6:25 AM, Feb 29, 2012, West Hollywood, California.



INTERIOR. SCOTT'S APARTMENT.

CAMERA pans across a deserted hardwood floor.
A laptop computer screen comes into focus.
We see nimble, care-worn fingers dashing from key to key.

VOICE OVER.

NARRATOR:

I sit caffeinated. Nicotinized. Red eyes. Michael snores
like that freight train tornado that hit Lady Lake Florida this week.
That’s what I imagine. I fell asleep early. Alone.
I was supprized to find Michael next to me. Hmmm?
I rarely glance out my balcony window. It's rather beautiful,
I think. The right half engulfs my apartment with Mexican palm fronds.
Some leer at me at my computer in my living room. They try to kiss me
but the hummingbirds get jealous, so they don’t. Maybe the avian couple,
Mister and Misses Yellow Breasted Blue Eyed Red Winged Squatters
of the Giant Cypress Thicket behind the palms have something to do with this.
They maybe spirits observing? Or paticulars of the witches from Macbeth?
It is entirely plausable they are acreatures of the new genesis:
In the beginning there was Yellow Breasted Red Wing Minstrel of The Dawn,
who being bored uttered I Am That I Am and so the world begot two beings
in the queen's holy palms which begot LA which begot Scott who begot hallucinations
and so on. Anyway, from within that thicket of fronds, flowering now,
rise towering giant birds of paradise.

CAMERA pans to garden. City view to the left. On the right,
animated paradise blooms lick their lips and leer suggestively.
They are mid-winter jewels of cerulean, orange and ivory.
They have a captive audience of one. But he's one that they want.

VOICE OVER CON'T.

NARRATOR:

I wonder if a giant bird of paradise still blooms if no one can see it? I think so.

SOUND CUE: GIANT TIMBER FALLING.

VOICE OVER CON'T.

NARRATOR:

I heard a tree fall in a distant forest to the north. A giant redwood toppled over.
Many giants lurk in the dawn. Looking out to the left of my balcony I see a red swirl
above the city surrounded by a dark brooding bracelet of black fogged diamonds, a Tiffany design.
It’s hollow blue center lies directly over the city like the eye of a storm.

CAMERA pans to sunrise. 'Bracelet' becomes a white halo; rises, then disolves.

VOICE OVER CON'T.

NARRATOR:

It is calm. Time warps are common here and space is frequently distorted
at the edge of the ring of fire. I wink and it’s two minutes to eight in the morning.
And what's an hour or two or a century or more gone a stray anyway?
I’m being in the Tao so it doesn't matter.

FADE TO BLACK.

VOICE OVER CON'T.

NARRATOR:

Oh, why bother? A lousy segway is still a lousy ... a brilliant metaphore!
Sure. China is a prolific humanity oven.

EXT.

Black screen explodes with sun light. An arial Camera speeds north along the great wall of China.

VOICE OVER CON'T.

NARRATOR:

One billion, ninty-five million people more than the U.S. of A. Capitalism is the great unifier.
Idealoques lament. And the storm is lifting. The sun sets over China
but she rises here in Hollywood as Michael snores away.

FADE TO BLACK.

VOICE OVER CON'T.

NARRATOR:

Addendum: To refill my black buzz juice I must pass my bedroom, I notice without alarm
that the day’s dim switch is ascending and that that is not Michael snoring in my bed!
I don’t know who he is! Perhaps a weary sprite on his way to nirvana.
The church bells toll their eight digit coda. Heaven's calling.
And life begins anew. Good Morning LA! Coffee?

02/06/2007

Posted on 02/06/2007
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