☆ THE SILENT GOLD ☆

     he’s on his way to go get himself a sandwich when he comes across a long line for a big building. fellows tickle girls, goose up themselves to security, shout at the people in front to hurry up. people doing anything to bear the long wait -- goofing off, taking pictures, playing games. it’s like a line for a ride at the fair. he keeps on.

          travis assumes the man was an army grunt. draftees never did get their pick of the litter, but then again, they never had great odds of survival. growing up, his parents hadn’t been the silent majority nor the fierce opposition ; like a healthy portion of the country, they had only looked on in concern as their precious values and institutions unraveled. it shocked them to learn their only son had enlisted at the war’s tail end — although perhaps it shouldn’t have. 

            the war taught travis things : discipline, camaraderie, brutality. but now that he’s a civilian, he can’t stand the crooks who’d been pulling the strings. “i don’t keep up with sports much,” he admits, omitting that he doesn’t keep up with anything. “i came right home, you know ?” he’s heard of these healthy channels for aggression — outlets — even tried them. he reasons that it’s violence for the sake of violence. his agenda has always been bigger. the idea that their service could ease his loneliness is enough to continue the chatter. 

              “what d’ya do now ?”

     “i still box.” by choice, no one ordered him to or grabbed him by his ankles and dragged him into the sport. he sniffs, “tried baseball but that didn’t work out.”

blade runner: 2049

     nobody likes being treated like a pissant.

            despite the commotion,   residents peeking outside their doors to see what’s going on wasn’t a part of biker’s agenda.   he hadn’t time to stow the cleaver gripped tight in his hand back into the dingy backpack he wore slung over his shoulder.   it glints when the light hits it at the right angle,  noticeably,   and thankfully,   clean,   but no less a menacing sight.   he turns where he’s stood when the voice speaks up.  

            “   depends.   “   the rider begins,   slowly.   he lifts his head higher,   gets a better look at the man through the glare of fluorescent lights.   he doesn’t want to stir more trouble than he already has—-   but he also won’t take people playing hero.   “   you gonna hassle me?   “

      he doesn’t forego back into the apartment, duck back inside while someone worth calling security on wanders the halls. but -- he doesn’t want to invoke a wrath either and get hurt, so vinnie reaches over and sneaks one hand on the baseball bat by the door. 

          ‘ great. ’  animals. it’s true , they really were going to let him lie in it. he gets it, most the men from his unit would do the same. not much to make a man laugh around these parts. they’ll get what they can , he supposes. still, he takes what little he has and dumps it in the mud by vinnie. 

          ‘ mm .. but they’d do that anywhere. ’  he’s too tired to care right now, but strong enough to kick the shit out of the guy who’d try it when the moment comes. al sits, using a dirty rag to try and clean the shit off his face. it’s no use. it’s never any use. he doesn’t know why he still bothers.  ‘ got a name? ’

      “vinnie. you?” he inquires in a husky tone, removing his boot to put pressure on his foot that’s fallen asleep and left him with a slight unsteady limp. his teeth flash as he grits them, feeling all the places where the water has left his skin to rot, fold in all the wrong places, bruise in strange colors. it feels like pins and needles. the worst shit possible.

      front bottom tooth knocked out. a whole gap, right there. he’s been waiting for what feels like hours, perspiring in the heat, drawing french-fried potatoes from a paper cup in hopes he’ll get the call about a replacement. we’ll call you around noon or so, they had said. 

      it’s too hot for this. and it’s past noon; it’s three-thirty. he’s sweating through his shirt, dark stains around the armpits, beads forming on his brow. and there goes someone that across the street dressed like they might as well be in alaska.

          “i have seen much worse,” she says easily enough and she has. working for the crime beat at the bulletin will often put her at crime scenes, following investigations, throughout the city. she’s poured over photographic evidence either released by the police conference or by means she’s acquired them herself–all of which are brutal and garish to look at, maybe even turn the ordinary citizen away from such violence and gore…yet karen finds herself trekking through nonetheless, and not because it’s her job, but maybe it’s because she’s got nerves of steel and a backbone to match while her heart’s made of gold.

          “you’re pals over there are quite the talkers. couldn’t help but overhearing there’s going to be a match tomorrow night. you fight?” she takes a sip of her beer, finding that it tastes exactly the same as she’d been here last time and, if she’s being honest, it’s been a while since she stepped foot into josie’s. 

      under this roof exists ashtrays, cheap beer, weathered down things. what a good place for him -- a man who perspires in dark rooms, who denies himself the sweetness of dreaming, who thrives in disappointment. the dark does not hide his scars but only exemplifies them, brings them out of the corners of rooms and to the center of attention. josie’s invites every class and character, receives them into the loving arms of booze and eight-ball, no matter the circumstances.

     “everyone’s been using that as a toilet, don’t sleep there,” he growls from the side of his mouth. someone shoves his shoulder is mock annoyance, like they’d wanted to make a laughing stock over a guy sleeping among piss and shit. they’d do anything for a chuckle -- he’s seen the shit they’ve laughed over, making a simple thing larger than life, shaking, rocking on their heels, slapping their thighs, a chorus of wheezes, weeping, men trying to catch their breaths. explosions of joy that were contagious, no matter how you felt. 

tagged by: my meme blog

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THE SHAPE OF WATER. early mornings.  art on an easel.  being trapped.  flashy cars.  self-righteous intolerance.  speaking volumes without a word.  being submerged.  learning and adapting.  raindrops on windows.  bubbles rising in water.  cats.  taboo desires.  tanks of water.  kitschy nostalgia.  kissing underwater.  silence.  isolation.  golden age hollywood.  sign language.  scales.  egg shells.  jell-o.  the smell of cleaning supplies.  creature features.  the space race.  red coats.  monstrous fairy tales.  lab coats.  lunches in brown bags.  the click of shoes.  smog.  dance routines.  slices of pie. toxic masculinity.  chains.  government secrets.  seeing past flaws.  floating aimlessly.  needles.  greens and blues.  deep, inexorable scars.  gills.  music from the 30′s.  retro-futurism.  bloody handprints.  routines.  record players.  old movies.  love in unexpected places.

PHANTOM THREAD. a doll in a gilded birdcage.  butter to bread.  the death of a mother.  cycles.  hidden messages.  a disruptive presence.  longing.  wedding gowns.  posh control.  post-war.  brightly colored socks.  inner turmoil.  poison.  an air of quiet death.  hallucinations.  family dysfunction.  rich fabrics.  curses.  soft piano music.  restrained anger.  spinning out of control.  artist and muse.  dark love.  pastels.  peace in the countryside.  clockwork dynamics.  perfection.  wild mushrooms.  giving up every piece of yourself.  rags to riches.  ghosts.  new year’s.  lingering gazes.  needle and thread.  fine dining.  hearing every sound.  being ambushed.  ego.  flowing dresses.  a person out of place.  defiance.  ink to paper.  an artist tortured by their art.  obsessive personalities.  peepholes.  soothing elegance.  silk.  spiral staircases.  driving at high speeds.  high society.

THE POST.  typewriters.  newspapers.  tense climates.  distrust of authority.  internal battles.  a legacy at stake.  secrets.  cover-ups.  defending what you believe.  peering through windows.  melodrama.  political corruption.  behind closed doors.  sniffing a scoop.  ringing phones.  lying for over a decade.  cramming and crowding.  cold grays.  war.  fluorescent lights.  treason.  shuffled papers.  the jungle.  a weight on your shoulders.  fresh coffee.  thousands of deaths.  burglary.  finding your voice.  risking everything.  propaganda.   tough choices.  exposure.  type being set by hand.  workplace rivalries.  abuses of power.  security breaches.  hierarchy.  a bed strewn with papers and books.  paranoia.  orders.  clicking keys.  redacted files.   desk clutter.  cigarette smoke.  precious cargo.  vanished technologies.  suspenseful conversations.  facing charges.  courtroom battles.  suits and ties.

DARKEST HOUR.  never surrendering.  duty.  countless negotiations.  the flash of cameras.  beaches.  historic buildings.  guzzling booze.  resignation.  utter catastrophe.  bunkers.  radio broadcasts.  going against the odds.  bathed in red light.  a sense of humor.  allies.  shouting matches.  small square windows.  selfishness.  walking with a cane.  war rooms.  chandeliers.  dust floating in air.  righteousness.  a poor reputation.  an elevator surrounded by darkness.  a world at war.  needing a miracle.  interruptions.  a last hope.  cigar smoke.  quoting poetry.  photos of a loved one.  a single sunbeam.  monarchy.  vanity.  rescue missions.  refusing peace.  pallid chambers.  military uniforms.  taking a stand.  common folk.  suicide missions.  drums of war.  tears down sullen cheeks.  reluctance.  complete collapse.  evacuations.  enveloped by fog.  changing history.  blood, toil, tears and sweat.

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI. severe burns.  police uniforms.  sirens.  the calmness of a deer.  strumming guitars. grieving.  horrifying memories.  sucker punches.  a lack of respect.  facing threats.  skin under fingernails.  flicking cigarettes.  awkward dates.  nasty rumors.  claustrophobia.  lush green pastures.  molotov cocktails.  the fire of anger and revenge.  strangers.  no remorse.  bashing in windows.  the midwest.  provoking a fight.  pointing fingers.  being pressed for time.  rundown old houses.  grey morality.  dark undercurrents.  insurmountable losses.  cruel laughs.  the american flag. dive bars.  guilty no matter what.  buildings in flames.  ambulances.  coughing up blood.  spitting.  chewing on fingernails.  one versus many.  black and red.  not understanding another’s feelings.  a mother and child.  the pain of others.  a quest of justice.  abandoned billboards.  a hardened gaze.  driving to nowhere.  small towns.  last letters.  absurd violence.

CALL ME BY YOUR NAME. heartbreak.  unbuttoned shirts.  fields of flowers.  having to say goodbye.  cobblestone streets.  rendezvous at midnight.  battling temptation.  academic paperwork.  peeling an orange.  80’s nostalgia.  classical music.  long walks. ancient artifacts.  abundant orchards.  shoulder massages.  expressive sexuality.  remembering everything.  staring into a fireplace.  dipping your feet in cool water.  uncertainty.  villa vacations.  curly hair.  longing gazes.  riding a bicycle around.  mystery of love. balconies.  swimming naked.  first times.  bathing suits.  roman statues.  secret sensuality.  peaches.  piano music.  sun-soaked summer.  having your nose in a book.  just rooms apart.  crystal blue water.  growing attractions.  changing your name.  intimacy beyond physical.  love affairs.  rich wines.  finding pleasure in grief.  daring to desire.  european lyricism.  loving father figures.  dancing to disco.  laying in green grass.  awkward adolescence.  hands interlinked.

DUNKIRK. burying a body.  warm cider.  narrow escapes.  a race against time.  a small boat.  all hope lost.  being unable to come home.  taken prisoner.  shipwrecks.  assuming the identity of someone else.  setting fire to it all.  smoke rising from a crash.  sea foam.  seaports.  rendered blind.  dropping to take cover.  land, sea, and air.  entangled in chain.  toast with jam.  suspense.  waiting for escape.  wounded men.  lying in the sand.  trauma.  blank spaces.  sinking ships.  commended a hero.  cocking a gun.  swallowed by darkness.  bullet holes.  obstacles and delays.  a hero’s welcome.  planes overhead.  the sounds of a ticking clock.  bullets ricocheting off metal.  people by the thousands.  shell-shocked.  the explosions of shells on shores.  the sound of destruction.  rising tides.  head injuries.  target practice.  compressed time and space.  the perennial threat of death.  oil ignited into flames. lying for the greater good.   blocking out the noise.  primal dangers.  taking command.  sole survivor.

GET OUT.  deer antlers.  suburbs.  hypnosis.  strange behavior.  familial tension.  chopping wood.  uneasy stares.  tears and a smile.  deception.  fight or flight.  blindness.  survival.  sinking into the floor.  watching but powerless.  strapped to a chair.  plugged ears.  a failed handshake.  car accidents.  sunken places.  something out of a nightmare.  going hysterical. bingo cards.  smoking cigarettes.  static on a television set.  doing more harm than good.  a hint of a smile.  a stranger in any environment that is foreign to them.  waiting for someone to come when they never will.  overturned candles.  wealthy garden parties.  constantly looking over your shoulder.  silence no matter how hard you scream.  trances.  catharsis. a battle of wills.  layers being peeled back.  a cup of tea.  nosebleeds.  addiction.  last bits of life leaving a body.  black and white photography.  sprinting at high speeds.  conspiracies.  surgery.  blankly polite speech.  noise of a spoon scraping across a teacup.  a deer in headlights.  staring at your own reflection.  unable to sleep.  loyal friends.

blade runner: 2049

      at this rate, vinnie’s accepted that he’ll be going nowhere; once it had been a nervous tension, but repeatedly running into wall after wall in his career, facing hours of violence with no reward, staying up at night because he’s dreading the next day haven’t done him much good. he’s too old for prizefighting, now. it’s his 27th birthday, and he’s at a bar. drinking. spending his dollar on alcohol. the thought of such would not have amused the young athlete looking to keep his body in shape, protesting every cigarette and bottle of beer offered to him, even making a scene about the dangers of such vices. he had cautioned too many people about it. now, he drinks. and he drinks too much.

      the guy offers to buy him a drink, and vinnie agrees with a merry laugh, both hands thrown up in glee, glad to not have to look at another shot of liquor on the bill. his imitation of normality doesn’t last long. he watches him, tall, average, blonde, fair-complexioned. a normal man, at first glance, in a cowboy hat. nothing wrong. has he ever lost his way like me? vinnie wonders. has he given up, too?