Tuesday, October 18, 2011


A short video I made.

Music by Parachutes
"Where Were You?" on the Tree Roots EP

Believe in the Summer Solstice.

Monday, October 10, 2011


Front seat of a moving vehicle on a rainy highway at night.

TIM, 50, has a comb over and is dressed in a suit. His shoes seem brand new, but his jacket seems a little too big for him. A pocket watch hangs out of his breast pocket.

GUTHRIE, 30, has long black hair and a shaggy beard. He wears a raggedy pair of old jeans and no T-shirt. An image of a Sierpinski gasket is tattooed onto his chest and a guitar string hangs from his nose.

TIM is driving in the middle of the night when he sees GUTHRIE standing by the side of the road. TIM drive past GUTHRIE without even hesitating. Moments later, it begins to rain and TIM glances down at his pocket watch. Exhaling slowly, TIM turns the car around and drives back towards GUTHRIE. TIM stops the car in front of GUTHRIE and rolls down his window.

TIM: Where you heading?
GUTHRIE: I don’t really know. How do you get to know where your going?
TIM: (Pause) Do you want a ride?
GUTHRIE: I want to get out of this rain.
TIM: Then hop on in.

GUTHRIE climbs into the passenger’s seat of the car. TIM puts the car into drive and continues on into the night.

GUTHRIE: So, what kind of person picks up a hitchhiker in the middle of the night?
TIM: I don’t know. You reminded me of someone.
GUTHRIE: Someone who doesn’t wear a shirt in a rainstorm?
TIM: No. He used to wear a shirt.
GUTHRIE: To me, wearing a shirt is like to be born again. But to live is to be in pain. How do you feel about that?
TIM: I honestly don’t know. Hadn’t thought about things that way before. Do you mind if I cut my hair?
GUTHRIE: While driving?
TIM: Yeah.
GUTHRIE: No worries, man. (Pause) No worries.

TIM pulls a pair of scissors out of his pocket and proceeds to cut his hair while driving. GUTHRIE turns on the radio and the sound of country music emits from the speakers. TIM turns off the radio.

GUTHRIE: No me gusta country?
TIM: You know what?
TIM: The someone you remind me of isn’t actually a someone. He’s a puppet.
GUTHRIE: Really?
TIM: Yeah.
GUTHRIE: That’s kinda awesome. I love puppets.

TIM begins to cough, a loud dry hacking cough.

TIM: Yeah, puppets are pretty great.

A piece of TIM'S hair falls into GUTHRIE'S lap.

GUTHRIE: Dude, you gonna keep on cutting your hair?
TIM: I like the feeling. Does it bother you?
GUTHRIE: No, not at all.

GUTHRIE begins to look out the window of the car, towards the night’s sky.

GUTHRIE: Have you ever though about how everything that the stars shine down on is fleeting? That the light from those stars is the future and that we are the past. Where is the present, man? Where is the present?
TIM: I just like to cut my hair. That’s all. That’s my present.

The pair drive past an automotive accident.

GUTHRIE: What was that?
TIM: Accident.
TIM: Yeah.
GUTHRIE: You ever make hot chocolate as a kid?
TIM: Always had a soft spot for the peppermint kind.
GUTHRIE: That was some great shit.
TIM: It really was.

TIM and GUTHRIE pass another roadside accident.

GUTHRIE: Another one.
TIM: Yeah.
GUTHRIE: Really raining, huh?
TIM: Yeah.

TIM stops cutting his hair and drops his scissors. They land on the floor.

GUTHRIE: You done?
TIM: No, just taking a break.
GUTHRIE: Figures.
TIM: I guess it does.

A silence fills the car.

GUTHRIE: Do you want to know how I got this tattoo?
TIM: Not really.
GUTHRIE: You sure? It’s an interesting tale.
TIM: I’m OK.
TIM: I’m fucking sure.

TIM turns on the radio. “Somewhere over the Rainbow” begins to play.

TIM: You ever go puddle stomping?
GUTHRIE: Of course.

TIM coughs.

GUTHRIE: Bad cough?
TIM: Yeah.
GUTHRIE: Last time I heard a cough like that... well, it was under very different circumstances.
TIM: What is that supposed to mean?
GUTHRIE: I don’t know. You’re the one that cuts his own hair.
TIM: I do it because I like the feeling. That’s all.

GUTHRIE begins to fidget with the guitar string hanging from his nose.

GUTHRIE: Do you ever wonder what evil looks like?

TIM turns the steering wheel violently. Their car barely misses being in an accident.

GUTHRIE: Another one.
TIM: I used to race cars, you know?
TIM: Yeah. I enjoyed it. I really it.

Sound of brakes screeching. Vehicle swerves. Lights out. Sound of a loud crash.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

The Couple

CECIL and BRENDA are 76 and 81, respectively.

CECIL is of a stocky build and his pants come so far above his waist that it seems as though they are governed by their own unique laws of physics.
Every movement that BRENDA makes seems fragile, like she could break at any moment. She colors her hair brown and dresses as though it is still 1965.

A lone cereal box sits next to an old wooden chair. Both characters are in the middle of the stage.

BRENDA: What time is it?
CECIL: (Whispering) I don’t know...
BRENDA: What do you mean you don’t know?
CECIL: I mean I forgot. (Pause) What’s for breakfast?
BRENDA: How does cereal sound?
CECIL: Ah yes, cereal.
BRENDA: Yes. Cereal. The same thing we have everyday.

CECIL picks up the cereal box and cautiously begins to open it, as if he is unsure of his movements.

CECIL: Do you remember that one time we went camping? Up in the lake district? We were with the kids.
BRENDA: Yes, but I haven’t thought about that in a long, long time.

Lights go out. In the darkness, magnified sound of wood being sawed. Lights come up. The chair is gone.
BRENDA: What time is it?
CECIL: (Whispering)I don’t know...
BRENDA: What do you mean you don’t know?
CECIL: I mean I forgot. (Pause) What’s for breakfast?
BRENDA: Cereal. I’ll go get the box for you.
CECIL: Thank you.

BRENDA walks across the stage and notices that the chair is gone.

BRENDA: Cecil, the chair is missing. It was here just a moment ago.
CECIL: What, what is a moment?
BRENDA: Oh, stop that. Help me look for the chair.

BRENDA takes CECIL by the hand as they walk around the stage, searching for the chair.

CECIL: What?
BRENDA: Nothing.
CECIL: You know what?
CECIL: Once something expands to its limits, it must contract. The chair probably did just that. BRENDA: Cecil, will you please stop that. We probably just misplaced it. That’s all.

Lights go out. In the darkness, magnified sound of shovel over slate. Lights come back up. The cereal is gone.

BRENDA: What time is it?
CECIL (Whispering) I don’t know.
BRENDA: What do you mean you don’t know?
CECIL: I mean I forgot. (Pause) What is for breakfast?
BRENDA: Cereal.

BRENDA walks across the stage in order to get the cereal. She cannot find the box.

BRENDA: (Shouting) Cecil! Have you seen the cereal?
CECIL: You probably left it at the beginning.
BRENDA: What was that?
CECIL: What?
BRENDA: Nothing.
CECIL: Wouldn’t things be easier that way, if everything that was at the beginning was also at the start?
BRENDA: Stop that nonsense and help me look for the cereal.
CECIL: Cereal?
BRENDA (Shouting) Yes! What we have for breakfast every damn day!
CECIL: What? (Pause) Can you not find the cereal?

Lights go out. In the darkness, magnified sound of a faucet dripping. Lights come up. CECIL is encased up to his waist in a packing case.

BRENDA: What time is it?
CECIL: (Whispering) I don’t know.
BRENDA: What do you mean you don’t know?
CECIL: I mean I forgot. (Pause) What is for breakfast?
BRENDA: Nothing is for breakfast.
CECIL: Oh, that makes sense. What shall we do today? Go to the seaside? I’ve never been to the seaside before.
BRENDA: We got married by the seaside. On the Isle of Man.
CECIL: Nonsense. Getting married on an island of men seems silly... and statistically compromised in the case of infidelity.
BRENDA Cecil...
CECIL: What time is it?
BRENDA: I don’t know.
CECIL: How do you not know...
BRENDA: Please. Ask me something simple.
CECIL: But don’t you want to know? How can you live with not knowing?
BRENDA: It’s quite easy, really. I just never really wanted to.
CECIL: Why can’t I take a step forward?
BRENDA: I don’t know.
CECIL: Why can’t I move?
BRENDA: I don’t know.

Lights go out. In the darkness, a loud sound of hammering. Lights go up. CECIL is in packing up to the neck. BRENDA is in packing up to her waist.

BRENDA: What time is it?
CECIL (Whispering) I don’t know.
BRENDA: That’s fine. We had out time.
CECIL: I always wanted more.
BRENDA: We could have walked in circles for eternity and still wanted more time.
CECIL: Do you remember the time we went camping? Up in the lake district? With the kids. BRENDA: Of course.
CECIL: And we saw that deer, the one that seemed to glimmer as it walked. The one that appeared in an instant and was gone the next.
BRENDA: That deer was real.

Lights go out. In the darkness, magnified sound of teeth clacking. Lights go up. CECIL is completely encased in packing. BRENDA is encased up to her neck.

BRENDA: That deer was real. That deer was real. That deer was real.

BRENDA begins to wriggle in her box, trying to break free.

BRENDA: That deer was real. That deer was real. That deer was real. I am real. Cecil was real. Wouldn’t it be easier if every story began at the beginning, or at least started, I should say started.

BRENDA closes her eye and begins to sleep in the box. CECIL, fully encased in his box, begins to wriggle, as though he is trying to break free However, after a moment, he gives up, up, up, up, up. Lights go out. In the darkness, sound of a baby crying. Lights go up. Both members of the couple are fully encased in packaging.

Hot House

HENRY, 45, lies on the floor of the orchid house. He stares towards the ceiling while twirling an orchid in front of his eyes. One of the orchid’s petals falls onto HENRY'S nose. He sneezes. All the tables in the Orchid House are bare with the exception of one, which is covered by a blue tarp.

HENRY: The eyes do the body no favors.

EMMA, 25, bursts into the orchid house. She sees HENRY lying on the floor and runs over to his side.

EMMA: Henry?
Henry. Are you OK?
HENRY: Splendid.
EMMA: Why are you on the floor? Is something wrong?
HENRY: Now that you mention it, something is different. Everything is different.

EMMA grabs HENRY by the hand and helps him to his feet. HENRY continues to twirl the orchid in his hand.

EMMA: So have you made any progress?
HENRY: Progress. That is such a relative term.
EMMA: Henry? What did you take?
HENRY: Nothing. I’m wonderful.
EMMA: The Ghost Orchid, Henry. Have you made any progress at cloning the Ghost Orchid.
HENRY: I have actually made more than progress. I succeeded.
EMMA: What?
HENRY leans forward, putting the orchid in EMMA'S hair.

HENRY: Shut your eyes.

Henry pulls the blue tarp off of the nearby table. On the table lay rows and rows of Ghost Orchids, an extremely rare breed.

EMMA: Oh my god, Henry. How did you do it?
HENRY: Are you sure you want to know?
EMMA: Yes, but hold that thought. Let me get Fred. (Shouting) Fred!

FRED, 19, enters the orchid house.

FRED: What?
EMMA: Begin to harvest these orchids.
FRED: Sure. Whatever.
HENRY: No. You can't.
EMMA: What do you mean “can't?”
HENRY: You don’t understand. I have a responsibility.
EMMA: A responsibility? To whom?
HENRY: The orchids.
EMMA: Fred, start to harvest these flowers.
FRED: Hold up Ms. E, Henry is the one that signs my pay checks.
EMMA: Come on, Fred!
FRED: Not unless Henry says it's ok.
EMMA: (Frustrated) Fuck you two. I’ll be back.

EMMA storms out of the orchid house and slams the door shut. FRED and HENRY stare at each other. A silence fills the air.

FRED: Chicks, man.
HENRY: I don’t know if I am worthy of this fantastic experience?
FRED: Dude, what do you mean?
HENRY: What if I said that the flowers and I had an experience, and now things have changed.
FRED: You’re being really vague here man, can you explain it?
HENRY: You know how most people ask “how can you live without knowing?”
FRED: Sure.
HENRY: Well the flowers showed me that we all live without knowing. What I have to do know is to show people how to know.
FRED: OK, I’m trying to follow you but I’m just worried that you’re going to turn around and try to save my soul, because I took the N 19 on my way here and this one creepy guy gave me a pamphlet and everything.
HENRY: You don’t realize, I want to share this knowledge. I need to. To harbor it is to suffer.
FRED: No offense, but I’m kinda wondering what the hell is up with this. I’m going to go get Lillian.

FRED walks out of the orchid house.

LILLIAN, 67, strides into the orchid house.

LILLIAN: I knew this project was too much for you to handle.
HENRY: Mother.
LILLIAN: I knew that that investor from New York was just going to bring unnecessary pressure, and, oh, I don’t know.
HENRY: Don’t worry, mother. I’m only half-dead.
HENRY: The information I now possess is only know by the dead. Yet I remain in the realm of the living. Therefore, I am half-dead. A living dead man. I wonder if dad now knows?
LILLIAN: Leave your father out of this. Even he would not approve of your gibberish.
HENRY: But it’s not gibberish. It’s inside of all us, we just need to die to realize it. It’s the world's greatest puzzle and the key was always inside our minds.
LILLIAN: Let me call Dr. Stevens and...

HENRY picks up a pot containing a Ghost Orchid.

HENRY: There will be no need for that.

Suddenly, HENRY blinks and drops the potted orchid, breaking the pot. A short silence.

HENRY: I’m sorry, mother. That was uncalled for. I just had to see if it was possible (Pause) to destroy the thing that I created, but that ultimately recreated me.

Water drips from the ceiling of the orchid house.

LILLIAN: Oh, Henry.

LILLIAN steps forward as she begins to hug HENRY. However, she slips, falling to the ground.

HENRY: Mother!

HENRY moves to his mother’s side. Picking her up in his arms.

HENRY: Let’s get you inside.

Carrying LILLIAN, HENRY walks out of the orchid house.

The orchid house is empty. A shrill hum fills the air. EMMA and FRED enter from opposite sides of the house.

EMMA: You get my text?
FRED: 200 for me to harvest those orchids. Done and done.

FRED grabs a pair of cutters from the wall and begins to snip the orchids.

FRED: These orchids smell weird.
EMMA: Thanks for the update. Cut.
FRED: Whatever.

Leaning towards one of the orchids, FRED inhales and falls to the ground.

EMMA: What?!

FRED is frozen on the ground. Seemingly paralyzed.

EMMA: Shit! Fred!

EMMA begins to run towards the exit of the orchid house. HENRY is walking back towards the orchid house and seeing EMMA, holds the door open for her.

HENRY: In a hurry?
EMMA: (Panting) What, what are those orchids?

Processing the comment, HENRY quickens his pace as he enters the orchid house. HENRY sees FRED on the ground and runs over to his side.

HENRY: Don’t panic. You’ll be able to move soon.

FRED'S body suddenly begins to twitch and he gets to his feet.

FRED: (Panting) I need to get some air.

FRED limps out of the orchid house. HENRY picks up an orchid and begins to twirl it between his fingers. Walking over to the wall of the orchid house, HENRY picks up a watering can and begins to water the plants. He raises the orchid to his eye level, as if he is making eye contact with it.

HENRY: It’s yours, it’s everybody’s. But will everybody want it?

The Cold Weekend That Killed The Snow

City park, homeless camping ground, dirty playground with grass growing out of the gravel. Old street benches have been dragged together under one tall pine tree.

WHALEFELLOW, 110, large beard, dressed in traditional sailor garb, and has a harpoon for a right arm. He has very few teeth and a fake eye which spins around without any rhythm or reason.

JORGE, 60, wears a raccoon cap and dirty overalls. He constantly massages his peg leg. His face is covered with red face paint.

WHALEFELLOW and JORGE sit on cobbled together park benches. Lying on their backs, they watch the snow fall down from the sky.

JORGE: Do you have a glass of water?
WHALEFELLOW: You ask me that, and in all honesty, I ask myself “what is up with that.”
JORGE: Nothing is up with that. I’m just thirsty.
WHALEFELLOW: So you say.

The moon moves out from behind the clouds and illuminates the park.

JORGE: I wonder how many people are starring at the moon? You know, right at this very moment.
WHALEFELLOW: I have no clue, buddy. Once, when I was starring at the moon, I saw a fish just fall from the sky. I mean, like dead and stuff. I’ve been alive for a long time and that was the only time I’ve ever seen a fish just fall out of the sky.
JORGE: Where were you?
WHALEFELLOW: It was back in the winter of the mermaid’s tail. I was still captain of the Blinded Wolf back then. I remember it clearly, was about to adjust the topsail and the fish just fell out of the sky. Dead.
JORGE: I hope that’s not a metaphor.
JORGE: Never mind.

The snow begins to fall with greater intensity, beginning to cover the bench that WHALEFELLOW and JORGE are lying on.

WHALEFELLOW: How many days until the summer solstice?
JORGE: The winter solstice has to come first. Don’t you remember?
WHALEFELLOW: I don’t think I even remember to remember anymore. I’m so cold.
JORGE :Aren’t we all?
WHALEFELLOW: No, you fucking panzy. I’m just actually really fucking cold.

SAHIR, 26, has dark eyebrows and eyelashes. Her beautiful brown eyes are the only things visible as every other part of her thin frame is hidden under a black burka. It is even hard to see that she is pregnant.

JORGE looks towards the other end of the park and sees a dark silhouette in the middle of the snow storm. The silhouette walks towards JORGE and WHALEFELLOW, and it becomes apparent that the figure is of a young lady dressed in a burka.

SAHIR: Can I sit here?

JORGE'S red face paint has started to drip off his face due to the wet snow.
JORGE: I have to go. I have finally witnessed the witness. I implore you all to do the same.

JORGE stands and walks into the snowy night, never even looking back.

WHALEFELLOW: What was up with that?
SAHIR: Sir, can I sit here?
WHALEFELLOW: I don’t see why not.

SAHIR sits down on the bench. The pair sit in silence, just watching the snow fall.

SAHIR: (Pointing to WHALEFELLOW'S harpoon arm) What happened to your arm?
WHALEFELLOW: I was chasing a Beluga way back when. If my memory serves me right, it was the year of the weeping llama. After a long chase the bastard got away, but not before he took my arm. So I replaced it with a harpoon. It just seemed like the practical thing to do.
SAHIR: Makes sense.
WHALEFELLOW: So, how far along are you?
SAHIR: What?
WHALEFELLOW: You’re pregnant. When are you due?
SAHIR: How? How did you know?
WHALEFELLOW: Something about the air.
SAHIR: (pause) I’m so cold.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Live Before You Die

"You have to trust in something; your gut, destiny, life, karma. This approach never let me down and it made all the difference in my life"
- Steve Jobs