The Right Column

The Third Edit

is often the best

I had written some things, that, while creative and funny, were really raw in the way that I pillarized the people about whom I wrote. I cast them as degenerates and I felt good about it. I said "this seems to me what they are really like."

But it was too vile. I was tired when I wrote it, worked up about the news. So I thought, well, if I mark it off and say "this is not correct, this is all done to make the people in it look bad." , then I'd be able to use it later for something else, maybe put it in a story. So I spent a little time pursuing that.

Then I reread it and decided that, even though I wasn't going to post it, and even though it might be useful to reuse in fiction as the thoughts and/or dialog of an 'out-there' character, the writing cut down too close to bone of how some feel about the subjects of my scree. So, my third edit was 'delete'.

what follows is a Chapter from The Gospel of Anonymous, written circa 2004 by Bill Perilli (the Web Master)

Gallup, 1990

He fixates on a fire escape on the side of a garrison style building, with the railing falling off. The place is boarded up and ready for demolition. They are going to build a post office.

It’s a Saturday and Dude has the day off. So he’s tooling around in a rented convertible and searching for rainbows. He sings his 70’s pop song. It’s a Saturday. He’s all by himself.

If you drive to the end of the highway, you always have to drive back to where you came from unless you’re going to go and live in a different place.

"What about all those people walking west? Do they make the world spin any faster? All those people moving to California. Do they make the world spin faster?" Dude has never been to California. It’s a Saturday.

If he drinks until two then he isn’t getting up early enough to go to work. But if he can sleep until noon then he can get up then and go to work all night at the block house out on the army base at the missile range somewhere east or west or south or north of Gallup where he is right now. Not in the mountains. Not on a mesa. In the town. Near Route 66.

If you drive up to the dessert you can hear the sound of your soul screaming out to you if you listen to it. "But you can hear that any where else too." he thinks. And it makes him feel afraid to think that he is writing crap and no one is ever going to read it. He buys tacos at a roadside place where the waitress was a ghost of some dead past. Or she is the spirit of the next life. He couldn’t tell. It did not matter. He was a long way from New Hampshire and home where the kids were.

You got some other story to tell, he thinks, and you go all loopy headed. And then the dumb airman goes peyote hunting south of west of north of east of the mesa/basin/mountain/river/lava-flow. It is all so real and all so surreal. He hadn’t smoked pot in six weeks.

Dude drove on toward the north not knowing where he was. He opened up the gas all the way and let the car go as fast as it would. That would be about 107.5 miles per hour as per the GPS receiver that he’d wired to the top of the trunk. And the video feed that he had going on into the multi-track video recorder that Syncrohtonics had built in their Las Puters laboratory.

Dude was impressed.

And since it needed to be checked out what better way to dude it up but to test it out on a long horror ride 4-wheeling it over Federal land and just taking it all for a good run before the flight.

"Video on." He felt the power drain from the car.

"Probably burning too much heat here." He thinks. And he wonders if this is even going to work that well. So he takes the car to a lower gear and also shuts off the air conditioning. Powering down the air conditioning was a bad idea on a hot day like this. But what he did instead was he pulled over and hooked up another battery: the spare one that had been in the high-bay locked into Dickie's closet, one that no one was going to miss while he had it. He jumpered it in after putting it in the slot next to the batteries that were already there. This gave the extra power that the video needed so it wasn’t drawing so much from the car.

"Power on, Dude." he says as he pushes the button. This is a young Dude, a grizzly faced Dude. And he has wild curly hair.

It’s in stereo-vision, two cameras, though he’s never watched the tapes.

Next Dude is tooling down a by-road heading off toward some distant mesas thinking "What a cool formation of three mesas". Dude isn’t paying any attention to any signs or anything about Indians or Hopi or not to take pictures.

Dude wonders about this as he sees the sign saying no photos. He powers down the video.

Dude pulls into a museum that is there. Murals display above his head the view that these Hopi have decided to show to those who wonder through. He bought a small tortilla and ate it in the car.

Next it was out the other side of the pueblo and into monument valley. He is noticing all the various vegetation, noting how different it all is from what grows in the wilds of Vermont, the place of Dude’s birth.

Dude powered up the video when he was traveling northwest on Arizona 160.

 Geesh, I've flown far and away today,
       haven't I?

ON CINEMA

I have a slew of demos on my demo page. Here is the link to my DEMOS page.

Very Many Hearts

" . . . . OH, on an on he goes and off into the inane, (muttering) talking about himsells in the thirst purses, my garments . . ."

 He felt less pure
    somewhere between waking and
         loosing sight of
      that story he
   heard in the long ago
      pop-pop on a Saturday walking
        towards the crowds of joys, thronged
       in by the love.

     Picture us 
       we were blissful there
          on that holy day
         not just because we were
        together but
    because we were all happy 
       because of it.

        wondering off 
    the bliss has been
       chased away by
     any who arrived to late
   to the fair,
       all 
  the prizes were gone
     the candles all burned out she
 fell off iinto pills  saying
 "Tell you what my doctor perscribed"
   and those kids wondered off
       afriad of bliss seeking
    not to following not
   aware that it could be
       any other way.
     
   from the mistakes
      they made at school, the
          mixup at the lab
     blood work on a Sunday
        (the most expensive kind)
  they said it 
    couldn't be that, that
     they would not use for words
  at the place behind the bricks 
     in the shadows where
      the poison weeds and ivies
   flurish she
      fell into an itche and declared
         her purity and innocense.

   if the child is his
      it was my choice
         to not tell him.

 And so the baby was born
     without a father.

  

Next is a link to the 'Love Solves everything, so simple.' page:

Very Many Hearts

May 9, 2013

some day
Here is something from the I Ching



     "Hall-all-lluu"

I'm working on it in my mind, thinking about how to make the music play and the strings to twang along.

Praise the Lord for his unfailing love.

    Praise the Lord just because you love Him!

Praise the Lord!

Wouldn't it be cool if I had a way for users of this page to enter in their favorite movie lines? I am sure that someone is already doing it. I could have made one of my bitbucket pages be that, but I don't let 'the world' post here. you need a password.

I've got you in my sights. How come no one ever writes? try this:

Webster Adminniolli

Web Site Adminstrator

Amillia Publishing Company

PO Box 211

Natick, MA 01760

If you have something real to share, a story, a poem, whatever, that is the best way to get my attention.

  Can't you hear 
the whistle blow?
Can't you hear the 
whistle blow.
Yes, it's time for you to go
 I just thought that you should know.

I got nothing more