eighth floors
-blurry vision while writing it down
-sepiatone charm
-knock the past out of him
-the voice from the old house is here




-Adam Barnick

The Boxpress "NEW" Music Time Show with Brian Hughes


A new series in which Brian delves into the current music scene. The idea: put into big neon lights new and exciting sounds. 


Show# 1: King Khan and The Shrines and O'Death. PLAY PODCAST

King Khan and The Shrines performing "Land of the Freak" - LIVE! - June 5th, 2006 in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada.



O'Death performing "Down to Rest" at Mercury Lounge, December 10th, 2006.



Very Strange music video for O'Death's "Down to Rest."



If you think you might want to listen to some more of my podcasts - please click below:


Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Six Word Theater

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.



Inspired by the challenge of telling a story in six words,
I attempt to polish my skills by telling a six-word story
or phrase each Wednesday.

I encourage you to feel free
to "continue the story" or start your own.



Today's entry:


Hemingway:
Lived with words.
Died alone.




-Adam Barnick

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Underground, Above and Beyond: The Casually Edited True Life Subway Adventures of Hershey Browne

My Baby Takes the Morning Train

A crowded or roomy subway car is, for the most part, completely random. Yes, sure, common sense tells us that a rush hour train will be more crowded then its off-peak cousin that pull up at 11am or 9:30pm, but one can take the same morning train at the same time on two different days and have completely different experiences. One day you can comfortably commute with a full luggage set and favorite cocktail table arcade game, the next day you are the patient at an amateur proctologist's conference. Where am I going with this? Not very far - just a couple of stops into my morning commute this past Thursday. (Now that I think about it, this past Thursday was Holy Thursday but the story is in no way connected, and as a Jew I don't know enough about the holiday to draw any comparisons or symbolism - I open the floor for those who wish to).

So...it's one of those crazy-ass crowded mornings. I squeeze into the train like a fat guy's tucked-in shirt. I get a couple of glances and grunts but feel as though I was within the limit of an understandable amount of people within a crowded train. I glanced back at the disappointed, inviting conversation but my glances were met with diverted eyes. Next stop, a couple more people get on and at this point we are at full capacity with the only room left for crowd surfers and spiders. Following stop, doors open, woman with a baby in her arms and stroller at her waist. No room, but the woman, her baby and the stroller wants in.
"Excuse me, excuse me, I need to get in!" People just stare at the crazy woman like she's ordering auto parts at a Chinese take-out.
"You all gotta move in so we can get on!"
"Hey lady," rose the voice of reason somewhere behind me. "Train's full - take the next one."
"You take the next one - we gotta got on this train." Just then, the woman, baby in arm, shoves onto the train, the stroller jamming into my shin like a dull lawnmower blade.
"Holy shit!" I screamed. I'm not one to swear in public but couldn't hold back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" By this time I was somewhat aware of my language and used 'hell' instead of 'fuck' to find a happy medium between keeping it clean and trying to make my point.
"You jus' gotta move in and then nobody gets hurt."
"What? Really? You're serious?" At this point the crazy woman had shoved herself into the subway car by pushing the stroller into my shin forceful enough that it was now at a high enough angle to allow herself to be within a few inches of me. The stroller was almost standing upright between us and the baby was above it, in her left arm and pretty much in my face as if it was about to give me an eye exam. In general, I love babies but not when the baby's stroller is digging a dent into my leg. Plus, this baby looked mean. Ya know how a baby can look mean? This was an ugly, mean-looking baby.
"I'm serious about getting into the city, so yeah, I'm totally serious and if that's not good enough for you, you can suck my ass!" Ok, this was really funny but at the time I was failing to see the humor in it, and besides, this was not the first ass on my suck-list.
"You know what...fuck you!"
"Fuck me? Fuck you!"
"Fuck you, fuck your stroller and fuck your baby!"
"Fuck my baby??!!! Fuck my baby??!!!" And then the strangest thing happened... "Clarence, punch the man!" And before I could comprehend this, before I can wonder who names their baby Clarence, the baby swings his arm and gets me right in the eye. If it got me somewhere else I would have been fine, but a little fist in the eye, no matter how light, freakin' hurts. Now I don't know exactly how old this baby was but he couldn't have been much more than a year and the whole scenario has not stopped blowing my mind even three days later.

I just stood there, squeezed between countless people, a stroller digging into my leg, baby Clarence staring me down as if to say 'you want more bitch?' and his mother behind him, her Paulie to his Rocky. My eye was stinging and starting to tear. All eyes and ears were now on me. I realized that I had been beat. Albeit, completely unfairly and unjustly beat, but beat all the same. Even if I was a fighter, I could not hit Clarence the ugly baby or Paulie the suck-ass mother. All I could do is let the tears run from my eye. And sing. I belted it out as loud as I could. I even think I heard a girl in the distance harmonize under her breath. Usually I would have tried to locate this girl to see who she was, see if there was any possibility for a spark, but not today, not right now. Right now it was all about singing....

My baby takes the morning train
He works from nine till five and then
He takes another home again
To find me waitin' for him....

Friday, March 21, 2008

The Boxpress Music Time Show with Brian Hughes


Show# 8: "Perfect" Part 4 ... and a few other things ...

Brian pulls a few more songs from his music collection and discusses why they are perfect ... he also dashes a few other songs in for spice.






If you are interested in listening to any of Brian's previous shows - click below:
(1)  (2)  (3)  (4)  (5)  (6)  (7)

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Bedbugs XXIV

Bedbugs XXIV



Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.




She’s been left alone in the room once again by yet
another person who doesn’t see that the slightest
gesture might save her. The amount of pain per
hour isn’t measured but they know to work on tell
me when it hits 30 sounds like the best way to know
to stay away from lights and sounds and relatives
and those excited about the silence between
sounds.

Climbing the stairs two at a time like we did when
we were kids with potential and good credit… now
we need a cane just to think about it. Hallway goes
on forever, but I used to get to the other side before
I’d complexions in different lighting, sad looks sad
no matter which mirror. Wish I could make it
brighter for you. Complicated atmospheric intention
gets in the way better than liquid subtext poured on
the stains to make them more manageable. There’s
little hope written down, you have to keep it in your
head without help. I did care for her, we all did. We
just couldn’t because everyone else wants to do it,
was how the excuse jumble poured forth. Next up is
a fifth of the man he used to be. Brain scattered,
purpose lost and two types of smiles I can’t return.




Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:



-I promise someone will care for her
-running the rake
-all the sounds turned off
-make me one with everything
-waste of ten year’s time
-managing to keep me intrigued
-nothing rhymes with apathy




-Adam Barnick