Monday, July 30, 2007
A curious radio silence
I have disappeared of the blogger radar for a while. This is because I discovered the weird and wonderful world of Facebook, and the need for venting my spleen to Mr Anon seems to have evaporated. Once the fad passes, I'm sure I'll be back.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Letter to an ex-teacher
Hello Chris, it's nice to hear from you. I was mildly surprised to see the name John Meigh listed. Is this your middle name?
MGS feels like a long time ago now, I thought you would have escaped. Everytime I pass it with my wife, I point up to the end of the street and say "That's where I went to school," and she replies, "You went to school in a prison?" Ah happy times.
I never did GCSE Computer Science having been pursuaded by Doctor Webb that I ought to take one modern language, but I certainly felt like I had, because for a while it crept onto every CV that I wrote without me noticing how I had somehow accrued eleven GCSEs. You will be pleased to hear I gave myself an A.
I can only ever remember Apple Macs throughout my time at MGS (which must be something like 375 years ago), which had such antiquated technology as a mouse and Windows and something called e-mail. Ho ho ho, how we laugh at these things now! Even in those days there was a heavy predominance on porn. I remember somebody who shall remain nameless bringing in a 3 1/5 inch disk with pictures of lactating women on it. (You might not want to put that in your presentation).
We used the Computers mainly for playing Myst, trying to comprehend the somewhat mystifying Peter Gabriel CD-ROM, and putting together articles for the Alternative Maidstonian, all of which we tried to justify as somehow related to the fine art of Computer Science. I was made a Computer Prefect so I could continue playing on Myst during lunchtimes, with the added bonuses of wearing a colourful tie and being able to shout at 3rd years who jammed up the printers.
I had two Computer Science teachers, your good self (this is while you weren't moonlighting as political correspondent for the BBC under the name of John Sergeant) and Mr Young, who actually did appear to be genuinely young. We couldn't understand what possessed him to become a teacher, especially as he claimed that he used to work for IBM, until we realised that he had been sacked for selling trade secrets to Microsoft. Still, teaching, eh? Poor guy. I hope he's recovered.
I always enjoyed my CS lessons at MGS, but this was because I was a cheeky so-and-so, as was most of the CS class, and it didn't take much effort to get you off at a tangent. It was, however, always interesting and stimulating and taught with great clarity and humour. To have two teachers so enthused with passion for their subject was extraordinarily refreshing, especially given some of the (nameless) other teachers who worked at MGS.
For my final year project, I wrote some graph drawing software in some obscure language I can't remember on the Mac (or was it pascal?). It worked using absolutely non of the standard computing techniques, and came from a brainwave I had in the bath (which is also where I wrote my Latin A level final year project). However, it was so impressive in demonstration, that you on behalf of the school paid me a hundred pounds for it, and I've been living like a Lord ever since. I could hear the howls of dispair and anger from miles away when you realised it was held together with Pritt Stick and luck!
After I left MGS I went on to study Computer Science and Mathematics for a Masters degree at York university.
I got a 1st in my 1st year
I got a 2i in my 2nd year
I got 2ii in my 3rd year
I got a 3rd in my 4th year
I woke up in an alcoholic stupor and got myself a job. I now handle your fire alarm, your burglar alarm, your car tracking device and all the CCTV cameras in your neighbourhood. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
All the best,
John
P.S. Apologies again for putting my chair on your Dark Side of the Moon album sleeve.
P.P.S. I have recently had two a capella pieces performed in York Minster, and have written several novels, some of which you can get hold of for free from (this address). You may want to read Playtime. Some of it could seem eerily familiar.P.P.S My final year project.
2 + 3 A + 6 B ^ 2
2 + 3 * A + 6 * B ^ 2
((2 + (3 * A)) + (6 * (B ^ 2)))
LHS op RHS
and recurse.
QED
MGS feels like a long time ago now, I thought you would have escaped. Everytime I pass it with my wife, I point up to the end of the street and say "That's where I went to school," and she replies, "You went to school in a prison?" Ah happy times.
I never did GCSE Computer Science having been pursuaded by Doctor Webb that I ought to take one modern language, but I certainly felt like I had, because for a while it crept onto every CV that I wrote without me noticing how I had somehow accrued eleven GCSEs. You will be pleased to hear I gave myself an A.
I can only ever remember Apple Macs throughout my time at MGS (which must be something like 375 years ago), which had such antiquated technology as a mouse and Windows and something called e-mail. Ho ho ho, how we laugh at these things now! Even in those days there was a heavy predominance on porn. I remember somebody who shall remain nameless bringing in a 3 1/5 inch disk with pictures of lactating women on it. (You might not want to put that in your presentation).
We used the Computers mainly for playing Myst, trying to comprehend the somewhat mystifying Peter Gabriel CD-ROM, and putting together articles for the Alternative Maidstonian, all of which we tried to justify as somehow related to the fine art of Computer Science. I was made a Computer Prefect so I could continue playing on Myst during lunchtimes, with the added bonuses of wearing a colourful tie and being able to shout at 3rd years who jammed up the printers.
I had two Computer Science teachers, your good self (this is while you weren't moonlighting as political correspondent for the BBC under the name of John Sergeant) and Mr Young, who actually did appear to be genuinely young. We couldn't understand what possessed him to become a teacher, especially as he claimed that he used to work for IBM, until we realised that he had been sacked for selling trade secrets to Microsoft. Still, teaching, eh? Poor guy. I hope he's recovered.
I always enjoyed my CS lessons at MGS, but this was because I was a cheeky so-and-so, as was most of the CS class, and it didn't take much effort to get you off at a tangent. It was, however, always interesting and stimulating and taught with great clarity and humour. To have two teachers so enthused with passion for their subject was extraordinarily refreshing, especially given some of the (nameless) other teachers who worked at MGS.
For my final year project, I wrote some graph drawing software in some obscure language I can't remember on the Mac (or was it pascal?). It worked using absolutely non of the standard computing techniques, and came from a brainwave I had in the bath (which is also where I wrote my Latin A level final year project). However, it was so impressive in demonstration, that you on behalf of the school paid me a hundred pounds for it, and I've been living like a Lord ever since. I could hear the howls of dispair and anger from miles away when you realised it was held together with Pritt Stick and luck!
After I left MGS I went on to study Computer Science and Mathematics for a Masters degree at York university.
I got a 1st in my 1st year
I got a 2i in my 2nd year
I got 2ii in my 3rd year
I got a 3rd in my 4th year
I woke up in an alcoholic stupor and got myself a job. I now handle your fire alarm, your burglar alarm, your car tracking device and all the CCTV cameras in your neighbourhood. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
All the best,
John
P.S. Apologies again for putting my chair on your Dark Side of the Moon album sleeve.
P.P.S. I have recently had two a capella pieces performed in York Minster, and have written several novels, some of which you can get hold of for free from (this address). You may want to read Playtime. Some of it could seem eerily familiar.P.P.S My final year project.
2 + 3 A + 6 B ^ 2
2 + 3 * A + 6 * B ^ 2
((2 + (3 * A)) + (6 * (B ^ 2)))
LHS op RHS
and recurse.
QED
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Rufus Wainwright - Beautiful Child
About a year ago, I discovered Rufus Wainwright under a gay cabbage patch in the allotments near are house. This is now my favourite song, which overtook my last favourite song "One Caress" by Depeche Mode. It's a bit more uplifting. This is the LP version, even though it looks like its live...
Monday, June 18, 2007
And for my next trick...
In this clip of one of my favourite musicians, his string breaks about a minute in. He replaces it throughout the duration of the song. Absolute class.
Beatles blast for beer burglar
A judge sentenced a Beatles-loving thief by quoting 42 of the band's song titles in his verdict.
Andrew McCormack, 20, had been asked what sentence he thought he should get for stealing beer, he wrote: "Like The Beetles say, Let it Be."
But he had clearly come up against the wrong man in Montana's Judge Gregory Todd, reports the Daily Mirror.
Judge Todd replied: "'Hey Jude', 'Do You Want to Know a Secret'? The greatest band in history spelled its name B-e-a-t-l-e-s.
"Your response suggests there should be no consequences for your actions and I should 'Let it Be' so you can live in 'Strawberry Fields Forever'.
"Such reasoning is 'Here, There and Everywhere'. It does not require a 'Magical Mystery Tour' of interpretation to know 'The Word' means leave it alone. I trust we can all 'Come Together' on that meaning.
"If I were to overlook your actions I would ignore that 'Day in the Life' on April 21, 2006. That night you said to yourself 'I Feel Fine' while drinking beer. Later, whether you wanted 'Money' or were just trying to 'Act Naturally' you became the 'Fool on the Hill'.
"As 'Mr Moonlight' at 1.30am, you did not 'Think for Yourself' but just focused on 'I, Me, Mine'. 'Because' you didn't ask for 'Help'. 'Wait' for 'Something' else or listen to your conscience saying 'Honey Don't', the victim was later 'Fixing a Hole' in the glass door you broke."
Judge Todd went on: "After you stole the beer you decided it was time to 'Run For Your Life' and 'Carry That Weight'. But the witness said 'Baby it's You', the police said 'I'll Get You' and you had to admit 'You Really Got a Hold on Me'.
"You were not able to 'Get Back' home because of the 'Chains' they put on you. Although you hoped the police would say 'I Don't Want to Spoil the Party' and 'We Can Work it Out', you were in 'Misery' when they said you were a 'Bad Boy'.
"When they took you to jail, you experienced 'Something New' as they said 'Hello Goodbye' and you became a 'Nowhere Man'.
"Later you may have said 'I'll Cry Instead'. Now you are saying 'Let it Be' instead of 'I'm a Loser'. As a result of your 'Hard Day's Night' you're looking at a 'Ticket to Ride' that 'Long and Winding Road' to prison.
"Hopefully you can say both now and 'When I'm 64' that 'I Should Have Known Better'."
McCormack got probation, a community service order and a fine.
Andrew McCormack, 20, had been asked what sentence he thought he should get for stealing beer, he wrote: "Like The Beetles say, Let it Be."
But he had clearly come up against the wrong man in Montana's Judge Gregory Todd, reports the Daily Mirror.
Judge Todd replied: "'Hey Jude', 'Do You Want to Know a Secret'? The greatest band in history spelled its name B-e-a-t-l-e-s.
"Your response suggests there should be no consequences for your actions and I should 'Let it Be' so you can live in 'Strawberry Fields Forever'.
"Such reasoning is 'Here, There and Everywhere'. It does not require a 'Magical Mystery Tour' of interpretation to know 'The Word' means leave it alone. I trust we can all 'Come Together' on that meaning.
"If I were to overlook your actions I would ignore that 'Day in the Life' on April 21, 2006. That night you said to yourself 'I Feel Fine' while drinking beer. Later, whether you wanted 'Money' or were just trying to 'Act Naturally' you became the 'Fool on the Hill'.
"As 'Mr Moonlight' at 1.30am, you did not 'Think for Yourself' but just focused on 'I, Me, Mine'. 'Because' you didn't ask for 'Help'. 'Wait' for 'Something' else or listen to your conscience saying 'Honey Don't', the victim was later 'Fixing a Hole' in the glass door you broke."
Judge Todd went on: "After you stole the beer you decided it was time to 'Run For Your Life' and 'Carry That Weight'. But the witness said 'Baby it's You', the police said 'I'll Get You' and you had to admit 'You Really Got a Hold on Me'.
"You were not able to 'Get Back' home because of the 'Chains' they put on you. Although you hoped the police would say 'I Don't Want to Spoil the Party' and 'We Can Work it Out', you were in 'Misery' when they said you were a 'Bad Boy'.
"When they took you to jail, you experienced 'Something New' as they said 'Hello Goodbye' and you became a 'Nowhere Man'.
"Later you may have said 'I'll Cry Instead'. Now you are saying 'Let it Be' instead of 'I'm a Loser'. As a result of your 'Hard Day's Night' you're looking at a 'Ticket to Ride' that 'Long and Winding Road' to prison.
"Hopefully you can say both now and 'When I'm 64' that 'I Should Have Known Better'."
McCormack got probation, a community service order and a fine.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
What I did on my birthday
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What can I say? George Bush is one stubborn bastard. The axe exploded in my hand.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Ukulele weeps by Jake Shimabukuro
I stumbled across this whilst looking for the Ukulele band of GB. Absolutely stunning.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Disney Spies
Hmm, intriguing... One of the features I have included on my blog is the ability to track how many people are reading it, and, more importantly, where they come from. Imagine how surprised I was to see I had received the following visitor:
(Disney Worldwide Services Inc)
California, Malibu, United States, 0 returning visits
This gets me thinking, I wonder whether they liked my pitch? They didn't feel fit to leave a comment...
If you are Mr Disney, and you are spying on me, please let me know, then I shall complete my screenplay. I was quite enjoying writing it, even though nobody else thought it was any good...
[Addendum: Apologies for the overuse of ellipses throughout this post...]
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Letter from Mark Haddon
Well I didn't expect this. Anybody who doesn't know, Mark Haddon is the writer of "The curious incident of the dog in the night-time". I should point out that the lullaby in question is not the one posted in my last blog. I can't post this one because the lyrics are in copyright. Needless to say, it is good.
dear john,
sorry it has taken me a while to get back to you. we’re in the middle of editing a film. which rather takes over your brain / life / letter-writing time.
many thanks for the audio file of lullaby. it was a wonderful setting.
I particularly liked the metaphorical night-time sea-swell in the lower voices.
so... thank you.
(though I confess I don’t think I shall be able to listen to it with total objectivity not until I have gotten used to the very odd experience of hearing my own words being sung and I can’t see that happening any time in the near future not until I decide to add opera libretto to my eclectic list of genres)
best wishes,
mark
Monday, April 30, 2007
Lullaby
Oh, this is sweet. I'm really getting the hang of this blogging malarky. The above picture shows the Micklegate Singers in concert. I'm the ginger one singing bass at the back right.
Now click on the picture, and you will hear one of the pieces I composed for a concert that was performed in York Minster. Clever, eh?
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Have a drink
"I'm making drinks. Do you want one?"
"Yeah, go on."
"What do you want, then?"
"Honestly, do you need to ask every time? I drink coffee, white coffee... unless I'm hungover when I drink it strong and black. Or if there's any filter, which I also like black, unless it's too strong, although that's okay if I'm hungover. But I always have tea first thing, which I always drink white, unless we've run out of coffee at home, when I'll drink coffee first, then tea for the second drink (unless I'm hungover. I can't abide tea when I'm hungover).
"And, of course, I always drink tea when I have my lunch, because I can't drink coffee with food, unless it's cake - I can't drink tea with cake (rich tea biscuits don't count). If we've run out of milk I'll happily drink my coffee black because I'm too lazy to go to the shop to get milk, but if I've got a hot lunch, then I'll sneak into the kitchen when no-one's looking and pour myself half a cup of milk."
"I've got some Green tea if you want some."
"Oh yeah, that would be great."
"Gunpowder or Jasmine?"
"Do you really need to ask?"
"Yeah, go on."
"What do you want, then?"
"Honestly, do you need to ask every time? I drink coffee, white coffee... unless I'm hungover when I drink it strong and black. Or if there's any filter, which I also like black, unless it's too strong, although that's okay if I'm hungover. But I always have tea first thing, which I always drink white, unless we've run out of coffee at home, when I'll drink coffee first, then tea for the second drink (unless I'm hungover. I can't abide tea when I'm hungover).
"And, of course, I always drink tea when I have my lunch, because I can't drink coffee with food, unless it's cake - I can't drink tea with cake (rich tea biscuits don't count). If we've run out of milk I'll happily drink my coffee black because I'm too lazy to go to the shop to get milk, but if I've got a hot lunch, then I'll sneak into the kitchen when no-one's looking and pour myself half a cup of milk."
"I've got some Green tea if you want some."
"Oh yeah, that would be great."
"Gunpowder or Jasmine?"
"Do you really need to ask?"
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Sweeney Todd - Opening Scene
Aaah, the opening of Sweeney Todd in all its full glory. Name me one musical that comes close to its majesty and horror. The discordant organ, driving horns and driving rhythms. This is why I love music. It is difficult to see how a film version is going to convey the menace that this production conveys...
Friday, April 20, 2007
Disney's Guns - Screenplay - Part III
Previously:
Disney's Guns - Part I
Disney's Guns - Part II
Nikov (echo): Turn you into tin cans... Turn you into tin cans... Turn you into tin cans.
We see a terrified Magnum in close up carried by plastic gloves. Zoom out to reveal a series of scientist types with white masks and plastic over clothes each carrying a single gun along a walkway. We hear mechanical doors and a bubbling pool, growing louder and louder. Zoom out further to reveal a large vat of grey, molten liquid in the foreground. Guns are squealing briefly as they are hurled into into the mass and disolve.
Magnum: No, please no! I've got so much to live for! Don't do this to me!
Sinister laughter comes from behind us. We pan round to a higher up walkway, upon which we see the lower body of the Iranian carrying Fedorov Cei-Rigotti, the machine gun which killed Bud. Fedorov cackles.
Fedorov: Nobody escapes the pit, Magnum, not even you.
Magnum: No!
He is flung towards the vat, and we plunge in with him.
We hear Magnum sobbing, as we pull out of the green cloth bag, left unzipped on the dark stained carpet in Mara's bedroom.
Nikov: Woah, woah! What's gotten into ya, little fella?
Magnum: Bad dream.
Nikov: Ah, Magnum. I know all yah can about nightmares. Sometimes I see 'em comin' for me and it gives me the sweats. Yah never can get over it, but yah do learn to live with it.
Magnum: Have you ever seen it?
Nikov: Seen what? The factory? Heeell no, and I ain't never gonna. Ah'm too old an' rusty fah tin cans. They'll pro'lly just stick me in a museum or somethin'.
Magnum: But how can you bear it? The thought of never being able to kill again?
Nikov: Killin'? Is that what you think we're for? You think Mara uses us for murderin' innocent people?
We see Mara sat at the desk beside them, circumaural headphones over his head, playing GTA on his PC. He grunts. On the wall in front of him is a poster for Oldboy
Magnum: Nobody's innocent, Nikov, you know that.
Nikov: Oh, mah young gun, yah have so much to learn about life. (Illustrated by flashbacks of Nikov in his youth) We shooters didn't always used to be about killin' and blurd. I remember the days when it was all about self-defence. People used to leave us out on the mantlepieces and point us out to the neighbours and say, "That there, Nikov, he's gonna save our lives one day!". Ladies would keep young pistols like you in their handbags along with their makeup and mirrors as if we was just a little security blanket. We were rarely loaded, and if we were it was with sweets and marshmallows, or pretty firecrackers for hallowe'en. Usin' guns for killin'? What a world!
Magnum: I don't... believe you. I don't... get it. Killing is what we're made for. Why did the great Cannon give us bullets if it was not to kill?
Nikov: Ah think its time to show you somethin'. Hey! Smith! Wesson! You get yerselves out here, will ya?
Two giggly little pistols come out of the bag, Smith and Wesson. They scamper around the edges of the bag, leaping across the carpet.
Smith: Hey old timer! Whassup?
Wesson: Yeah! Wassup, blunderbuss?
Nikov: Old timer, eh (he chuckles)? Blunderbuss? That's a good 'un, Wesson, and make no mistake. I think it's time we took the new boy down to see the gallery. Will you go get the young master for me?
Smith and Wesson scamper towards the desk, and jump up.
Smith: The gallery!
Wesson: Yeah! The gallery.
Magnum: Nikov? What's the gallery?
Nikov: You'll see. I think your gonna like it.
Disney's Guns - Part I
Disney's Guns - Part II
Nikov (echo): Turn you into tin cans... Turn you into tin cans... Turn you into tin cans.
We see a terrified Magnum in close up carried by plastic gloves. Zoom out to reveal a series of scientist types with white masks and plastic over clothes each carrying a single gun along a walkway. We hear mechanical doors and a bubbling pool, growing louder and louder. Zoom out further to reveal a large vat of grey, molten liquid in the foreground. Guns are squealing briefly as they are hurled into into the mass and disolve.
Magnum: No, please no! I've got so much to live for! Don't do this to me!
Sinister laughter comes from behind us. We pan round to a higher up walkway, upon which we see the lower body of the Iranian carrying Fedorov Cei-Rigotti, the machine gun which killed Bud. Fedorov cackles.
Fedorov: Nobody escapes the pit, Magnum, not even you.
Magnum: No!
He is flung towards the vat, and we plunge in with him.
We hear Magnum sobbing, as we pull out of the green cloth bag, left unzipped on the dark stained carpet in Mara's bedroom.
Nikov: Woah, woah! What's gotten into ya, little fella?
Magnum: Bad dream.
Nikov: Ah, Magnum. I know all yah can about nightmares. Sometimes I see 'em comin' for me and it gives me the sweats. Yah never can get over it, but yah do learn to live with it.
Magnum: Have you ever seen it?
Nikov: Seen what? The factory? Heeell no, and I ain't never gonna. Ah'm too old an' rusty fah tin cans. They'll pro'lly just stick me in a museum or somethin'.
Magnum: But how can you bear it? The thought of never being able to kill again?
Nikov: Killin'? Is that what you think we're for? You think Mara uses us for murderin' innocent people?
We see Mara sat at the desk beside them, circumaural headphones over his head, playing GTA on his PC. He grunts. On the wall in front of him is a poster for Oldboy
Magnum: Nobody's innocent, Nikov, you know that.
Nikov: Oh, mah young gun, yah have so much to learn about life. (Illustrated by flashbacks of Nikov in his youth) We shooters didn't always used to be about killin' and blurd. I remember the days when it was all about self-defence. People used to leave us out on the mantlepieces and point us out to the neighbours and say, "That there, Nikov, he's gonna save our lives one day!". Ladies would keep young pistols like you in their handbags along with their makeup and mirrors as if we was just a little security blanket. We were rarely loaded, and if we were it was with sweets and marshmallows, or pretty firecrackers for hallowe'en. Usin' guns for killin'? What a world!
Magnum: I don't... believe you. I don't... get it. Killing is what we're made for. Why did the great Cannon give us bullets if it was not to kill?
Nikov: Ah think its time to show you somethin'. Hey! Smith! Wesson! You get yerselves out here, will ya?
Two giggly little pistols come out of the bag, Smith and Wesson. They scamper around the edges of the bag, leaping across the carpet.
Smith: Hey old timer! Whassup?
Wesson: Yeah! Wassup, blunderbuss?
Nikov: Old timer, eh (he chuckles)? Blunderbuss? That's a good 'un, Wesson, and make no mistake. I think it's time we took the new boy down to see the gallery. Will you go get the young master for me?
Smith and Wesson scamper towards the desk, and jump up.
Smith: The gallery!
Wesson: Yeah! The gallery.
Magnum: Nikov? What's the gallery?
Nikov: You'll see. I think your gonna like it.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Disney's Guns - Screenplay - Part II
Previously:
Disney's Guns - Part 1
Into the darkness falls the Title - "Disney's Guns". It is riddled with bullets, breaks into shards, and leaves the screen in darkness again.
Magnum Colt (VO): And then... I was born again.
The chorus of Nancy Sinatra's "Bang, bang (My baby shot me down)" starts to play, and into the music comes faint noises of earth being shovelled. Credits appear throughout the next section. Gradually earth flies away from the frame, and we see flashes of dark clad limbs, and the shovel clearing the ground. A face, lit bright from the front appears to fill the frame. It is Mara Salvatrucha, a thirteen year old South American boy with big wide eyes and floppy hair, a darker Daniel Radcliffe, whose voice has not yet broken.
The frame cuts to Mara's POV, and we see Magnum lying on top of the coffin, bleary eyed and covered in soil, some of which he spits out of his mouth. He smiles.
Mara: Mano! (Magnum's POV) Hey, Mano, we got ourselves another one!
Mano Dura is Mara's best friend, a big fat boy whose voice is even higher than Mara's.
Mano: Didn't I tell you, eh? These soldiers' graves are a sweet gold mine. (Mano moves into frame) Hey, what's your name, little fella?
Magnum Colt: Magnum. Magnum Colt, at your service! (Spits out soil)
Mara: How rare to find a gun with such fine manners. My name is Mara Salvatrucha, and my fat friend here is Mano Dura.
Mano: Who you calling fat?
Mara: The one carrying the guns, Mano. You want to make something of it?
Mano: Aaah. Just stick him in the bag with the others.
Mara crouches down, and pulls Magnum out of the grave. We see the surroundings now. A sparse but large graveyard, dark but for the moonlight. Mara blows gently on Magnum, as if kissing him, and lays him into a green cloth bag, which he zips up, not quite all the way, and throws over his shoulder.
Guns: Ow!
Mara: Sorry guys. We'd better get you home and tucked up. I got school tomorrow.
As Mara and Mano head across the graveyard, we zoom in on the gap in the bag. Magnum sticks his nose out and looks around.
Magnum: Oh brave new world!
We hear snuffling, and a moment later Nikov, an AK-47 in his late fifties, sticks his nose out next to Magnum. Nikov is a real country yokel, dumb, but with a heart of gold.
Nikov: Hell yeah, boy! We got it reeeal good.
Magnum: I'm sorry?
Nikov: Hey, where's my manners? The name's Nikov. I've seen action in countries you ain't never heard of, watched guns knee high to a pea shooter fall to the earth and I'm tellin' you there ain't no better place to be than with a city boy like Mara.
Mara (hissing): Keep the noise down in there, will ya? There's a guard out. I can see his light.
Magnum considers this a moment.
Magnum: I could do him in for you.
Nikov: Woah! Hold your horses, young gun. It's not like out on the fields down here. You get caught killin' and you'll go down to the pound. We are talkin' fifteen, twenty year stretches, and if you're real bad, they melt you down and turn you into tin cans.
Mara: I warned you, Nikov. I hate to do this to you but...
We see the bag zipped up from the inside.
Darkness.
Next:
Disney's Guns - Part III
Disney's Guns - Part 1
Into the darkness falls the Title - "Disney's Guns". It is riddled with bullets, breaks into shards, and leaves the screen in darkness again.
Magnum Colt (VO): And then... I was born again.
The chorus of Nancy Sinatra's "Bang, bang (My baby shot me down)" starts to play, and into the music comes faint noises of earth being shovelled. Credits appear throughout the next section. Gradually earth flies away from the frame, and we see flashes of dark clad limbs, and the shovel clearing the ground. A face, lit bright from the front appears to fill the frame. It is Mara Salvatrucha, a thirteen year old South American boy with big wide eyes and floppy hair, a darker Daniel Radcliffe, whose voice has not yet broken.
The frame cuts to Mara's POV, and we see Magnum lying on top of the coffin, bleary eyed and covered in soil, some of which he spits out of his mouth. He smiles.
Mara: Mano! (Magnum's POV) Hey, Mano, we got ourselves another one!
Mano Dura is Mara's best friend, a big fat boy whose voice is even higher than Mara's.
Mano: Didn't I tell you, eh? These soldiers' graves are a sweet gold mine. (Mano moves into frame) Hey, what's your name, little fella?
Magnum Colt: Magnum. Magnum Colt, at your service! (Spits out soil)
Mara: How rare to find a gun with such fine manners. My name is Mara Salvatrucha, and my fat friend here is Mano Dura.
Mano: Who you calling fat?
Mara: The one carrying the guns, Mano. You want to make something of it?
Mano: Aaah. Just stick him in the bag with the others.
Mara crouches down, and pulls Magnum out of the grave. We see the surroundings now. A sparse but large graveyard, dark but for the moonlight. Mara blows gently on Magnum, as if kissing him, and lays him into a green cloth bag, which he zips up, not quite all the way, and throws over his shoulder.
Guns: Ow!
Mara: Sorry guys. We'd better get you home and tucked up. I got school tomorrow.
As Mara and Mano head across the graveyard, we zoom in on the gap in the bag. Magnum sticks his nose out and looks around.
Magnum: Oh brave new world!
We hear snuffling, and a moment later Nikov, an AK-47 in his late fifties, sticks his nose out next to Magnum. Nikov is a real country yokel, dumb, but with a heart of gold.
Nikov: Hell yeah, boy! We got it reeeal good.
Magnum: I'm sorry?
Nikov: Hey, where's my manners? The name's Nikov. I've seen action in countries you ain't never heard of, watched guns knee high to a pea shooter fall to the earth and I'm tellin' you there ain't no better place to be than with a city boy like Mara.
Mara (hissing): Keep the noise down in there, will ya? There's a guard out. I can see his light.
Magnum considers this a moment.
Magnum: I could do him in for you.
Nikov: Woah! Hold your horses, young gun. It's not like out on the fields down here. You get caught killin' and you'll go down to the pound. We are talkin' fifteen, twenty year stretches, and if you're real bad, they melt you down and turn you into tin cans.
Mara: I warned you, Nikov. I hate to do this to you but...
We see the bag zipped up from the inside.
Darkness.
Next:
Disney's Guns - Part III
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Disney's Guns - Screenplay - Part I
Darkness
Magnum Colt (VO): I feel the need...
Flashes of gunfire. Quickfire images of hands in camouflage sleeves squeezing triggers.
Magnum Colt (VO): ... the need for...
More flashes
Magnum Colt: blood.
Cut to four dead civilians lying contorted in a pile in a dust strewn landscape. Positioned such that we cannot see their faces. Blood is gushing from multiple wounds filling the frame to the edges.
A newspaper drops down over the image, with heading, "Troops advance into Iran". The main picture shows four grinning soldiers arm in arm, each holding a semi-automatic. Similar newspapers, broadsheet and tabloid, and magazines, drop down onto the frame, as Magnum Colt VOs.
Magnum Colt: Semi-automatic, multiple firing chambers, single action, double action, air cooled, open bolt, gas actuated, look down the barrel, cock the trigger, hold still, and...fire.
A bullet burst through the newspaper towards us, filling the display like the James Bond intro in reverse. Four soldiers (the same four that were on the first newspaper) are driving towards us in a camouflaged jeep. They are Jake, Bud, Frank and Cool J.
Jake: Hey, boys, I sure as hell didn't think it was goin' to be this great!
Bud: Hell, yeah!
The camera pulls over them, and then reverses angle to show where they are headed. It is an unnamed village, more like a shanty town, in chaos. Civilians with hands on their heads stand by the edge of the road, whilst soldiers march up and down past them. Explosions of dust can be seen in the distance, and the sounds of women screaming.
Distant soldier: You like that, do you. You want some more?
Further voice: Tell me where they are! Tell me!
The truck spins to a stop, and the four soldiers jump down into the same positions they appeared in the photograph. The camera starts to close in on Bud's face.
Magnum Colt (VO): That's me that is.
The camera zooms in more confidently.
Magnum Colt (VO): No, no, not up there! Down here.
The camera double takes, then moves down Bud's chest to focus in on the semi-automatic pistol he holds in his hand. It is Magnum Colt, with two sweet bunny eyes and a cheeky wide open smile. The action freezes, apart from the occasional blink from Magnum.
Magnum Colt (VO): Magnum Colt, at your service, a Beretta 92FS, 217 millimetres of solid metal carrying fifteen nine millimetre cartridges in my staggered magazine, and one for luck in my barrel. I can kill, maim and wound up to fifty metres away. You're gonna love me!
Action continues.
Magnum Colt (no longer VO): Bud, Bud! I'm hungry. Are we nearly there yet?
Bud pats Magnum affectionately.
Bud: Soon! Soon, little buddy. But first I fancy a little action of my own. (To the others) What say we find us selves some ho's?
Cool J: Hell yeah! That's what we came here for!
The gang start through the village. Cut to the face of a man at a window. Cut to Bud noticing him.
Bud: Looks like we got a likely customer at six o'clock.
They go over to the door, which Frank kicks open. The Iranian appears in front of them speaking fluently and incoherently.
Bud: Hey! Hey, calm down. We're not going to hurt you. We're here to protect you.
Magnum Colt: Kill him, Bud, kill him!
Bud: No boy, that's not our way. We are not the bad guys here. We just want to know if there's anybody else in the house.
Iranian: Don't hurt me don't hurt me.
Cool J: How many?
Iranian: My wife, my girl. Please, please don't hurt us.
Bud: Don't you worry about them. Go wait with the others, and we will send them out soon.
Iranian: Don't hurt them, please!
Bud: We ain't gonna hurt them. How many times have I got to tell ya? Frank, will ya show the man to the door.
Frank picks the Iranian up, and throws him out the door. He shoots the ground in front of the Iranian. Frank's gun whoops for joy. Bud and the guys go through the back, where two Iranian women dressed in black, one thirteen and one in late thirties, are cowering in the corner and whimpering.
Bud: Frank, Cool J...
Frank and Cool J take a woman each, and rough them to their feet. Bud rips the veil off the young girls face. She spits in his face.
Bud: Not that's just plain uncalled for, ma'am. I'm just here to give you some sweet lovin', and then...
Magnum Colt: Oh yeah! Then you get to meet me!
Bud strokes Magnum along the barrel, and he purrs.
A male scream interrupts them, and the Iranian bursts in through the door bearing an automatic machine gun. As he screams, he lets lose a hale of bullets. The camera zooms in on the gun, which has evil squintly eyes, and teeth that run down the barrel. Fade out.
Fade in. A bright summers day over a funeral. Mourners gathering round, hundreds. In the background the press are milling.
Minister: ...we commend his body, to the earth.
The camera pans down pausing at the gravestone "Bud Weston - died a hero's death - 1988-2007" then continues downward to the wooden coffin.
Cut to Cool J, arm in sling, and bandage round his head, holding Magnum Colt in his hand.
Magnum Colt (VO): It just seemed so unfair.
Cool J crouches down and lays him on top of the coffin.
Cool J: Goodbye old buddy.
The earth starts to pile onto the coffin.
Fade to black.
Next:
Disney's Guns - Part ii
Magnum Colt (VO): I feel the need...
Flashes of gunfire. Quickfire images of hands in camouflage sleeves squeezing triggers.
Magnum Colt (VO): ... the need for...
More flashes
Magnum Colt: blood.
Cut to four dead civilians lying contorted in a pile in a dust strewn landscape. Positioned such that we cannot see their faces. Blood is gushing from multiple wounds filling the frame to the edges.
A newspaper drops down over the image, with heading, "Troops advance into Iran". The main picture shows four grinning soldiers arm in arm, each holding a semi-automatic. Similar newspapers, broadsheet and tabloid, and magazines, drop down onto the frame, as Magnum Colt VOs.
Magnum Colt: Semi-automatic, multiple firing chambers, single action, double action, air cooled, open bolt, gas actuated, look down the barrel, cock the trigger, hold still, and...fire.
A bullet burst through the newspaper towards us, filling the display like the James Bond intro in reverse. Four soldiers (the same four that were on the first newspaper) are driving towards us in a camouflaged jeep. They are Jake, Bud, Frank and Cool J.
Jake: Hey, boys, I sure as hell didn't think it was goin' to be this great!
Bud: Hell, yeah!
The camera pulls over them, and then reverses angle to show where they are headed. It is an unnamed village, more like a shanty town, in chaos. Civilians with hands on their heads stand by the edge of the road, whilst soldiers march up and down past them. Explosions of dust can be seen in the distance, and the sounds of women screaming.
Distant soldier: You like that, do you. You want some more?
Further voice: Tell me where they are! Tell me!
The truck spins to a stop, and the four soldiers jump down into the same positions they appeared in the photograph. The camera starts to close in on Bud's face.
Magnum Colt (VO): That's me that is.
The camera zooms in more confidently.
Magnum Colt (VO): No, no, not up there! Down here.
The camera double takes, then moves down Bud's chest to focus in on the semi-automatic pistol he holds in his hand. It is Magnum Colt, with two sweet bunny eyes and a cheeky wide open smile. The action freezes, apart from the occasional blink from Magnum.
Magnum Colt (VO): Magnum Colt, at your service, a Beretta 92FS, 217 millimetres of solid metal carrying fifteen nine millimetre cartridges in my staggered magazine, and one for luck in my barrel. I can kill, maim and wound up to fifty metres away. You're gonna love me!
Action continues.
Magnum Colt (no longer VO): Bud, Bud! I'm hungry. Are we nearly there yet?
Bud pats Magnum affectionately.
Bud: Soon! Soon, little buddy. But first I fancy a little action of my own. (To the others) What say we find us selves some ho's?
Cool J: Hell yeah! That's what we came here for!
The gang start through the village. Cut to the face of a man at a window. Cut to Bud noticing him.
Bud: Looks like we got a likely customer at six o'clock.
They go over to the door, which Frank kicks open. The Iranian appears in front of them speaking fluently and incoherently.
Bud: Hey! Hey, calm down. We're not going to hurt you. We're here to protect you.
Magnum Colt: Kill him, Bud, kill him!
Bud: No boy, that's not our way. We are not the bad guys here. We just want to know if there's anybody else in the house.
Iranian: Don't hurt me don't hurt me.
Cool J: How many?
Iranian: My wife, my girl. Please, please don't hurt us.
Bud: Don't you worry about them. Go wait with the others, and we will send them out soon.
Iranian: Don't hurt them, please!
Bud: We ain't gonna hurt them. How many times have I got to tell ya? Frank, will ya show the man to the door.
Frank picks the Iranian up, and throws him out the door. He shoots the ground in front of the Iranian. Frank's gun whoops for joy. Bud and the guys go through the back, where two Iranian women dressed in black, one thirteen and one in late thirties, are cowering in the corner and whimpering.
Bud: Frank, Cool J...
Frank and Cool J take a woman each, and rough them to their feet. Bud rips the veil off the young girls face. She spits in his face.
Bud: Not that's just plain uncalled for, ma'am. I'm just here to give you some sweet lovin', and then...
Magnum Colt: Oh yeah! Then you get to meet me!
Bud strokes Magnum along the barrel, and he purrs.
A male scream interrupts them, and the Iranian bursts in through the door bearing an automatic machine gun. As he screams, he lets lose a hale of bullets. The camera zooms in on the gun, which has evil squintly eyes, and teeth that run down the barrel. Fade out.
Fade in. A bright summers day over a funeral. Mourners gathering round, hundreds. In the background the press are milling.
Minister: ...we commend his body, to the earth.
The camera pans down pausing at the gravestone "Bud Weston - died a hero's death - 1988-2007" then continues downward to the wooden coffin.
Cut to Cool J, arm in sling, and bandage round his head, holding Magnum Colt in his hand.
Magnum Colt (VO): It just seemed so unfair.
Cool J crouches down and lays him on top of the coffin.
Cool J: Goodbye old buddy.
The earth starts to pile onto the coffin.
Fade to black.
Next:
Disney's Guns - Part ii
Monday, April 16, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Confessions of a Dangerous Writer - Code of Conduct
Please read the following code of conduct before entering correspondence with John R Morgan:
- Do not read the article
- Do not check to see if anybody has replied with the same message already.
- Ensure you reply in a language other than English, preferably one that deviates from the Latin alphabet.
- Please include links to porn sites, preferably ones that require payment.
- You have the right to be offensive about all aspects of the author's lifestyle and creative output.
- If you believe that you have spotted the author in a brothel within your local area, or somebody with a similar name or physical build, do feel free to draw everybody's attention to the event.
- Your opinion is worth more than anybody else's. Abuse this knowledge.
- All the author's musings are at some deep level about Hitler. Your responsibility is to highlight the connection in as few steps as possible.
- Add links to your own websites, so we know what to bookmark.
- Above all, DO COME AGAIN!
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
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