commonpeople1: (Steven Lubin)
tentacle face


It's a small town, with a dwindling population. You could say it's at the edge of civilization, fast disappearing. Most of its inhabitants live in an apartment complex that lines the town's main street. The residents take me in as if I were family, a lost son returning home. And at their apartment complex, I learn of the creatures responsible for the town's destruction.

Once in a while, these creatures walk through the town. Their black clothes match the colour of the tubes that spring out of their face and wiggle in the air. They sense movement and scent through their tubes; they never speak. When they arrive, everyone must close their eyes and not pay attention to them. If you ignore them successfully, they leave you alone. If you open your eyes and stare, they take you away.

I close my eyes and try to count numbers when the creatures arrive. A white light grows inside of me and, later, I learn I'm the first person to repel one of the creature's that way. I leave the town and find their hideaway. Kidnapped townsfolk are kept in prison cells. I free them.

I keep getting better at closing my eyes and ignoring them.
commonpeople1: (Steven Lubin)
the cave


It takes a few days of travelling through the cave to reach the bird's nest. The cave's entrance is at the bottom of the mountain, and requires plenty of swimming from the travellers. Up we go, following the path, diving in mud and sea water. Once we are stepping on dry rocks, we take a break and lie down on our sleeping bags.

The path grows narrow the further up we travel. Sunlight reaches us through windows in the cave, and through them we can see the green fields that cover the face of the mountain.

We finally reach the nest. It's a hole in the wall, right at the end of the cave's trail. We lie beneath the hole and wait with our photo cameras. When the bird flies out, this will be our chance to capture it on camera. The bird will fly down the passage, towards the entrance, then up into the sky.

It's night time and we better rest. Someone collects everyone's cameras and says they'll be safer in the car's boot; we can collect them again in the morning and patiently wait for the bird to emerge.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)


They've opened a new tube station in London: [livejournal.com profile] yearning. It's somewhat distant from the town centre, in one of the residential zones. To reach the train, you must follow a claustrophobic corridor, then climb a narrow ladder.

The train's platform is suspended, parallel with house roofs. The passengers sit on the roof shingles, side by side, afraid of any sudden movement that will make them slide down, fall, and break their necks. I found myself with [livejournal.com profile] zenithed, sitting beside these passengers, waiting for a late train.

London transport should have thought better when they built this station.

The Abbey

Oct. 27th, 2007 10:12 am
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)
bucket of blood


The police thought it would be best if I hid in the Abbey outside town, until the killer was caught. The Abbey was a school for girls and, for all intents and purposes, the last place the killer would look for me.

At night, in the room they assigned me, I dreamt of another room covered in darkness, and a bucket in the corner that collected blood from the ceiling. When I woke up, they told me one of girls needed to see me. She had the power to see the future in her dreams, but the power was disappearing. Only through a blood transfusion would she regain her power.

I stumbled through the Abbey's cold hallways, light-headed. Part of the Abbey had crumbled years before, with rooms now used for gardens or to keep cattle. I was enjoying the sunshine in one of these rooms when a truck burst through. It was the killer, a piece of cloth covering his mouth and nose. I looked in terror for a way out, past the fence that separated the room from the forest that grew around the Abbey. Just as I dove through a hole in the fence, a group of men came running towards me. They had heard the truck and guessed it was the killer.

The killer jumped the fence and ran into the woods. I thought of his DNA on the truck's steering wheel, and of how we would finally learn his identity.
commonpeople1: (Paul Simonon)
Evil Superwoman


My brother and I were driving down a residential street when we spotted Britney Spears running into one of the houses. We stopped the car and my brother went after her. I sat there, pissed off that he had given up on our original plan and was wasting time hanging out with Britney. A small party was taking place at the house, with only VIP guests allowed in.

My brother was in a room in the cellar, talking to a young man with wavy black hair. I said something rude to my brother, then pointed my finger at the young man and prophesied his early death. He followed me out of the house, angrily demanding how I knew this and what gave me the right to say such things to people. Our argument was interrupted by a loud crash from the street; a piece of rocket had slammed the concrete and skidded away.

We looked at the sky and saw more rocket pieces raining down, hitting the street and nearby houses. People panicked and ran away. I watched those giant pieces of fuselage in horror, realizing it was a matter of time before one of them killed me. Far in the distance, a miniature figure approached, flying towards us: it was Evil Superwoman.

I ran into a park and found a telephone box. I entered the box and spun until I was transformed into Superman. Evil Superwoman was too busy attacking the street to notice me flying towards her. I slammed my fists into her body. She flew back, disoriented. But soon she was back, ready for a fight.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)
Lisa Marie Presley


Lisa Marie and I stood by the door. Before she went in, I asked her if one day we'd find out the truth about her marriage to Michael Jackson.

'When you are very old, you'll write a book and the world will know what really happened,' I suggested.

She smiled, not saying anything. But the way she looked at me implied that I was on the right track.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)
Krys' Scottish Neighbour


Because I hadn't seen my London friends in so long, I agreed to meet them near a downtown department store. I arrived to the five of them, including [livejournal.com profile] suzi and [livejournal.com profile] despina, laughing at photos of their faces painted in different shades of black. My biggest surprise was seeing Suzi in a white top and old blue jeans that nearly slid off her body. She had lost a lot of weight and was as toned as an Olympic champion. Her hair was cut short, in a bob, and dyed red. She told me she had become serious about participating in marathons, and had become a health freak.

I also had plans to fly to Edinburgh with these friends. I met [livejournal.com profile] rosie, [livejournal.com profile] steve, their baby B., [livejournal.com profile] arkady, [livejournal.com profile] krys and Ben (the guy who took over for me at the National) at the airport. [livejournal.com profile] rattler arrived later and told us there were two buses leaving for our flight's departing gate. He encouraged us to take the first one, which caused the group to get separated and much conversation back and forth on mobile phones.

Krys had kindly invited us to stay at her Edinburgh apartment. I introduced Ben to Rosie and Arkady on the taxi ride to the flat. His black T-shirt seemed to indicate he would fit in without a problem. Krys' apartment was spacious, like a loft, and filled with trinkets and memorabilia. While everyone settled down in the living room, I entered the bathroom. Candy wrappers at the bottom of the toilet wouldn't get flushed away. Suddenly, I realized I was being observed: a person dressed as a cat was staring at me from a window in the neighbouring building. I gave the cat person my middle finger, but the person wouldn't go away. In fact, it spurned the person on, into gesticulating at me like a crazed mime. This person was then pushed aside by a woman dressed as a superhero, wielding a toy gun. She pointed the gun to my head and it flashed a red light between my eyes.

I discreetly called Arkady, hoping she would come to the bathroom to see these neighbourhood weirdos; but Arkady was too engrossed in the living room's conversation to hear me. Finally, I took hold of the cat person's leg and pulled it into Krys' bathroom. It landed on the floor, with me on top of it. It began to scream "I'm a lesbian, please don't hump me!" This made me laugh and pull the cat mask off her head, revealing a dark-skinned girl with short hair. I told her she had nothing to worry about since I was a gay man.
commonpeople1: (Jehovah Witness)
The view from Moz's apartment


[livejournal.com profile] mmcpoland, a.k.a. Moz, has agreed to rent her apartment to Kevin & I. It's right downtown, on top of a hill that overlooks the entire commercial district (see photo above). We visited the apartment recently and inspected all the rooms and cupboards. The living room had large green divans against the walls and enough storage space to fit all of our stuff (in fact, Moz's suitcases and flat-packed cardboard boxes are still there, stored away -- I'm assuming she'll take them away before we move in.)

Beside the living room is a tiny TV room, with a TV the size of a shoe-box. I hope she doesn't mind if I throw it away and replace it with my own. I'm also thinking of turning the space into a dining room.

There's even a fireplace! There are no grates but, judging from the chars, it's usable. [livejournal.com profile] moral_vacuum says he'll help us with the move and show us the neighbourhood. I've already done a quick tour of the area and found a church that turns into a box, as well as a park. From our bedroom window (which still has the curtains Moz made herself) we overlook a roller-blading path. While we were watching the people roll up the hill, on their way to work, a fight nearly broke out between two businessmen.

The apartment's only downside is the mice situation. They are coming into the apartment through a grate in the kitchen. The building's manager said he'd block the hole but, in the meantime, the mice have no qualms about scurrying between my feet. I managed to kill two of them with the fireplace's shovel.
commonpeople1: (Morrissey)


A dark curtain fell on the city, sweeping across it as if intent on destroying everything. The curtain was made of tiny insects that chewed everything in their sight.

Suddenly, an opening appeared in the curtain, and the blue sky shone beyond it. I asked my companion what was happening and was told "those are swans eating the insects". Swans flew back and forth, attacking the infestation.

A house made of glass doors flew towards the swans. The house's doors and windows were automatic; they trapped a few of the swans. I got close to the glass doors and prised them open, freeing the swans. Unfortunately, one of the swans had its leg chopped off. She (this swan was an old lady) looked at me, then at her leg stuck to the automatic glass door. She smiled a thank you and flew away.
commonpeople1: (Jehovah Witness)


We went to a Brian Eno gig last night. Although the stage was large -- with plush red carpet and sofas the audience could sit on -- the venue itself was small. Kevin and I were one of the lucky few to get a sofa on stage; the rest of the audience took the theatre seats facing the stage.

Soon, Brian Eno came on stage with his guitar. His hair was long, red and curly. His performance was to be projected on a giant screen hanging above us. As he went into a guitar solo, I lay down on the red carpet.

I writhed and wiggled on the floor, spreading my arms and legs, twisting and turning to his guitar solo. Kevin didn't move from the sofa, but the rest of the audience began to stand up, form pairs and dance. We danced until the final string was struck, then rushed back to our seats.
commonpeople1: (Morrissey)
Image of kurds standing by a mountain


The airplane is about to take off. Most of the people in it belong to my excursion, though the crying mother and child in front of me do not. Another woman, also not part of my group, stands up. A friend tells her to "sit the fuck down". An argument breaks out, then quickly dies when the air stewardess asks everyone to close the blue curtains. Up and down the airplane we pull our curtains closed as we move down the runway.

Everyone forgets to close the curtains beside one of the unoccupied seats. I wonder if the plane needs to be completely dark, for our own protection, as it flies away. I go towards the window and look outside. I see many Kurds covering the sides of a mountain that reaches into the sky. They are covered with snow and ice, their bodies huddled underneath thick blankets. The mountain is dark and steep, the sky a marine blue.

When I return to my seat, my friend hands we a small bowl with chicken stew and some bread. He warns me that the food is very spicy. I spill some of it on my pyjamas. We eat with our hands and balance the food without the use of the trays in front of us. The plane continues to move down the runway and I wonder if it will ever take off.
commonpeople1: (Morrissey)
Image from the film The Science of Sleep


Gael García Bernal's character in La Science des Rêves returns to France after his father dies in Mexico, to stay with his mother. She has preserved his bedroom just as it was when he was a boy. By his bed, stuck to the wall, are the album covers for The Smiths' How Soon is Now? and The Cure's Three Imaginary Boys. Robert Smith and Morrissey hated each other in the 80s. Recently, Robert Smith tried to meet Morrissey after a festival gig which they both played, but Morrissey remained aloof, hidden away and protected by his rockabilly guards. Give it up Robert, you'll never be friends.

Charlotte Gainsbourg, Gael's neighbour in the film, is Serge Gainsbourg's daughter. She is not an actress; she played her role as naturalistic as possible, as if the character were herself. She was very loveable, especially because she had no make-up on. And she wore the same pair of jeans and sweater, day in day out. Her body language reminded me of someone I know, but I can't place my finger (despite feeling it touching her skin.) It's like the feeling of rubbing two fingers together, which belong to two different people. You lose touch with your own finger.

I've had dreams, just like Gael's character, where language does not match the speaking mouth, where sex is goofy, where the world collapses and it's easy to fly. My dreams, however, do not censor nudity for the sake of a PG-13 rating. Trying to reach as large an audience as possible is never good. On the other hand, Gael's butt and cock grace the screen for a second. If I had a time machine that could travel to the past for just one second, I could press that button over and over again until I'd memorised his nakedness. That would be useful.
commonpeople1: (Jehovah Witness)


The five cats would not leave us alone. They came into the bedroom each morning, tapped our faces, covered our bed with hair and jumped on our bodies if we insisted on sleep.

We began to keep the bedroom door closed on the five cats. Kevin would even squirt water on them, to make them go away. But still they tried to get in, squeezing their bodies under the door until they were back in the bedroom. When I stuffed a thick towel under the door, I could feel their claws on the other side pawing it frustraitingly.

Two mice got through the towel barrier and ran across the field our bedroom had become. "Time to let the five cats back in," I told Kevin as I opened the door. They raced after the mice and disappeared in the woods.

Later, I sit in a pub with many friends. [livejournal.com profile] redcountess is there as well as [livejournal.com profile] moral_vacuum. None of us drink and the tables are bare. [livejournal.com profile] arkady sits beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. Her body is warm and her tummy is large with little Freda inside. She tells me a story I can no longer remember.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)


I wait for the bus that will take me home -- its route through an unknown city. When it drops me off, I walk into a field of bright green grass. I walk until it becomes obvious I'm all alone, the sun is setting in the West (I'm heading South), and there is nothing ahead of me but more wilderness.

I climb a mossy cliff. An intersection between two paths in the field is right beneath it. A line of hungry rodents scampers down one of these paths -- either hunting or being hunted. I climb down the cliff and continue my walk.

Suddenly, ahead of me, a man in a red jacket runs onto the path. At first, I think he's a traveller like myself, but then I notice he has joined three other people beside an abandomned car. They are hunched over, looking at something; when they hear me, they stand up and run... they had just beaten up a man, who is now slumped by the car. There are five of them, including a woman with long black hair. I can't see their faces, but I know they have realized I'm alone. They re-group by an abandomned office building beyond the car and pick up stones & sticks to attack me.

I'm rooted to the floor and I know nobody will be able to help me even if I manage that mobile phone call.
commonpeople1: (Jehovah Witness)


We are inseparable, even at the party filled with children throwing confette into the air and squeezing bottles of moustard all over the sofa. He smiles everytime he sees me; he interrupts the conversation I'm having with a polish girl who wants to marry me. Does she want my money? Does he really love me? He leans down when he finds me sitting on the floor, unconcerned with the people around us, and kisses me on the mouth.

I've walked past his music studio many times, but it never dawned on me that the music playing out of the speakers was him inside, strumming his guitar. I watch him sing into the microphone, a cheesy adult contemporary love song. He asks me afterwards what I thought of it and I tell him it would be perfect for Magic FM. He almost bursts with excitement. And all I can think of is when will we kiss again.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)


I looked in the mirror and saw Tracey Emin's face. It was winter in Montreal and I lived in a low, red brick apartment building. I was in good terms with all my neighbours; I'd leave the front door open and they'd saunter in for a chat or an impromptu party that lasted until dawn. Before midnight, I snuck out of the apartment and took the elevator to the ground floor. The bright yellow T-shirt I wore didn't suit me. I entered a neighbour's apartment and lay down on his bed. He joined me without realizing that, at midnight, I would turn into a werewolf and rip his face apart.
commonpeople1: (Daily Mail Reader)
"The story, like the dream, as any novelist or playwright will tell you, develops a logic of its own that begins to generate events of its own accord. The author finds himself in the same position as his characters, swept along by events he can no longer quite control. The same thing happens in small children's games of (so-called) make-believe, which change their form with bewildering speed as new possibilities emerge that change the situation, even the nature of the game. 'You be the daddy who's living in the wigwam, and I'll be the lady who comes in to buy things ... No, I know! I'm a princess, and you're a mummy who comes to my birthday party ...' "

Full article here
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)


Everyone is asked which song they would like played on their funeral. When my turn arrives, I ask that everyone hold hands around my casket and sing Tina Turner's "We Don't Need Another Hero".
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)


I almost got my friends' suitcases lost. I took trains back & forth to Russia, left the luggage safely stowed away in a locker, and waited for the group to meet me at the port. It was a grey day and the ship didn't look as luxurious as we imagined. The main deck was bare, save for a few container boxes, and the floor hadn't been scrubbed for ages.

In the ship's bowel, tables and chairs were spread out. A fight broke out and I discovered that a creature was entering the passengers and making them kill each other. I saw men walk around with sharp knives, serial killer lust in their eyes. I saw women scream and run, beg for my help. Eventhough it felt safe at the bottom of the ship -- mostly because the group gathered there was still sane and capable of protecting each other -- I made my way to the top.

Outside, in the night, I climbed the ship's main antenna. Deranged passengers tried to follow me; I kicked them one by one and watched their bodies crash on the deck. I knew nobody would be able to reach me up there.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)


It was my third date with Madonna. We walked together to the restaurant. Her hair was cropped short, bleach-blonde, and she wore a tight-fitting black suit. She kept her head down and we hardly exchanged any words.

The restaurant was small, with tables close together and chairs that didn't match. Soon after sitting down at a table for four, a woman asked us if we could sit somewhere else since she was expecting a large group of friends. We apologized and squeezed ourselves around another table.

I observed the patrons and wondered if any recognized her. And if they did, who did they think I was? A celebrity as well? A powerful businessman? But I was only wearing a scraggly t-shirt and jeans. I had no idea why Madonna kept going on these dates with me.

I spotted Ms Muffin with a large group of people arriving from a funeral. She came over and I introduced Madonna to her. I could see the confusion and surprise in her face as she tried to understand why I would be friends with Madonna. One of Ms Muffin's friends, a slim black lady with frizzy hair, knew Madonna well. They hugged and exchanged pleasantries. Soon afterwards, Madonna stood up and left the restaurant with the black lady while Ms Muffin joined her friends in the restaurant's backroom.

A minute later, the waitress came to me, a smirk on her face, and said: "Madonna asked me to collect her purse and gloves. She's gone to a nearby bakery to eat a roast beef sandwich". I felt abandomned. I ran home, down badly lit sidewalks, and was careful to avoid marauding gangs of teenagers.

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