What's In Your Writing Bag?

30 Second Bunnies Version of The People's Republic of Retail.

30 Second Bunnies Theatre is a series of short cartoons that encapsulate iconic films with all characters portrayed as bunnies. It's clever and funny and it struck a chord in my brain. The novel I'm trying to write is complicated and requires a good set of notes in order for me to make sure everything happens when it is supposed to happen. Currently there are 4 chapters completed on the novel covering 84 pages and 24,357 words. The notes to my novel are 150 pages and 23,391 words and illustrations, with 4 rubber banded bundles of notes still to enter and fresh ideas coming in daily. The format of the 30 Second Bunnies Theatre (sans the cartoon bunnies) provides a quick, easy and simple outline for me to refer to while navigating this gargantuan process. Here's a link to angryalien.com, and below that is the 30 Second Bunnies Version of my novel "The People's Republic of Retail. Oh, and here's a bunny.

30 Second Bunnies Theatre

30 Second Bunnies Version of

The People’s Republic of Retail

• Psycho Dive
• Eric George Becomes Leon Trotsky
• EG & M.Alice Plant The Seeds of Revolution
• M.Alice & EG’s Day of Fun
• The Stephen King & I
• The Portland Interview “Sparks Fly Upwards…”
• The First Meeting of The Revolutionary Council
• Balzac’s Visit
• Eric George Suspended - Writes Manifesto!
• The October Revolution - Cox is Banished
• Enter Rajiv - Cox’s Paraphilias
• Enter The Dillweeds
• Triumph of The Revolution
• Utopia Takes Shape
• M.Alice Initiates The HappySweatyFunTime Protocol
• The 10 Edicts!
• The Windmill - EG’s Obsession
• Power Struggle! EG is Exiled via the Compactor!
• M.Alice Becomes Stalin
• DysTopia is born
• Rajiv = Immolation Fail
• Rajiv Exiled - Finds EG (as “Uncle Ho”) @ Jessica’s Organic Farm
• EG & Rajiv = DQ & Sancho Panza
• Attack on the Windmill
• Show Trials - The Purges
• The 10 Edicts part II
• Mary Alice Abolishes the Grand Experiment
• Becomes a Dillweed - Rejoins Mega Mart
• Balzac’s Secret Discovered
• Balzac Flees To Argentina With Mistress
• Ms. Lipchitz sells Mega Mart for $1 (U.S.)
• The Fall of Mega Mart - AC Nabbed by Feds
• Mega Mart Sinkhole
• Cox = Pig/Pig = Cox
• Allison Stays
• THE END!

    

An Allegory Of An Allegory

My Novel, "The People's Republic of Retail" is an allegory of an allegory. Here are the three matching character equivalents.

     Snowball                           Trotsky                    Eric George

     Napoleon                             Stalin                        M.Alice

            Boxer                     Wage Slaves                          Rajiv

           Jones                     Tsar Nicholas II        William Augustus Cox

An Open Letter To The Person Or Persons Who Stole My Catalytic Converter

The other day I finished my work shift and headed out to the parking lot to drive home. When I started my Nissan Frontier truck, there was a gawdawful sound like a fleet of skull and human skin adorned vehicles straight out of The Road Warrior.

I half expected a roving gang of mohawked Australian marauders to go roaring past clad in leather bondage gear and firing shotguns in the air and shooting flames out of their tail pipes.

Thankfully Lord Humungus did not show up with his bullhorn and I was forced to come to the quick conclusion that it was my vehicle and that there was something seriously wrong with it.

Not being a professional victim of criminal acts, I (as Sarasota’s Finest later informed me) “left the scene and altered the evidence” by making an all-for-nothing beeline to my mechanic. I did notice two weird connecting pieces when I backed out and threw them quickly on to the passenger seat.

I could not go over 20 miles an hour without sounding like a Norwegian Black Metal band during a soundcheck.

I was informed the next day that I had been fleeced of my catalytic converter. A quick search on the interwebs provided a wealth of information.

1. Stolen catalytic converters sell for $40-$200 each.
2. They can cost upwards of $1000 to replace.
3. The crime takes about 1-3 minutes.
4. Trucks and vehicles with “high clearance” are vulnerable.
5. The three rare metals in cc’s are platinum, palladium, and rhodium.

I’ve heard that this crime is usually done in teams owing to the need for lookouts, so, from here on I will refer to you fellows as “you”.

Well, I guess the first thing I’d like to say is that you would think I would be angry. I’m not. You would think I would want revenge. I don’t.

Let me elaborate. I am by no means a wealthy person and the $500 + bill was painful, although not the worst case scenario that I was expecting. My wife and I decided early on to build a good relationship with a trusted mechanic and the wonderful people at Beiler’s Auto Repair have treated us fairly for our years of loyal patronage. The cost of the catalytic converter, including welding to deter future theft, was only about $350. The other part of the bill was due to an extremely bald tire that I was unaware of. There is a possibility that if you had not stolen the part that I might not have caught the tire situation in time and had an accident. My vehicle is actually safer now as a result.

As I said before, we are not wealthy. We work hard for our money and struggle to stay ahead of the bills. There are people worse off than us. If you had stolen that part from a single mother who was on the verge of financial collapse, the result could have been devastating. In some weird way I think to myself that I am glad that you chose me and not them. I have been below the poverty line at various points in my life and I would not wish further harm on those that are there now.

I am told that you picked my truck because the “high clearance” made it easy to get under it. By the way, I am also grateful that you unbolted it rather than using a cordless hacksaw which can greatly increase the cost of the repair.

Let me tell you a bit about my truck.

That person in the middle is me. To the right is my father. On my left is my grandfather. His name was Neal. This is the last time I saw him alive. My dad was leaving Sarasota to go back to Arizona, mainly to spend time with his father whose heart was beginning to fail. I stayed behind.

The truck belonged to my grandfather.

I called him “Papa” or “Pops”.

When he died I received his truck. I had to go to Arizona to get it and drove it all the way back to Sarasota.

We have driven that truck all over. On vacations. For work. Tooling around town. Somehow, in my heart, I feel like as long as that truck is still running, my grandfather is still with me.

I am also not angry, because you caught me at a particular time of my life filled with philosophy and reflection. In my younger years I was angry about a lot of things and I did not suffer those who would tread upon me. I am able to see things that I could not before.

My mother died this year.

We did not have the type of relationship I would have wanted, particularly at the end. I wish that it had been different, but it wasn’t and that’s the way it is and the way it will always be. Nothing to be done about it. While she was… the way she was, I could not have the type of relationship with my brother that I wanted to. Now I do and nothing will take that away from me. He is a great brother. To have weathered such burdens and yet still be filled with kindness and generosity and genuine decency are traits that I admire and aspire to.

I have a love in my life. My wife has the amazing ability to make me want to be the best person I can be just by being herself. I count myself lucky that we met on that particular day in the Barnes & Noble cafe. My life has never been the same. I have committed to my dreams. I have followed my heart.

She is the Cloak to my Dagger.

She is the light in the darkness that calls me home from the far distant country of my melancholies. Words fail me. How do I convey to you what it is to love and be loved in such a profound way?

Maybe, the best way to say it is that a love like that, the kind she and I share, is enough to keep you from doing what you did because you would not want to put harm into a world that would bestow upon you the responsibility of being a caretaker to such a priceless and immeasurable gift.

I hope with all my heart that you will understand this someday.

That you will turn left when every force in your life is forcing you to go right.

That love will touch you with such awesome luminosity that the dark forces will shrink from it.

That you will contribute good to this world by doing the hardest thing which we as humans are ever tasked with - to look deeply within ourselves and change course.

Jazz at The Black Hawk

Jazz at The Black Hawk

Defunct Jazz Club Series II

The Black Hawk was a nightclub in San Francisco's Tenderloin District, located at the corner of Hyde & Turk streets. It opened in 1949 and closed in 1963.

It was notable for allowing underage patrons in, who had to watch the performances behind chicken wire.

Many top musicians played here, including Stan Getz, Vince Guaraldi, Dave Brubeck, Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, Chet Baker, John Coltrane, and Billie Holiday & Lester Young.

Several live albums were recorded there.

Photograph by Leigh Weiner

On April 21st & 22nd 1961, Miles Davis recorded a double live album at the Black Hawk. Tape recorders were housed in an adjacent, still standing building that now houses The 222 club.

Thelonious Monk recorded there on April 29, 1960.

Once Upon A Time At The Black Hawk

January 27, 1961

The Black Hawk closed in 1963. It is now a parking lot near a hotel.

Parking Lot at Hyde & Turk

Site of The Black Hawk in the Tenderloin

When Bebop Filled the Night

Blue Sky Murder

BLUE SKY MURDER

it's a blue murder

kind of day

with the night

screaming in like

an airplane over

the long long spires

of the city

there's something

intangible

in the air

something

indefinable

ghosts rising

like steam

from the early morning
underbelly of the city

echoes of

laughing children

playing in the

fire hydrant

soaked streets

a shotgun blast

in an alley

a puerto rican

mother calling

out for a lost

child in the night

a rent party

in a tenement

building

a couple making

love in a cold

water flat

the city is alive

a living

thing

an artery

a pulse

but it's the people

who make it breathe

give it form

and soul

it's a pencil

sharpened

to a fine point

with a scratchy

record spinning

in slow

revolutions

it's Charlie Christian,

Dizzy and Monk at Minton's

with Ralph Ellison

scribbling in the wings

there's something

in the edges

in the marrow

the red moon

rises high

above the parched city

A writer - bespectacled

sits back in his

chair - shirtless

smoking in the darkness

staring at the crumpled

sheets of paper

on the floor

his typewriter

oiled like a

machine gun

awaits

he begins again

. . . it's seminal bop

in the dying hours

at Minton's

with Ralph Ellison scribbling

furiously

It's Charlie Parker

laughing at a juggler

It's Blue Miles

with a chip

on his shoulder

ten miles wide

It's dancing Monk

- a whirling dervish

in geometric ecstasy

(idiosyncratic

eccentricity)

It's Red Monk,

Yellow Monk

Green Monk

Go!

It's Pres with his

pork pie hat and

his contorted sax

catching the corner

of Billie's eye

It's Dexter Gordon

in a Paris café

It's Kerouac and Ginsberg

and Neal

writing to the beat

dancing to the beat

living

to the beat

It's Louis Armstrong

on the Voodoo Bayou

blowing Gabriel's

trumpet over

swirling bones

in the Mississippi

It's Huey with

his spear

in a wicker

back chair

It's Angela Davis's

hair

It's Sonny Rollins

on the Williamsburg

Bridge riffing on

a note

a note

a note

It's John Coltrane

calling out to

Krishna

Allah

Jehovah

Elohim

his spirit

flaps

in the wind

like Tibetan

prayer flags

strung along

mountain ridges

and peaks

high in the

Himalayas

he is everywhere

there is yearning

for God

John Coltrane -

walking along

the Via Dolorosa

in Jerusalem

John Coltrane -

on the Hajj

encircling

the Kaaba

with the throngs

of the faithful

John Coltrane -

bathing

in the Ganges

John Coltrane,

a whisper

of a breeze

in a

Buddhist

Temple

in Japan

John Coltrane,

a ripple

of sand

in a Zen garden

Eric Dolphy

Booker Little

Clifford Brown

John Coltrane

still shining

like light

from capsized

stars - still

burning

bright in the

darkness

darkness

dark

-ness

It's dark and quiet

at The Five Spot

none of the

usual rattling

of ice cubes

no tinkling glasses

or ringing cash

registers

On the bandstand

Don Cherry

Billy Higgins

Charlie Haden

Ornette Coleman

are poised

about to change

the face of Jazz

no recording

equipment

nothing to contain

the moment

Charlie Haden

closes his eyes

the music begins

it's pure

Jackson Pollock

splatter paint

abstract expressionism

it pulses

with freedom

freedom

free-dom

The bars slam shut

behind him

bedroll still in hand

he lays it down

grabs a pencil

and kneels down

on the corner wall

he begins to write

"this cell cannot

contain me -

these walls will

not break me"

over and over

until his cell

is covered

washed away, he begins

again

"this cell cannot

contain me -

these walls will

not break me"

In a jail cell

in Birmingham

a reverend picks

up that pencil

like a baton

and begins to write

a woman refuses

to give up

her seat on

a bus

In Arkansas

Faubus sits

like Cerberus

with all his

power and might

doomed to

be vanquished

by schoolchildren

on the Mystic River

Van Morrison sings

"And the love that loves

the love that loves the

love that loves the love

that loves to love the love

that loves to love the love

that loves. . ."

until he spirals

into ecstasy

and the poet

pulls the last

sheet of paper

from his

typewriter

stacks it

neatly on his

desk - lights

a cigarette

goes to the

window

and watches the first

light of day break

over the Hudson

as Kind of Blue

stops and begins again

on his record player

With Miles

and John Coltrane

and Cannonball

and Paul Chambers

and Bill Evans

and Jimmy Cobb

alive again

in that studio

on 30th street

and the music

plays

and refills

the empty cup 
once again

as the typewriter

awaits - and the blue

sky looms long 

above      

the spires of the city