the dress

A micro-story for mature readers.

where did it come from?
how did she get it?
was it a thrift shop find? a hand-me-down? new? at one time or another? he never asked her, and preferred to be led along by the mystery.

he assumed it was forged in the fires of some ancient volcano, by slaves to an oft-held tenet. bandana-clad, their sweaty muscles glistened against the reflected light of the red-hot lava, weaving each fabric by hand. real work, no chit-chat. all the while the ground was in a constant state of convulsion, no one standing evenly, the infernal lake spitting. hundreds of casualties. but an ever-rotating assembly line of devotees, worshippers to the cause, the fashioning of this edifice to one day adorn its true, rightful owner. in truth he had seen it in a shop window of his youth, on display to the world like Excalibur before King Arthur. this was twelve years prior, wandering around downtown in an adolescent slumber it graced a model far slimmer and gawkier than the reality was to be. but as the boy took the moment offered from that day to stare at the mannequin and bask in the implications of its teen-aged fantasy, he knew that this would be it. this was the dress that his love would wear, whether or not he had to be the one to buy it for her. he remembered the cross-street, the landmarks, the number on the curb, “come on, we’re going to miss the show!” and the dream retreated to folklore for the first time.

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the rules

A micro-story.

the birds chirped through the cracks of the storm shelter high in the old blue, the dying light in the sky that had been getting dimmer and dimmer these passing years how many had it been, the count on the wall was given up on long ago the cave paintings of line etched into the crumbling foaminess of earth around it the whole foundation was beginning to fall apart like this, in clumps of liquid soil that seemed to run like waterfalls around them. they were all hideously deformed, infested warts of incurable sizes sieged their naked bodies preventing free movement they lay all six of them in a mesh of diseased flesh on the floor keeping warm with what little energy they were permitted from, feasting on each other, gnawing like children to the binky to the point of piercing skin, their gummy mouths and underdeveloped teeth sucking and coddling to what little blood remained. the sun was dying this much was true, days were dark and nights were darker but they knew never to leave the safety of their shelter, that what the world was once is gone, that the tainted air through the slits in the shelter door were what caused their mutation. why would they ever leave now? what could the world offer but a curiosity before certain death? no, generations had been taught the rules.

//jf 11.11.2020

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Jay’s Take: 100% Wolf

A movie review.

100-wolf-148207

Picture this: it’s Tuesday night. Tuesdays in my neck-of-the-woods means Cheap Movie Day at my local multiplexes (both makes). Not only is it Cheap Movie Day, but – quite clearly in a desperate & disparate state – it’s buy-one-get-one, as both brands mid-pandemic have fought long-and-hard over my email Spam folder to see which one has irritated me enough into going there. Let’s look at our options. On one hand, there’s “Landmark”: reasonably-priced food (except the pizza); electronic recliner seats; and reserved seating, clearly-marked with enough light on the row & seat to find your place. On the other, there’s “Cineplex”: outrageously-priced food (especially in the colossal failure that is their VIP lounge); old-school stadium-style rocker seats spaced close-enough together that anyone can use your shoulders as a footrest; and reserved seating – earmarked by Little Jimmy in Grade 11 and his Michael’s-brand label maker – where you can never see any of the row or seat numbers because the theatre lighting hasn’t been adjusted for the change and the seat stickers don’t stay on well to the plastic chairs and are literally peeling off. It’s a frightening state-of-affairs: not only has my local Cineplex all-but-ignored renovating since its VIP & D-BOX upgrades almost 10-years-ago, but 10% of its square-footage sits unused since the start of the pandemic; and its these malnourished arcade machines that formed the backbone of their new horizontally-converged “Rec Room” line they announced last year, and then subsequently forgot about. How do you keep those things clean? You don’t: half the appeal of going into an arcade now is scrutinizing what it was exactly you just touched.

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saturday in the park

A micro-story for mature readers.

i dont know whats been happening in my life lately thirty six and divorced two kids from different men im sitting in the park on a warm saturday afternoon and the sun is beating down relentlessly hottest february on record i can feel it too sometimes you cant sometimes the skies are blue and its minus seven i tilt my sweaty brow back and forth in the light to make sure im covering every angle some tan might be nice ive always wanted to try tanning not spray tanning thats cheating but maybe in one of those ultraviolet coffins people always tell me im too pale what are they talking about ive got these rosy cheeks my ex always used to comment on my cheeks said it was my brightest part wait a minute he was an asshole thats right i always have to stop myself when im reminiscing like this i dont know whats been happening in my life lately

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Jay’s Take: Possessor

A spoiler-heavy movie review.

possessor

Know what really irritates me? Movie trailers containing critic quotes and awards notice. For a long time, I was indignant of this technique, which appears to only be reserved for film festival selections trying to make their way in the Big Scary World of the modern multiplex. I’d be watching a trailer for something that looks interesting, when all of a sudden they cut to a wall of text telling me that someone from the New York Times thought it was good, and so should you. If you can’t sell the movie on content alone and you have to bolster its status by telling us what the “professional movie-watchers” thought of it – before it’s available for mass-consumption – then my expectations of your product immediately drop. But readers, I think I’ve cracked the code. Let’s assume that the average trailer runs 60 to 90-seconds in-length, at least. If this is a Very Important film festival movie, then let’s also assume that you aren’t a big-budget production and you don’t have enough “money shots” in your film to fill a full-length trailer and sell the movie to a mainstream audience (Marvel movies now have nothing but money shots, and a 2 to 3-minute trailer without ruining the movie is entirely possible). Let’s assume further, that your low-budget film is only three actors in a room the whole time. You have enough intriguing shots to build a 30-second spot without spoiling anything, but anything more than that and your movie starts to look dull (like it’s three people in a room the whole time, which it is, but you don’t want Joe Cinema and his Scenetourage to know that). So you have to pad it with filler, and positive reviews are cheap filler.

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