tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20833960777588153492024-03-13T02:36:30.373-07:00My Mind's EyeWhat am I in all my glory? Just a series of broken dreams and unconfirmed stories...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-51455075568772821022012-11-04T20:47:00.003-08:002012-11-04T21:10:39.411-08:00Past:PRESENCE 2012 MOAH<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">M</span>y Curatorial Statement for the currently exhibiting </span>show at the Lancaster Museum of Art (MOAH) in Lancaster, CA. This is just my thoughts on the exhibit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlOLeTTSQKQiIKDsK8roCm3I-NtQdvjkAw6vpyWgk4nYquyx-BukAIHmQdzjIaBwwOlJUa4c1U4FKngzcQsMv6vT8xM09sGClsF3lNeHcG4ajPnzz0b5wcVz6woX9qak5GrAI5yUSrnjNG/s1600/I-pity-the-fool2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlOLeTTSQKQiIKDsK8roCm3I-NtQdvjkAw6vpyWgk4nYquyx-BukAIHmQdzjIaBwwOlJUa4c1U4FKngzcQsMv6vT8xM09sGClsF3lNeHcG4ajPnzz0b5wcVz6woX9qak5GrAI5yUSrnjNG/s1600/I-pity-the-fool2.jpg" width="270" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>I pity the fool</i>, Sean Cheetham, 2012</span></div>
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<h2 class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><u><span style="font-size: large;">Past Presence: Contemporary Figure and Portrait Exhibition</span></u></span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: red;"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.lancastermoah.org/exhibition.php?id=56">View the Exhibit info online. </a></span></span></span></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Look at the modern art movements as a
whole and view the direct lineage from one to the next throughout Art History
from 1850 to the late 1960’s, and in doing this there is one prevailing factor
throughout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That factor is the
growth of the individual artist’s ideas and concepts over their mere
reproductions of prior established “norms” in Art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we progressed from the beginnings of Modern Art in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Realism</i> movement of the mid-19<sup>th</sup>
century to the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Post-Minimalist</i>
movement over a hundred years later we see the artist’s idea far outweigh his representational
skill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With this creation of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">idea</i> and concept trumping technical
skill what happened was Artists began to invent, and in their inventions they
would create movements; for example, Picasso and Braque and their inventions of
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Analytical</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Synthetic Cubism</i> in the early days of Modern Art between
1910-1914.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would
happen shortly after is that the repetition would begin as Artists who were
trained to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mimic</i> began to follow the
movements of individual invention and when this mimicry had reached epic proportions
of repetition it called for a new movement in Art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So what we saw is “repetition” or “sameness” became public
enemy number one in Modern Art as Modern Artists constantly sought to re-invent
and individualize their message and technical approach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always searching for what was new and
what would make an impact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">This seems to have come to a head in the
mid-1950’s with the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pop Art</i> movement,
spear-headed by Andy Warhol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Warhol added this idea of repetition into his art in order to
sarcastically ridicule the established idea of repetition and its connotation
of the latest Art Movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Marilyn Diptych</i> Warhol is exposing
the ugliness of the “copy” and he is demonstrating its loss of newness as the
image is repeated and ink changes or smears and diminishes the subject further
with each copy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is ridiculing
the mass appeal to take something beautiful; such as Marilyn, and to expose it
and copy it in repetition until it loses its beauty and rare newness, which is
what made us love “the object of our desire” in the first place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The artists involved in this exhibition
are part of a quiet revolution just as Manet and Courbet were when they
invented the Realism movement in the mid 19<sup>th</sup> Century or Monet,
Cassatt, and the Impressionists were a quarter century later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This revolt against the established
norms in Art is happening once again and these artists are among the forefront
of this exciting movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
exhibition includes a group of artists who have used the Figure and Portrait in
their work as a springboard to unleash their ideas and visual communication onto
their audience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These were Artists
who sought to train themselves academically with the figure when such things
were viewed as passé and outdated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They had to fight the established “norms” of non-representational art
and educate themselves in a world of art, which offered very little technical
training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In doing so they have
played their part in inventing a new movement in art just as their predecessors
always have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Contemporary Figurative Art</i> movement
honors and acknowledges the past but doesn’t simply derive from the past its questions
and answers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It asks new questions
and challenges the viewer in new ways to answer them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Throughout Art History the Figure has
been the basis for art as we created <u>our </u>world in our own image, but the
need for the artists idea to become paramount in art brought us away from
representing the figure and toward non-objective Art movements which were
essential in bringing us out of the academia which had gained a stronghold on
artistic expression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no
arguing the necessity of Cubism, Fauvism, Abstract expressionism and Post
Minimalism among many other modern art movements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each brought new developments to the artist’s visual
communication and its overwhelming importance to artistic expression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the past forty years have brought
about somewhat of a standstill in contemporary art as the “copying” of these
movements has become stale and stagnant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nature of Modern Art is ideas born out of new
ideas that challenge the old ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If this nature of questioning the establishment as we seek newness and
individuality in Art is allowed to continue by the public and the “Art Establishment”
then <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Contemporary Figurative Art</i> has
a future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For Art to evolve and to
grow we must always seek to destroy repetition and fight our nature to mimic
success in art around us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
artists of this exhibition are showing with their work that they value both the
representation of life and their concept equally as they show us new ways to
visually communicate while using Art History’s oldest tool––The Human
Figure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thank you to all of the Artist<span style="font-size: large;">s who showed in this exhibit. It really was a great experience for me and this show <span style="font-size: large;">was <span style="font-size: large;">done </span>in your honor</span>. </span></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Kent Twitchell, Kent Williams<span style="font-size: large;">, Sean Cheetham, Natalia Fabia, Aaron We<span style="font-size: large;">ster</span>berg, Sergio Sanchez, Virgi<span style="font-size: large;">nia Broersma, Joseph Todorovitch, Er<span style="font-size: large;">ic Pedersen, </span></span></span>Suzanne Unrein, Richard Morris, </span></b></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">"The McCaw's" </span></span></span></b></span></span></span></b></span></span><b>Dan<span style="font-size: large;">, John<span style="font-size: large;">, </span>and Danny<span style="font-size: large;">, Rogelio Manzo, Seamus Conley, <span style="font-size: large;">Peter Zhang, </span>Rebecca Campbell, DJ Hall, Chris Gwaltney<span style="font-size: large;">, </span>Marc Trujillo, and F. Scott Hess </span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.lancastermoah.org/exhibition.php?id=56">View the Exhibit info online. </a></span></span></span></b></span></span></span></span> </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-67384102409473977862012-11-04T20:25:00.000-08:002012-11-04T20:25:27.283-08:00Vegas<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Our own private Vegas...</span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_TV8B64X9H2c_GIhc5os2wRIjttE_-nQlzE4v5b7yLIrQcNIkxHNi9pbqckyzOd1MzsJn3M9TSC76cS4-HDDAY6xTT7IVZfbKhsnoZeVhjPZFHXR2EIT3DvVAg6DCncy7-ucfMdrRZFOe/s1600/inline_617682584539.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_TV8B64X9H2c_GIhc5os2wRIjttE_-nQlzE4v5b7yLIrQcNIkxHNi9pbqckyzOd1MzsJn3M9TSC76cS4-HDDAY6xTT7IVZfbKhsnoZeVhjPZFHXR2EIT3DvVAg6DCncy7-ucfMdrRZFOe/s1600/inline_617682584539.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">There's a room in the wasted desert somewhere, </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">with only a piano on its
floor and four stark walls closing it in. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Walls so bare without even a
clock. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The bench and the chair aren't much to sit on and there's a door
that won't lock... </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">There's window gawking, and cock-blocking, maybe
even a critic or two... </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">With all this there's an unexplainable yet
wonderful charm. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">It's a feeling of wrong but you know that it's right. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The type that you feel on a hot Vegas night, when you just want to look
and see each others lights.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
For the sake of that feeling it's our own private Vegas where time
stands still as we move on to many new realms and auras of sight.
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Blasting in too many directions to count like stars in the night. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Like
ticks of the clock in this temporal rift, we found thoughts and
portrayals of life's greatest gift.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The casks of despair couldn't
dampen the feeling we feel in this breathable air.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Breathing it in we
taste fate as it shifts again with this new found friend.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Our own private
Vegas.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Where we both hope to win.</span></span>
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-1052496148827273962012-11-04T20:14:00.000-08:002012-11-04T21:09:03.379-08:00A Goddess in bronze<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bronze</span></span> </h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdxmjXlY808u2CzKzJCgBigZ1Kcs44pG8yeX2OY6bazeIKb-1-OpqO_j0Ixtrwf0LG6sRjkZuoKacA82Tx2qASTeGylMHzYzZ06TcQFASPBdNt0ZL88Z-NXoWntVgG4epxPJ6KHaamDLW/s1600/indian-bronze-goddess_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdxmjXlY808u2CzKzJCgBigZ1Kcs44pG8yeX2OY6bazeIKb-1-OpqO_j0Ixtrwf0LG6sRjkZuoKacA82Tx2qASTeGylMHzYzZ06TcQFASPBdNt0ZL88Z-NXoWntVgG4epxPJ6KHaamDLW/s1600/indian-bronze-goddess_02.jpg" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Your earthly skin glistens in the orange glow of the sun. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Your hair
whips in strands of rhythm across your innocent face. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The cold wind
pierces the pores of your skin, leaving tiny bumps of nervous delight
behind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Your beauty is immortal and ancient in its overwhelming
newness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The qualities in your smile leave me in stunned awareness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Moments are fleeting as you dodge from sight only to return with a smile
just as bright... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Bright as the moon on a dark winters night. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Where do
you go to when you hide your eyes? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Where do you go to when you burst
through the night's sky? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">This essence of something I can't explain. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">You
have it... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I've seen it! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> There's no use in trying to hide or refrain.</span>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-57129170194905375112011-11-23T13:18:00.000-08:002011-11-23T13:18:59.610-08:00unspokenThe warm sun and cool breeze flow over me as the distant train fills my ears. Thoughts of everything and nothing possess my quiet brain. Sights of green and blue, of me and you. Emotions of love and hope. The faith you'd always be near. All of this as my breath subsides. All of this keeps me from wanting to die. Your sweet grin. Our tasteful sin. It's all worth every broken glass and left behind dream. It's all something but not what it seemed. We used to know, but knowing is showing that ignorance is vast. There's nothing more than barking dogs and trains flying past. There's nothing more than the crow calling my name. My hair is caressed and ruffled by the pushing wind. Asking me to move and go to that place within. That place I find is my now, my here, my way, and how. The flag flaps as fast as the sparrows wings. All of it nothing and all at once the beauty of your eyes when they've just awoken. The beauty of words that can never be spoken. The trees know it and the wet ground can taste it. Only they know what we know of nothing, only the flock knows the path. Only freedom can be found in the gusts that lift us up with our open wings. Only this, my heart sings.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-38147073295597211372011-11-22T00:27:00.000-08:002011-11-22T00:27:47.949-08:00Candid ActsCandid is always best. Whether it be a photograph; a moment between friends, or face you make during good sex. When we lose that idea of looking right and become the moment we're in. That is where life and love and the pursuit of happiness exist. It's in those little moments when our mind is silenced and we allow ourselves to become that look, that laugh, that tear, that sigh. I can preach from my pulpit about knowing it with all my heart. But to what end? With what point? I've surely got no idea how to get there. I simply want to cherish the fact it's there. But as it is you can't really acknowledge that candid truth without falsifying it somehow. As soon as it's seen it's gone like that light you see in her eye. So I don't know what I'm trying to say or even why. I think maybe that candid truth is our only truth or our only lie for that matter... Maybe that's god or that spirit of the universe we all know to be there? That true lie some of us know so well we call ourselves agnostic or atheist in order to piss off the daddy of our own conciousness. Maybe god isn't meant to be seen? Maybe it isnt meant to be acknowledged, understood, loved, hated or even ignored but maybe just a candid realism we shouldn't try to see but only try to be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-21901346675679881892011-02-04T16:07:00.001-08:002011-02-04T16:07:16.173-08:00WakeSitting on the rocks of the bay. At the point just before the ocean stained boulders meet the shore. I'm sitting here wondering if I've ever seen your face before. The tide, dead calm, is awakened by the intrusion of a tourist barge. Then left calm again after they've gone, but never to reach once more it's peaceful peak. I feel a presence, overwhelmed in attack, attempting to move me from my earthbound throne of granite. It can only cause a weak shift in my movement. Enough to have me turn and look, yet return to my sinful stare. Looking into and holding tight your sinful hair. Something keeps the tide alive as others attempt at breaking its untimely spirit. Left without hope the tourists return to their lifeless mope. This is the story of those who've settled but still long to grope at that image of peace they inevitably break and disrupt. Just when they've entered, it's over and just as they leave, it returns... like a crowd scatters as danger approaches, her peace runs away from their hairlines and broaches. I am left standing watching you there. Ever so changing as you look into the light's glare. I am left standing waiting for your return from the destruction. The disruption of all they've put on you and try leaving in their wake. You will not move me from my granite throne. You will not leave me here all alone. They will quiver and shake in the power of your wake.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-87021128351608864722011-02-04T15:12:00.001-08:002011-02-04T15:12:13.280-08:00FloatingI'm not leaving no matter how loud your screams of hate may get. I'm not leaving and going out into this world of black eyes staring blankly at my misfortune. At my failed attempt at a dream. I see the way they soften their mouths at my sadness. I see you wanting to make me whole again... As you wish I'd find a friend. You want me to run to that? Your hate tastes sweeter. Your hate has feeling. Their sympathy at my pathetic gait has no life. It has no weight. I'm not running away from my destruction or the forgotten me. I'm running into my self like a cannon meeting the target. Like a child's smile of hope for approval. Like the salty taste of dirt a tear leaves in your mouth... I can taste my disgrace. I have faced this dirty demon and his evil face. I can be what I am and you can leave running for the sun. You run away? You be alone with your hate if you must! Don't leave that burden on me for my soul is much too weak to adjust. I'm only particles of dust left to settle. Softly and slowly falling into place.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-6317748817564438942011-01-08T13:06:00.001-08:002011-01-08T13:06:56.741-08:00Left to my nameSo I take my last two chips to the cashier sitting in her prison of gold and neon lights... "Failed again... Another sleepless night." The only solace in having two dollars left in the world is the fact that they're the crispest two dollars I've ever known. What have I become? The thing I've always been? Been fired from every source of gainful employment I've ever had. Hell I can't blame them. I can barely get through a night of drowning in sleep without wanting to fire myself. Take my belongings and place them in their casket of cardboard. Shouting to no one, "Give me my last paycheck and have security escort me out?" My heart is broken and can't be mended. How did I let it go this far? How did I end up alone in this overcrowded world of emptiness and shame? Those crisp ones so starched and hard they cling to each other in my empty pockets as if they know the other is the only friend they have left. Those last two bare naked things. I'll dirty them up and fold them good before letting them go. I'll take away their loveliness and they'll leave me used and left over, as others have before, with nothing to remember me by but scars of dirt and creases of pain. I'll be left alone for good. Wide eyed and broken. Nothing worse than knowing you have failed. No greater pain. No way to leave it. Ignorance you are the bliss I seek. You are my last belief. Please rash over me with your indifference and clear my name.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-56537971667287888432010-09-21T15:01:00.000-07:002010-09-21T16:33:11.877-07:00Eastbound and Down Season two Episode one Spec Script... My version of Season two written after Season one Finale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8eu7qCrBxvE8bvx4rW_9Ci3u5k9tJNKh6dNMlAC5bQ8cY6Ad9QeR35eWnnQl5U6B6o8b7J7cq2XcWCHaiyIX0EzwL_kdMwBtrZ8GdEI2sIi1Jy9sZQ72GSpZktxlBR-kFOlvj9jFEPaaQ/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8eu7qCrBxvE8bvx4rW_9Ci3u5k9tJNKh6dNMlAC5bQ8cY6Ad9QeR35eWnnQl5U6B6o8b7J7cq2XcWCHaiyIX0EzwL_kdMwBtrZ8GdEI2sIi1Jy9sZQ72GSpZktxlBR-kFOlvj9jFEPaaQ/s640/images.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">FADE IN:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
INT. KENNY’S DENALI<br />
KENNY POWERS puts in his audio autobiography: “You’re Fuckin’ Out. I’m Fuckin’ in.” His recorded voice calls out from the speakers.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <br />
RECORDED KENNY<br />
When my ass was twelve years old, my piece of shit, cocksucker of a sperm donor daddy left me and my brother Dusty all alone... while our mom was all full of some real fucked up ass cancer or some shit. Anyway, that's besides the point, and I don't like getting off topic. I was trying to explain how I became a God amongst men. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny turns down the radio and sits in silence as his rearview dreamcatcher sways. He reaches up and stops it. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
KENNY (V.O.) </div><div style="text-align: center;">Dreams? Fuck Dreams. I used to have those... And I used to be one of the greatest of God’s creations too! But, now look at me. I just left the one girl that loved me for who I really am. Not just cause of the super star, world class athlete, all around ass kickin’, son of a fuck, mother fuckin’ MAN that I am. Or because of the shit ton of money I was gonna be worth, but cause she really understands me. She was the only girl who could make me cum on myself with just kissin’. And she loved me too. God Damnit. What the fuck happened to me? <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Kenny adjusts the rearview mirror to see himself.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
KENNY (V.O.) (CONT’D)<br />
I’ll tell you what happened, I came in there like a tornado of greatness and saved them from their sad lives and they all wanted a piece of my shit... But, when I heard that Tampa guy on the phone I just had to be alone again with my above average I.Q. I had to get outta there. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">EXT. GAS STATION - SHELBY, N.C. - EVENING <br />
A car pulls up. APRIL BUCHANAN sheepishly gets up from the curb to join her ex, TERRENCE CUTLER. They hug. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. KENNY’S DENALI </div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny has tears welled in his eyes. He drives on. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
KENNY (V.O.) (CONT’D)<br />
FUCK! Now, because I left April and her wonderfully supple titties behind in that fuckin’ cunthole of a town, here I am with nothing and nowhere left to turn. I never felt this shit-fucked of a feeling since that day he left us.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Kenny pulls into a dirt driveway through a thicket of pine trees scraping against his Denali. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
KENNY <br />
I hate fuckin’ nature. Scratchin’ this expensive shit. I can’t afford this shit... This has got to be the worst fuckin’ day of my life.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">EXT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - DAY<br />
Kenny snorts a bump of coke, then gets out. He wipes the dirt off of his snakeskin boots and faces the door. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
KENNY (V.O.)<br />
This here is the last place I wanted to end up, but here I am, ready to face him. Cause my ass ain't no fuckin' pussy. My ass is a champion. I’m the mother fuckin’ Shelby sensation, fuckers! <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Kenny slowly climbs the three step staircase breaking the second stair. He pulls his hair behind each ear and knocks on the tattered door. Suddenly, a double barrel shotgun bursts forth from an opening in the door and presses up against Kenny's Face. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
MALE VOICE (O.C.)<br />
WHO the FUCK are you?<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
SHOW TITLE: EASTBOUND & DOWN<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
EXT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - DAY (TITLE: SEVERAL SHITTY YEARS EARLIER)<br />
Twelve year old Kenny stands with his older brother DUSTIN at his side, on the dirt road. Kenny wears an oversized (#55 POWERS) baseball jersey. A mustang speeds off, kicking up dirt in their faces.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
YOUNG DUSTIN<br />
Wanna go kick the shit out of mongoloid Mike?<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
The two boys smile at each other, pick up sticks, and run down the dirt road. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
KENNY (V.O.)<br />
Thank god we left that shitty ass trailer park and moved back home to Shelby. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">EXT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - DAY (TITLE: SHITTY NOW)<br />
The shotgun still digs into Kenny’s face. The door opens wider to reveal CLARK “super” POWERS (late fifties, Tom Selleck look, overweight, tacky Lion pendant, unruly chest hair, he wears an open robe and tight sweat pants.) <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
KENNY (V.O.)<br />
I spent my whole life trying to be like this mother fucker... I had some good times on account of it too; millions of dollars, girls lickin’ my asshole, Mexican, Belizian, Spaniard pussy, and a shit ton of kickass b-b-ques... But, none of that matters now. Here we are, standing in front of the same old fuckin’ trailer he left us at twenty-five years ago. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Clark’s girlfriend WHISPER, a twenty-something blonde with big fake “everything,” walks by in the background, nude. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
WHISPER (O.C.)<br />
Supe? Who is it? Shit, come back and finish fuckin’ me! <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Clark ignores her and keeps the gun on Kenny. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
CLARK<br />
I said. Who the FUCK are you? <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
KENNY<br />
What? It’s me... I’m your fuckin’ son. You don’t know who I am? <br />
Kenny stares at the barrels of the gun. Clark pulls back the gun, smiling, and points it to Kenny’s crotch, revealing that Kenny has just urinated on himself. Clark then points the gun to the ground and starts laughing. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK <br />
Aw shit! It’s my piece a turd son. <br />
Kenny looks down at the urine spot and tries wiping at it. Whisper walks up to the door laughing, still nude. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
WHISPER<br />
Is he the smart one? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Nope. The fuckin’ retard who got all my talent. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Dusty? Pffft! I could have been a fuckin’<br />
astronaut scientist. Anyway, I just came to see if your sorry ass was still alive. Some faggot agent said you were dead, so I had to come check for myself. To be quite honest with you, I’m a little sad it isn’t true. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny looks at Whisper with shame, then turns to leave. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK <br />
Come on. You didn't drive all the way here in that black man’s truck just to come and see if I was alive. Come on in and have a Miller Lite you little pissed up bitch. I have some sweat pants you can wear.<br />
(to Whisper)<br />
Put some fuckin’ clothes on and get this little pussy a diaper. No, I’m just kiddin’! Get him my nice sweat pants. You know the ones you like me to make sweet animalistic love to you in. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny looks disgusted. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Diaper? Ha fuckin’ ha, asshole. Other than coming to make sure you didn’t finally eat shit and die, I was coming to tell you how much you fucked me up, and--<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Na-na-naboo-boo. Quit your fuckin’ cryin’. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Clark walks away from Kenny and pulls out his last two Miller Lite cans from the fridge. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER<br />
Kenny steps into the tiny trailer. It’s riddled with old pictures of Clark and various women, him playing baseball, trophies, and a poster of him which reads, “Samsung’s “SUPER” Lion CLARK POWERS”. A Samsung Lions Jersey (#55 POWERS) hangs encased in glass on the wall autographed by Clark Powers.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY <br />
You have your jersey, signed by you, hanging in your own fuckin’ house? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Clark comes up behind Kenny while he stares at the jersey. He gets eerily close to Kenny’s ear, his curled mustache nearly touches Kenny. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
You want it? Thousand bucks, take it now! <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny whips his head around. Clark is standing with the beers, smiling. Whisper comes out of the room in a slutty dress, holding sweats with a roaring lions head on the crotch. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
No! I do not want your fuckin’ piece a shit jersey. Or your lion sweats, although they are one of the most awesome pieces of clothing I have ever seen in my short, yet beautiful life. <br />
(to Whisper)<br />
And you. I got to be honest with you. I wouldn’t wear that to a dog fight. <br />
(to Clark)<br />
I will take a beer though. We need to talk about some shit, you old fuck. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">EXT. DUSTIN’S HOUSE - BACKYARD - DAY<br />
Dustin is in his catcher’s gear. DUSTIN JR. holds the speedometer facing the strike zone. WAYNE, wearing Kenny’s jersey and cap, hurls one straight down the middle. Dustin shakes his hand and smiles at Wayne. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">DUSTIN<br />
That was a heater!<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Dustin Jr. looks at the speedometer and jumps up and down. CASSIE watches from the porch, smiling. An arm wraps around her shoulder. It’s STEVIE JINOWSKI wearing a Kenny Powers mask and hair hat. Cassie shakes off his arm and jogs into the yard to the safety of her family. Stevie flips her off. ROSE mimics Stevie from her baby walker. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE <br />
Church bitch.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">EXT. JEFFERSON DAVIS MIDDLE SCHOOL - MORNING <br />
Janitors are finishing up the quote on the school sign. It reads, “Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils... - Louis Hector Berlioz.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT./EXT. APRIL BUCHANAN’S CLASSROOM. - AFTERNOON<br />
April sits at her desk, staring out the window. She sees Cutler, outside chatting up one of the “hot moms.” Cutler pats the mom’s ass as she walks away, he turns back to see April watching, she glances away quickly and looks to Kenny’s bat which is in the trash. She looks to her desk and sees the head-shot he gave her, signed Powers XOXO!!!. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO: <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. DUSTIN’S HOUSE - NIGHT<br />
Jinowski lays in Kenny’s room staring at Kenny’s signed photo through the Kenny Mask he’s wearing. Jinowski is obviously masturbating, with the door open. He comes to a quick finish and turns to see Wayne across the hall, watching in horror. Jinwoski pulls up the mask and looks at Wayne who’s squeezing his eyes closed. Jinowski slams the door. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT./EXT. SHH-BOOM SHH-BOOMS - NIGHT<br />
The doors swing open. MACKWORTHY, his BODYGUARD and MANAGER all walk into the bar brandishing big game firearms. Everyone turns to look at Mackworthy’s crew. CLEG is huffing from a rag behind the bar. TRACY is at the bar, attempting to lick her own elbow. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MACKWORTHY<br />
Any a ya’ll ugly mother fuckers know where the fuck Kenny Powers is?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mackworthy scans the room with his good eye, over the other he wears an eye-patch with a diamond encrusted cross attached. Mackworthy’s bodyguard takes a beer from one of the patrons and starts to drink it. No response. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MACKWORTHY (CONT'D)<br />
I said do any of you stupid fucks know where Kenny is? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">BODYGUARD<br />
Yeah, mother fuckers! Where’s Kenny? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The room is silent. Tracy stands and pulls up her skirt to flash the room. She yelps, burps, falls to the floor. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG<br />
He owe you for an eight-ball too? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MACKWORTHY<br />
No, you stupid honkey ass, hillbilly ass, whitebread, James Taylor lookin’ motherfucker. He took my fuckin eye out! <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mackworthy points to the patch. The cross twinkles. Tracy pulls herself up only to fall again and vomit on Mackworthy’s boots. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MACKWORTHY (CONT’D)<br />
Jesus FUCKING CHRIST! God Damnit.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mackworthy looks down in anger, then to his bodyguard, who drags Tracy by her hair out of the bar, hitting his own face on the door on his way out. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MACKWORTHY (CONT’D)<br />
You see Kenny, you tell him Mackworthy’s gonna kill him! <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Cleg stares at Mackworthy, unconcerned.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MACKWORTHY (CONT’D)<br />
But, I want you to say “you.” I want you to say “Mackworthy is gonna kill you.”<br />
<br />
<br />
CLEG<br />
Me? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MACKWORTHY<br />
No, Jerry Lee Lewis. Him. But I want you to say “you” alright?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG<br />
I think I got it. You guys wanna go in the back and do some blow now? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MACKWORTHY<br />
NO MOTHER FUCKER! Just tell Kenny his ass is dead. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mackworthy takes a pool cue from the nearest patron and tries to break it over his knee. It doesn’t break. He tries again. He throws it on the ground and stomps it. Still doesn’t break. They leave. Tracy comes back in, fixing her dress. Cleg puts the rag to his face, inhales. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - EVENING<br />
Kenny sits on the couch with Clark. There are empty beer bottles and half eaten microwaveable food everywhere. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
So you see, I can’t just be a failure with her. I need you to hook up your Korea connects, so I can come back like a knight in shiny armor and save her sad chink ass. Then we’re off to Korea for sake and superstardom baby! <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Well? I might be able to get on the horn and work something out. What do I get? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Clark looks offended as Kenny gets a call. He gestures to Clark that he has to take it and gets up.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO: <br />
EXT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - MOMENTS LATER </div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny pushes his blu-tooth headset into his ear. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Hello? Speak up! I can’t hear you Cleg. What the fuck are you doing over there? I’m over here trying to talk business with some very important people. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG (O.C.)<br />
(whispering)<br />
I said that Mackworthy came in here saying he was going to kill him. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
What the fuck? Kill him? That doesn’t even make any fuckin’ sense Cleg. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG (O.C.)<br />
I know. He said he was gonna kill you, but he said he wanted me to say him for some fuckin’ reason.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Oh! I see. Well, fuck Mackworthy. He’s just mad cuz’ I fucked his fat momma back in Atlanta...<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny laughs.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (CONT'D)<br />
No, I’m just playin’. I wouldn’t fuck her nasty ass. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny starts to gag. A severely deformed boy, rides past. His chair has a “Be like Mike” bumper sticker. The child turns to see Kenny gagging. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (CONT’D)<br />
(to the boy)<br />
Sorry! Bad gag reflex, you know? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The child turns with dignity and continues. The American flag on his chair flutters in the wind. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG (O.C.)<br />
What?... Kenny? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Oh God. Sorry about that. It’s just this little retard fetus kid rolled by and nearly scared me half to death. I just get a bad gag reflex when I see retards and deformed people or other disgraces and mistakes by God. You didn’t know that about me? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG (O.C.)<br />
I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about man. I just said Mackworthy came in here trying to break shit and saying he was gonna kill you. I also got that big white haired weird dude coming in here asking about your Denali payment falling through. He’s been coming in everyday. I just can’t keep covering for you like this. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Cleg, nevermind all that shit. Didn’t you hear me? I’m talking business. I’m gonna be dealing with some serious moolah very soon here. My Daddy is gonna come through with his Korean connects. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG (O.C.)<br />
Your Daddy? What about Tampa?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Man. Fuck Tampa, I don’t want to be around a bunch of old Jews playing shuffle board when I can be drinking sake off a pair of hot Korean tits. And yes, my Daddy... That sorry mother fucker is still alive and he is gonna hook it up. Korean pussy on the reg, appearance fees on the reg. That fuckin’ Denali will be paid off in two weeks, my nigga. You tell Schaeffer, that he will get his used up scratched shit paid off. You know what Cleg? Because of how good a friend I am, I’m gonna just give you the Denali too!<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny can hear Cleg in the background, hitting a bong. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (CONT'D)<br />
You fuckin listening? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO: </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. ANDY GUMP PORTABLE TOILET - CONTINUOUS<br />
Cleg modified his Andy Gump into a drug sanctuary with candles, incense, paraphernalia, porn, gun rack, etc. It looks like he may live there. Cleg is using the toilet as a four foot bong sits on the floor in front of him. Cans of paint and brown paper bags are at his feet. He has gold paint all over his face. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG<br />
Yeah. Yeah. Your Daddy is hooking you up with the Korean connects. Fuck Mackworthy because his momma got fucked, and the gay white haired dude will be paid... Two weeks. Then the Denali is mine?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
EXT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - CONTINUOUS<br />
Kenny stares at his boots, then glances up the road nervously.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Yeah. I guess you are always listening, kind of like a baby? Anyhow, I got to get off this phone and finish working out the details on this Korean baseball contract. Those Orientals are gonna be all over my shit like rice! <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG (O.C.)<br />
Cool man. Thanks for the Denali. That’s awesome. You’re a good friend Kenny. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Thanks. I know that Cleg. I just gotta get off this phone before that little tard-fetus rolls by again. I don’t want to get sick and start throwing up Miller Lite and chimichangas all night. <br />
<br />
<br />
Kenny looks up and sees the kid coming quickly up the road, he covers his mouth as the kid passes.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (CONT’D)<br />
Oh shit. There he goes, toward where Mongoloid Mike used to live. That guy must have found him a retard wife to fuck and create little fetus children. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG (O.C.)<br />
Kenny? I gotta go I can’t wipe while I’m still on the phone. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Wipe? Gross. Bye Mother fucker.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLEG<br />
You telling me you never shit while you’re on the phone with me? I’m hurt.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
No you sick mother fucker. That shit is private. Oh yeah. I did fuck Mackworthy’s momma too. Tell him that fat pussy was the best slumpbustin’--<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Phone cuts out. Kenny pushes the button on his headset and heads toward Clark’s trailer laughing. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - CONTINUOUS<br />
Kenny opens the door. Clark and Whisper are on the couch. Whisper is topless. They look up and then continue with what they were doing. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Hey! Cut that shit out. We need to talk some business. I was thinkin’ ten percent commish for you. Sound good? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Whisper rises and pulls up her dress top. She glares at Kenny as she leaves the room. Clark tries to get up, but falls drunkenly back. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (CONT’D)<br />
(to Whisper)<br />
The stories he told us about Korean pussy, oh my god! <br />
(to Clark)<br />
You taught me about the shocker move with one of your Korea stories. Remember that? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny holds up his right hand, creating “The Shocker” gesture. Whisper ignores him and goes into her room in the back. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Hey Kenny? I been meaning to ask you, I just never wanted to really talk to you. But, since you’re here... why did you always wear my number fifty-five? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
I don’t know. I guess it's the one link I have to that short time when we were kids where it looked like we were a family or something and you were someone I guess I looked up to. It helps me to remember that time when you and my momma loved each other.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Kenny, I hate to tell you, with you being all sentimental and shit, but your momma was one of the ugliest slumpbusters I ever got caught up with. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
She had ass cancer and you left her. What about the sex letter you wrote to her? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Aw, shit Kenny. That letter was just to get her pussy wet. <br />
Whisper walks in laughing. Kenny gets up and heads toward Clark, who stands up. They stand face to face in the tiny living room. Whisper files her toenails. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY <br />
Shut the fuck up! You take that shit back. My mother was a goddess.<br />
Kenny reaches for Clark’s throat, but Clark dodges him, grabs his hand, and gets Kenny’s arm behind his back, bending him over the couch. Kenny struggles to get out. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (CONT’D)<br />
Lemme go! Uncle, fucker. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK <br />
Okay. I take that shit back you little pudwacker. <br />
<br />
<br />
Clark lets Kenny go. Kenny immediately gets back in his face. They stand silent, getting closer to one another. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">WHISPER <br />
Boys! Boys! I’ll suck both your cocks if you don’t fight. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny looks disgusted. Clark shakes his head. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
She’s just kiddin’. <br />
<br />
<br />
Whisper shakes her head, no. Kenny’s phone vibrates on the table. It reads “DUSTIN voicemail”. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Kenny reaches for it. Clark falls to the couch. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
I think that I should just go check my message. <br />
(to Whisper)<br />
We need to chill out for a while and think about how a true Powers showdown really doesn’t serve either of us. Right? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Whisper sits next to Clark. She starts to rub his crotch, he moves toward it. Kenny looks away. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (CONT'D)<br />
I’ll go get us a few more Miller Lites. I got a couple Norcos and some Valium too. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Clark is looking like he’s about to pass out. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">WHISPER<br />
Oh! And get some tweak? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny shakes his head no. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
I’m out. But, is it cool if I just stay here tonight?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">No answer. Clark looks half asleep. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (CONT’D)<br />
I’m gonna be the bigger person here and let this go, and you should try to match my chivalry by coming to the plate with some Korean connects. Like it or not, I am your son and you’re my mother fuckin father. I’m sorry for almost killing you in that choke hold.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
You can stay the night. I’ll make you breakfast pussy... <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Clark starts snoring. Whisper looks at Kenny and offers a blow job with a gesture using hands and tongue in mouth. Kenny shakes his head no and leaves.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. KENNY’S DENALI<br />
Kenny gets in, starts his voicemail, and turns it up through the speakers. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">DUSTIN <br />
Everybody here really misses you Kenny. The boys have been doing great. We been watchin' the Sportscenters and what not and we haven't heard a word about Tampa though. But, Cassie said she saw on a blogger or something, that it was looking good, so I guess we’ll hear about it soon.<br />
The message plays loudly. Kenny turns it down a little. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. DUSTIN’S HOUSE - DAYS BEFORE<br />
Cassie sits at her computer looking at a blog called “Your Fuckin Eye is Out!” A video of Kenny taking out Mackworthy’s eye plays on a loop. The blog looks like the amateur work of Jinowski.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
INT. KENNY’S DENALI - MOMENTS LATER<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">DUSTIN (CONT’D)<br />
You shoulda seen the oldest boy. He took what you said about his balls seriously. He is throwin' seventy-seven mile an hour heaters out there by the broken bird bath with me and Dusty Jr. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY <br />
Ol’ Blonde on Blonde. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">DUSTIN (CONT’D)<br />
In a weird way you know, you really brought us all closer together during your stay here Kenny. <br />
Silence.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">DUSTIN (CONT'D)<br />
Thanks Bro. Anyway, there is one thing though. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
INT. DUSTIN’S HOUSE - EARLIER WHILE LEAVING THE MESSAGE. <br />
Dustin leans in close to the phone. From behind him Jinowski leans in too. He’s wearing the Kenny Mask. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">DUSTIN (CONT’D)<br />
It's yer friend. He's just hangin' around saying he's “waitin” to see if you called yet? He has been here since you left and Cassie is getting kind of nervous. So just give us a call would ya' Ken?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. KENNY’S DENALI - MOMENTS LATER<br />
Kenny has tears in his eyes. The voicemail continues. The Denali has trash and clothes everywhere, he has been on the road for a while. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">DUSTIN <br />
Hold on, Somebody wants to talk to you Kenny. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
(to himself)<br />
Damn. Long fuckin message. <br />
There is a rustling in the background. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE <br />
Hey Kenny it's your best friend. I just wanted to see if you were rethinking the whole me coming out to Tampa thing? It's just things are pretty bad out here in Shelby, without you. I lost my apartment and my job. April is back with Cutler and it just seems like my whole fuckin’ world is falling apart without you Kenny.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Message beeps and cuts out. Kenny turns on the engine, puts it into drive and rolls down the dirt road.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (V.O.)<br />
(to himself)<br />
I knew ol’ blondy had some monster balls. Seventy-sevens! That’s fuckin little league world series heat. Fuckin’ April though. Back together? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - THE NEXT DAY<br />
Kenny is asleep on a loveseat, his legs hang over the end. He has a tiny blanket, which comes up to just above the navel. His head and shoulders are wrapped in a towel. The phone rings, Clark & </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Whisper comes out nude. Kenny is still sleeping. Clark grabs the phone. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Yellow? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. ASHLEY SCHAEFFER BMW - ASHLEY’S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS<br />
ASHLEY SCHAEFFER and Reg Mackworthy sit on either side of Ashley’s desk. Hot “sales” women stand behind them, massaging their shoulders. Ashley licks his masseuse’s hand before leaning in to the phallic speakerphone mic. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">ASHLEY<br />
Is Kenny Powers there? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK <br />
Who’s this? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">ASHLEY<br />
Ashley Schaeffer, Ashley Shaeffer BMW. I’ll cut to the fat. I’m looking for Kenny Powers. That tiny dicked man owes me his ass and I’m calling to collect. This isn’t a game anymore... It stopped being a game a long time ago. Whooo!<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ashley pulls the hand of his masseuse down to his nipple and provokes her to squeeze it. She does. He slightly convulses. Mackworthy now has his shirt and jersey off, but still wears the gold chains. He is covered in baby oil, shiny. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MACKWORTHY<br />
Stopped being a game when that pussy knocked my fuckin’ eye out! <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mackworthy flips up the eye patch. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK (O.C.)<br />
Who the fuck is this? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
Ashley holds his index finger up to his mouth. He stands up, unbuckles his belt and the top button of his pants, then he crawls up onto his desk on all fours and gets down close to the mic. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">ASHLEY<br />
You see, we have been seeking out Kenny for quite some time now. Like the majestic eagle stalks his prey just before feasting upon it’s bloody flesh and innards. Then making love to his eagless mate amongst the desecration he has created. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
What the fuck? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">ASHLEY<br />
Point is, we’ve heard he’s off to Korea to play some ball and we just wanted to give him a free blow job before he goes. Whooo! That’s all. Simple blow, Ashley Schaeffer style. Whoo!... whoo. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ashley winks to Mackworthy. Mackworthy looks confused. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
INT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - CONTINUOUS<br />
Clark looks at Kenny, snoring on the tiny couch. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
What? That boy’s retarded. He ain’t going to Korea. I owe them so much fuckin’ money I had to fake my own damn death. He thought I still had Korea connects and he’s just so pathetic and sad so I told him I might hook him up. So if he owes you money or something, just kiss it goodbye. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. ASHLEY SCHAEFFER BMW - ASHLEY’S OFFICE<br />
Schaeffer lays on his back on his desk. Mackworthy is being rubbed down with baby oil. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">ASHLEY<br />
So here is what’s going to happen. Ill give you a thousand bucks... All you have to do is tell him he is going to Korea and I will send you five hundred dollars cash and a five hundred dollar rebate on your next Ashley Schaeffer imports purchase. Deal? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK (O.C.)<br />
You said a thousand. If I’m gonna sell out my son, it’s worth a thousand cash. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
INT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - CONTINUOUS<br />
Whisper tugs at Clark’s arm. Kenny is still asleep, snoring. Clark holds his hand over the phone. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
(to Whisper)<br />
What? Can’t you see I’m talking business?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">WHISPER<br />
Ask for some ex or tweak too. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Clark scowls at her. Whisper walks to the room, defeated. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
(to Whisper)<br />
Go put some fuckin' clothes on! <br />
(back to phone)<br />
Sorry about that. I was consulting with my partner. A thousand and it’s a deal. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. ASHLEY SCHAEFFER BMW - ASHLEY’S OFFICE<br />
Ashley’s wearing only his boxers, rubbing oil on his own body, lying on the desk. He grabs the mic. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">ASHLEY<br />
This man drives a hard one. Okay! Thousand bucks. But, he has to come back to Shelby. Tell him they booked his flight out of Charlotte, so we can see him one last time. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MACKWORTHY<br />
Yeah. The last fuckin’ time. Eye for a life mother fucker. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ashley and Mackworthy high five. Ashley keeps his hand up and balls it into a “black power” fist. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Mackworthy’s diamond encrusted cross falls off his eye patch. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - MOMENTS LATER<br />
Clark stands over Kenny while he sleeps. Clark is now wearing his lion sweatpants and his robe. The pants have a hole in the crotch, where a piece of flesh hangs out. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Wake the fuck up retard! I got good news. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Clark flicks his cigarette ashes onto Kenny’s face. Kenny slowly realizes and wakes up. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY <br />
What the fuck?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Clark’s crotch and the hole with the exposed flesh is prominently displayed in front of Kenny’s face. Kenny points to it. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (CONT’D)<br />
Oh God. What the fuck is that? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Clark looks at it and smiles. He pulls it out of the hole a little. It’s still unclear what part of the anatomy it is. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Let’s play a game? It’s called stick or stones. You guess. Then I’ll tell you the good news. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
I don’t know. Get your fuckin' man piece away from my fuckin’ face. What news? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Come on... Stick or stones? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Aw fuck. Stones? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Nope. It’s my dick. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
I don’t give a fuck, you sick mother fucker. What’s the good news? Come on spill it. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Well. It wasn’t easy, but I been on the phone with the Koreans all morning and they want you. Samsung Lions, fifty-five just like me! They’re offering thousands.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny stands up quickly. Visibly excited. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He wears his small thong underwear and the towel on his head. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK (CONT'D)<br />
They got you tickets out of Charlotte, so you can square all your shit away, before leaving. I told them to book two tickets so you can bring that big titty girl with you. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Hell yeah. You finally came through, you old son of a bitch. I mean other than having sex to my mom and giving me life, this is the best thing you have ever done. You were the worst father a kid could ever have, but NOW... I forgive you. You old fuck! <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny hugs Clark. Clark pats him on his bare ass. Whisper watches from the end of the trailer. She shakes her head no to Clark. Clark ignores her. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
So I guess you’d better get out of here and get on the road. You got all kinds of shit to deal with before you go. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
You’re right. I got to get April back. Korea bitches! Whisper, you have been a fine host too, and if he wasn’t my dad, I would have gone for the whole blow job thing. Thanks. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Whisper starts crying. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY (CONT'D)<br />
Aw come on, don’t cry. I’ll be back to bring Clark his commish in the off season. I’ll see y’all again. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">WHISPER<br />
It’s just so sad... Clark?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK<br />
Yeah, I know. My boy’s off to Korea. Careful with that Korean sake though, it’ll punch you straight in the turd-cutter. I’ll tell you what, you’ll shit your squirrel covers if you ain’t careful. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny looks disgusted. They all stand in the trailer awkwardly staring at one another. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CLARK (CONT'D)<br />
Welp. Get dressed and get on the road. You’re gonna be a star again, thanks to me. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">FADE TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. KENNY’S DENALI - DAY<br />
Kenny is dressed in his “Sundays best.” His hair is slick. He makes a call through the car speakers. His phone reads, “calling Dustin.” The phone picks up. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE<br />
Kenny? Kenny, is that you? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Yeah Stevie. Why the fuck are you at my brother’s house? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE<br />
It’s just... I been waiting for you to call. I’m so happy I’m talking to you. I love you Kenny Powers. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stevie starts to cry. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
OK. OK. Enough a that shit. I got something to tell you. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE<br />
I feel like I have something to tell you too. Don’t be mad at me, but I have been wearing your mask and pretending to be you. It’s really fucking hard to be Kenny Powers... One other thing. I masturbated to your picture while I was wearing the mask. I just feel like I should be honest in this relationship.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
What the fuck? Man you need to get some counseling. I can understand that everyone would want to do that to looking at my image, but it still makes me sick to my stomach. Please keep that shit to yourself Stevie... Anyhow, I’m gonna sign with the Samsung Lions in Korea and I have one last job for you as my assistant. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE<br />
Assistant?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
Now don’t get all excited. I know that I told you the fire alarm thing was your last job as my assistant, but that ended up being as my friend, so I technically have one “last” assignment, right? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE<br />
I’ll do anything. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">EXT. JEFFERSON DAVIS MIDDLE SCHOOL. SCHOOL SIGN - DAY<br />
It reads. “Smoking kills, if you’re killed you’ve lost a very important part of your life.” -Brooke Shields. Stevie runs past the sign toward the school, in full Kenny Powers gear and mask. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. APRIL BUCHANAN’S CLASSROOM - DAY<br />
April helps a student. Another student calls to her and points to the door. Standing in the doorway is </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stevie wearing the Kenny mask. April looks shocked and nervous. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">APRIL<br />
Everything okay Stevie? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE<br />
I have a message for you from the Kenny Powers. <br />
(Kenny impression)<br />
Ms. April Buchanan, I’m coming to get you out of all this. We are headed to Korea, so I can play ball. This time it’s for real. Pack yer shit! I can’t do it without you. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">APRIL<br />
You tell Kenny, he can go eff himself. I’m not going anywhere with him. Especially Korea. If he had any real balls he would’ve come talk to me himself, instead of sending a little masked freak. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stevie pulls the mask back on his head, revealing his face. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE<br />
You’re throwing it all away April. You know how many people would kill to be in your shoes? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">APRIL<br />
Stevie, I have a class to teach. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stevie stands there shaking his head slowly at her. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE<br />
His cock cashes checks!<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">APRIL <br />
Leave.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. JEFFERSON DAVIS MIDDLE SCHOOL - BAND ROOM - DAY<br />
The band class is led by a new teacher. Stevie walks in wearing the Kenny mask and points to the teacher. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">BAND TEACHER<br />
Excuse me? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE<br />
You are a victim of my fucking WAR! <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stevie stands there like a statue, just pointing. The BAND TEACHER walks over to his phone. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">BAND TEACHER <br />
Sir. Please leave. I’m calling security. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
INT. JEFFERSON DAVIS MIDDLE SCHOOL - GYMNASIUM - DAY<br />
Kenny’s former students stand around their new P.E. coach, MRS. CAROL, who sits on the end of a weight bench. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MRS. CAROL<br />
Spotters? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Two boys come to her. She lays down and easily lifts the weights from the rack, to her chest and back with no help. She slams the weights on the rack and stands up. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MRS. CAROL (CONT’D)<br />
Now, that is how you lift three hundred pounds kids! <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stevie, still wearing the mask, bursts through the gym doors, being chased by school security. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">STEVIE<br />
(screaming)<br />
Kenny’s coming back! Kenny Powers is coming home you fuckin’ losers. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT. KENNY’S DENALI - NIGHT<br />
Kenny waits as the phone rings. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">INT./EXT. APRIL BUCHANAN’S HOUSE - NIGHT<br />
April is on the computer watching video of Kenny knocking out Mackworthy’s eye, and their kiss afterward. Her phone rings. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">APRIL<br />
Hello? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
It’s me babe. I’m coming home. Sorry I sent that retard to do a man’s work. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">APRIL<br />
What the fuck happened to you Kenny? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
I just... I didn’t get the Tampa deal, and I didn’t know how to tell you. I can’t just be a regular failure like everyone else when I’m around you. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">APRIL<br />
Why’d you leave me like that? Couldn’t you just tell me how you felt? <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
I’m not good with feelings, but let’s put that mistake behind us. My Daddy hooked up a deal with his old Korean team. So pack your stuff. It’s a twenty hour flight. I’ll cover your drinks, but I’m going to need you to chip in for your food. Just until we get to Korea, cuz I’m bout to be PAID. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">APRIL<br />
Your Daddy? Kenny this just sounds like the same old shit. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY<br />
No. This is for real this time. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">APRIL<br />
Kenny. I’m pregnant. You know what that means?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:<br />
INT. KENNY’S DENALI - CONTINUOUS<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny’s stunned. He holds his hand up to his blu-tooth. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY</div><div style="text-align: center;">Preggers? You checked the thing on the--<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">APRIL</div><div style="text-align: center;">I’m pregnant Kenny. I’m fucking pregnant you asshole.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">KENNY</div><div style="text-align: center;">I just want us to think about everything here--<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">April hangs up. Kenny looks up at himself in the mirror.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">CUT TO:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
KENNY (V.O.) (CONT’D)<br />
So here I am again. Having to choose for the last time. Go to Korea and be the star of their entire continent, or go back home to the love of my life and be a regular failure like everyone else? <br />
<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">THE END</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-82802115330081859782010-09-05T00:26:00.001-07:002010-09-05T00:26:36.930-07:00In and Out of Time by Maya AngelouThe sun has come.<br />
The mist has gone.<br />
We see in the distance...<br />
our long way home.<br />
I was always yours to have.<br />
You were always mine.<br />
We have loved each other in and out of time.<br />
When the first stone looked up at the blazing sun<br />
and the first tree struggled up from the forest floor<br />
I had always loved you more.<br />
You freed your braids...<br />
gave your hair to the breeze.<br />
It hummed like a hive of honey bees.<br />
I reached in the mass for the sweet honey comb there....<br />
Mmmm...God how I love your hair.<br />
You saw me bludgeoned by circumstance.<br />
Lost, injured, hurt by chance.<br />
I screamed to the heavens....loudly screamed....<br />
Trying to change our nightmares into dreams...<br />
The sun has come.<br />
The mist has gone.<br />
We see in the distance our long way home.<br />
I was always yours to have.<br />
You were always mine.<br />
We have loved each other in and out<br />
in and out<br />
in and out<br />
of time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-76172164140788842382010-08-07T12:41:00.000-07:002010-08-07T12:41:51.774-07:00"Evolution through Illumination"<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6jDiSo32uSZ74F71Y8HhoNmsG-Pn5MaIIuEVV90BL5NwZaI9hKJRRjLfV7_QNzBEGMLwP8__h3-1FiacoBBYe-mkCEJ-CGbDtvVZiNUrTLul7k_nBvSOClyKkj0jxtA-TMNd32XaC4e3O/s1600/Ulrich_LG_Grace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6jDiSo32uSZ74F71Y8HhoNmsG-Pn5MaIIuEVV90BL5NwZaI9hKJRRjLfV7_QNzBEGMLwP8__h3-1FiacoBBYe-mkCEJ-CGbDtvVZiNUrTLul7k_nBvSOClyKkj0jxtA-TMNd32XaC4e3O/s400/Ulrich_LG_Grace.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Grace" </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Went to <b style="color: red;"><a href="http://www.laluzdejesus.com/shows/2010/Ulrich/Illuminator2010.htm">Christopher Ulrich's "Illuminator" show opening last night at La Luz De Jesus Gallery</a></b>... I have to say it was amazing to see my friends work and to see the strides he's made in his work over the past few years. The show was so powerful to me, I went around and wrote down some thoughts in kind of a stream of consciousness/reaction to the work... Here it is.<br />
<br />
<b>Evolve through fire. Control your painfully disgusting desires. For who? In what time? </b><br />
<b>The Pied Piper is playing for the earth and I hear laughter... Who is falling and rising deep into the after?</b><br />
<b><br />
Study the four paths of belief but there's nothing to give you release. He has risen from beneath with infinity between his fingers, he's left with only a memory of what should be, which lingers. With such grace and obedience he bleeds before you the guts and gifts of intense forgiveness. </b><br />
<br />
<b>In Hermes' skin he brings the message of the depths within your psyche, our mind, the collective thought and retreat. As Destiny we roam looking for our next meal, he's given his heart and asked you to feel. Like Puccini's Napoleon riding the starved rhino we are lead to the well and told he doesn't know where it goes. Left broken in half you stand forsaken. Naked with breath you live to take with you. </b><br />
<br />
<b>Tamed in control your left with your soul. </b><br />
<br />
Thanks for a very inspiring showing Christopher!<br />
<br />
Visit the show online by <b><a href="http://www.laluzdejesus.com/shows/2010/Ulrich/Illuminator2010.htm">Clicking Here</a></b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-67715815740605963092010-05-26T22:32:00.000-07:002010-05-26T22:32:30.286-07:00Alla-Prima PaintingHere is a painting I did 5/25/2010 in <b>Sean Cheetham's</b> Alla-Prima Portrait class at 3kickstudio in Pasadena visit <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.3kickstudio.com">www.3kickstudio.com</a> for more details. Sean will be teaching a 5-day Alla-Prima Portrait workshop with Atelier Marchant June 24th-28th. Visit <a href="http://www.ateliermarchant.blogspot.com/">www.ateliermarchant.blogspot.com</a> for more details.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3ZDdpLKsbhacV0Er-NMOqAqI1CYBY7GNteEHHx03BBGvnkJY-SqrzV_PcjeCCPy_lMsVLHY_a2JvCmQ4eiU-pQPD39urdDXhOJBIprcIw0WBSsAyACDmIRUM6aorsYm0c164GUARhQdQ/s1600/Elliot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3ZDdpLKsbhacV0Er-NMOqAqI1CYBY7GNteEHHx03BBGvnkJY-SqrzV_PcjeCCPy_lMsVLHY_a2JvCmQ4eiU-pQPD39urdDXhOJBIprcIw0WBSsAyACDmIRUM6aorsYm0c164GUARhQdQ/s400/Elliot.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-19980231643015569972010-05-12T01:38:00.000-07:002010-05-12T01:38:01.232-07:00Aaron Westerberg Article text.Here is the text from the Article I wrote for American Artist on Aaron Westerberg's Monochromatic Painting workshop... This was prior to the editors cut.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-ma9xQUns0ppKuqFpg6emtP9am5w5Vki5xCs2IKIjsXf6fUjQj08RpASn04ZMoBL4KHS8ua8DCJePbVwkE2kSkih2Y-hQNLwxORL4GZbSVB2APCwxi8I0TeL7W6scRrcPS7ebL1UA5Gv/s1600/Atelier+Marchant+flier-1-AW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-ma9xQUns0ppKuqFpg6emtP9am5w5Vki5xCs2IKIjsXf6fUjQj08RpASn04ZMoBL4KHS8ua8DCJePbVwkE2kSkih2Y-hQNLwxORL4GZbSVB2APCwxi8I0TeL7W6scRrcPS7ebL1UA5Gv/s320/Atelier+Marchant+flier-1-AW.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/marchant07/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Garamond Premr Pro"; font-size: 20pt;">Aaron Westerberg <o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Title: <b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Smooth Transition</span></b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">:</span></i><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Bridging the gap from Drawing to Painting<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">By: Matthew Marchant<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">“For all artists taking that leap from Drawing to Painting can be an intimidating and daunting challenge. With his Monochromatic Painting workshop, Southern California Artist Aaron Westerberg is offering students the tools and techniques necessary in making it a smooth transition!”</div><div class="MsoNormal">Aaron Westerberg has become known for his monochromatic “Red” paintings, as he calls them. The 2007 publication “Strokes of Genius” featured his Monochromatic Painting “Belena” on the cover; “Belena” was also the first painting Aaron ever sold nearly ten years ago. This coupled with the fact that his “red” paintings are noticeably sensitive and delicate has made them popular amongst fans of figurative art, and students looking for that edge in training! <span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Westerberg learned this technique and approach to creating “under-paintings” as a student of the Watts Atelier from Instructor Jeffrey Watts. An under-painting is the initial layer of paint applied to the ground, which serves as the base for subsequent layers, under-paintings are usually monochromatic and help the artist define values for the final painting. Watts Atelier being a school more focused on Illustration at the time, taught this as a method for creating paintings quickly and efficiently. By using an Open Grisaille under-painting Aaron was taught that he could solve his value scheme and structure of the drawing, therefore having the problems solved with value, composition, and drawing before simply tiling the color palette onto the piece. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The warm atmosphere and energy in the studio as Aaron Westerberg’s recent two-day monochromatic workshop was about to begin, was in stark contrast to the cold and rainy day students struggled through in getting there. Needless to say everyone involved was happy to be inside and enthusiastic to begin the creative process. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Since this is the first step into painting for many of these students, Aaron made them feel comfortable about the tools and the process right away. Aaron has a way of putting his students at ease throughout the process, “anyone can do this, it’s just drawing with a brush!” He doesn’t take himself too seriously and keeps the mood light. Which was great for the beginning students in the course as they worked their way into painting. One student who is a beginning painter, Ruth Ann said “ I was very impressed by Aaron’s ability to address every level of artist in the workshop, for a new artist like myself it’s a whole new terminology as well as body of information that many accomplished artists forget to address, and Aaron did a fabulous job of simplifying it all. I believe the key for all artists is to simplify!” It’s this ability to simplify and communicate clearly that has made Aaron a great Teacher for the past ten years, since his start with California Art Institute in 2000 “He has a few little tricks to just make you feel a little less awkward and comfortable and now I’m excited to go home and start practicing more.” </div><div class="MsoNormal">Aaron started the workshop by introducing the students to the tools they would be using. He had “keyed” or toned his canvas with a thin wash of Terra Rosa two days earlier. He then had all of the students stain their canvas with the Terra Rosa key, so that it would be ready to paint on in the afternoon. Aaron stated, “It is very important that you simply stain the canvas with this keying and keep it light.” Aaron would use this Mantra of “keep it light” throughout the workshop. After introducing the students to the canvas preparation and the brushes, he talked about the colors to be used. Aaron explained when he first started using this technique as a student transitioning into painting himself he was taught what he now knows as “Open Grisaille” method. He would use Burnt Umber alone to copy Frank Frazetta illustrations, because this was the method used by Frazetta in creating his finished illustrations. Aaron explained open and closed grisaille to the class. Open and Closed Grisaille painting are two of the earliest traditional methods for creating under-paintings. Open Grisaille uses thin transparent washes and the white of the canvas, while Closed Grisaille uses white mixed with umbers and black to create an opaque monochromatic value scale, or as Aaron also put it simply “Open is transparent and doesn’t use white, closed is opaque and uses white.” Aaron told the students this, “Open Grisaille (if you want to get technical) is the way I was taught to paint, and I did tons of these before ever attempting to step into color.” </div><div class="MsoNormal">For the purposes of this workshop students were instructed to use an Open Grisaille method. Using Winsor Newton Terra Rosa as their warm red and Winsor Newton Venetian Red as their cool red for dark accents, while using the keying of the canvas for their mid-tones and using kneaded erasers to erase out their highlights. Aaron explained to the students how this technique would keep them focused on the understanding of brushwork and value structure without muddling it with too much white, which only offers more opportunities to fail by creating mud. “This technique is really more about drawing than painting, and more about pressure control and brush technique than closed grisaille which is more about tiles of value turning form,” Aaron instructed. With Closed Grisaille students would be asked to do a much more basic drawing and get into value shapes quicker and focus more on texture and variation, where as in Open Grisaille the drawing is everything. Open Grisaille is really about bridging that gap from drawing to painting, where you are working on things like controlling a brush instead of a pencil, scumbling more than applying tiles of color, and refining your lost and found edges. </div><div class="MsoNormal">After describing the tools Aaron explained the origin of the Open Grisaille red paintings he would be demonstrating and how he began working this way. The figurative artist Titian was Aaron’s earliest influence in using this method of warm and cool reds to create a solid value scaled under-painting. Aaron was inspired by this method and incorporated it into his own under-paintings. Westerberg also showed the class John William Waterhouse’s studies where he would use warm and cool red Conte’ pencils in order to get the same effect, using his warms for the base of the drawing and the cool red was used mostly for the dark accents. The purpose of using the warm and cool reds is to create color vibration just as you would in a full palette painting but in a very limited way in order to make the learning process easier for the student. Though Waterhouse wasn’t actually painting on top of his value studies they were still used in the same way in order to work out the issues before going to full color. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Westerberg told the students, “When you achieve a balance with the two reds and a harmony in value, you can get color vibration and really get the painting to sing, with just two colors.” Another important thing he told the students to remember before starting this method is “we are restricting the value limit, and since we will not be able to achieve black with our darkest dark we must keep in mind that we are keying all of our values higher.” What that means is the half-tones will be much lighter than you may think they should be. Aaron showed students examples of under-paintings that used Open Grisaille, by Frank Duvaneck, and Waterhouse, and Closed Grisaille by Odd Nerdrum and Rembrandt to give them a solid example of what the differences are. </div><div class="MsoNormal">A major influence for Aaron is the artist Velazquez, Aaron explained to the class that some of Velazquez’ most famous paintings were “nearly 90% Open Grisaille under-painting and he was a master of simply painting the light opaque’s onto his transparent Open Grisaille under-painting, Frazetta would mimic this with his Illustrations!” </div><div class="MsoNormal">Aaron’s wealth of knowledge in Art History is apparent as he talks about his favorite artists, from Andrew Loomis, Dennis Miller Bunker, John Singer Sargent, Thomas Wilmer Dewing, and P.S. Kroyer to contemporaries such as Phil Hale, William Wray, and John Asaro… Offering fun factoids about each artist as he talks to the class. His enthusiasm for art is infectious as he goes off on tangents, many of the students looked eager to know more and feel the way he does about the art he loves. After working up in a frenzy over the art he loves, he puts his hands together and looks to the students all looking back waiting for the next anecdotal piece of information and says to them “O.K. Now I’m ready to paint!” </div><div class="MsoNormal">To start the demonstration Aaron used a Robert Simmons “Signet” filbert #4 bristle brush. He told the class to “Impregnate the brush with Terra Rosa and then pinch it with the paper towel, removing most of the pigment.” Aaron also made it very clear that it was important to stay as light as possible during this beginning blocking in stage. Aaron talked about the big shape of the model and her pose and said, “this is really just drawing with a paint brush, so all the principles of drawing still apply, start with big shapes ” Westerberg instructed the class that it was necessary to find the focal point and decide what his “area of interest” was, “right off the bat.” In the case of this demonstration it was the torso of the figure. He explained that the composition of the figure on the canvas is important in getting across your goal as well. Aaron instructed the students to the fact that every line that is put down in the drawing is like lines in a story and each one is helping you say what you want to with your piece. </div><div class="MsoNormal">As Aaron started applying the paint he said to the class “ pop quiz, what’s the first thing you do when you are painting?” A student answered, “The hair?” “Bingo, A+” quipped Aaron, “You always start the painting with your darkest darks.” He then explained how he likes to go to richest most dominant color next and then to the lightest light third. “This way your painting has a value scale for you to work within.” </div><div class="MsoNormal">For the under-painting Aaron is describing all of his values in the finished piece and as he said, this is simply “drawing with the brush”, as he worked he talked about how he would finish the painting by laying opaque color as needed while still allowing the under-painting’s transparent loose quality come through. A student asked, well how do you allow transparent to come through when you’re covering with opaque paints. To this Westerberg answered, “I just won’t paint the areas I want to show and sometimes after I’ve painted over it, I will dry brush out the areas I want to show.” Aaron told the students, “It’s all artistic choice, that’s what makes you an artist is those choices you make in variation... variation of color, texture, line, edges, values, etcetera. Most great artists, we like their work because of what they leave out… It’s their artistic interpretation or choices in variation and selectiveness that separate them.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">Aaron went on to say, “In all artistic endeavors the main question on your mind should be. How do I say more with less? As you gain more experience you can learn from your mistakes in the past and know what works and what doesn’t. But it is always a constant trial and error.” </div><div class="MsoNormal">During this drawing stage of the demonstration Aaron used two Robert Simmons Signet brushes, one to apply color, and one he used as a dry brush to scumble and add texture in some areas. “I am using mostly bristle brushes, I may use some sables or synthetics for line variation. While drawing I’m thinking of rhythms in form. One Artist who has amazing rhythmic understanding of the figure is Bernini. The hair of a Bernini sculpture is an amazingly beautiful example of rhythmic understanding.” Aaron started with the basic rhythms of the drawing and blocked in the figure, using mostly straight delicate lines. Defining all of the big shapes of the drawing. When Aaron applies the paint to the brush he uses very little. He instructed them to keep the drawing lines very light in the beginning of the painting. “The key to keeping control of your drawing with paint is to keep the amount of paint on the brush very limited.” </div><div class="MsoNormal">As Aaron worked on his demonstration he kept reminding the students of basic drawing fundamentals. “Focus on big shapes, the entire thing is simply shapes of different value.” He told the students to simplify the whole and build up their value scale. He repeated, “Keep it light” it is important to be as ginger as possible with your application of paint. Aaron told the group that he is constantly asking himself, “does this detract from what I’m trying to say?” He stressed the importance of never losing sight of what it is you want to convey to your viewer.</div><div class="MsoNormal">During model breaks Aaron wouldn’t take breaks himself, his enthusiasm for what he’s doing is so strong that he would simply go to his corner of books and examples he had brought in and start showing students little things that could help them with their process. Aaron is very giving with these nuggets of artistic wisdom and inspiration!</div><div class="MsoNormal">As Aaron progressed through the painting he noted that he was simply working within his value range and as long as his big statements of light and dark are there from the beginning he’s fine and knows he won’t be lost as he moves along. Letting the students know, “Drawing and Painting are all about the preparation. Every stage is easier if you’ve prepared for it during the previous stage.” So Aaron went between his darkest dark and his highlight refining the shapes and values. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Aaron had displays to show the students the subtleties of value separation and illustrated the idea of values being relative to one another within the painting. </div><div class="MsoNormal">About his work Aaron said, “I want it to look organic, like nature. I want it to seem as if it was grown, and take the person who created it out of it. I want the brush strokes to mimic the variation of life.” and after his Zen like take on his work, he goes right back to the standard academic principles that make it solid. “With the drawing all I am thinking about is simple shape design. I am trying to stay away from line. Value separation. Simplify!”</div><div class="MsoNormal">During the entire process Aaron is bouncing between telling the class basic drawing principles and what it means to create art and be an artist. Giving students techniques like “In order to pull out my lights I use a kneaded eraser and dab<span style="color: red;"> </span>the areas I want to lighten. I am thinking about all of the planes of the form and keeping in mind that every plane should have a different value, no matter how slight the variation. Follow what you see, not what you know.” While offering his philosophy, “I know I have a good painting when I want to hang it on my wall. I am looking to paint something I would want to have in my home.” It’s this free-form nature Aaron teaches with that lightens the mood and gives his students the comfort ability to create and feel loose and unstinted. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The principles of academic drawing are Aaron’s base which he builds upon in creating his work, but he doesn’t lose site of the fact that “this is Art, it’s up to me to make it something someone wants, that’s my job as an artist.” Once Aaron had a solid drawing with a full range of values he placed some “cool” dark accents using the Venetian Red color, keeping it varied and not “overdoing it” with too many dark accents bringing that color vibration he had spoken of earlier. </div><div class="MsoNormal">After getting his demonstration to the level of finish he was comfortable with, Aaron instructed the students to start on their own piece. He called out a few last minute notes for them as they prepared to start. He told them to start with a basic thumbnail value sketch in order to prepare their composition and value scale. Aaron also made it clear to stay away from turpentine or mineral spirits completely because doing so would pull up the keyed background. While students worked, Aaron excitedly went from one student to the next, laughing with them, sharing stories and helping them with their work. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Aaron focused on the value structure of the pieces. Before the last set of day one he instructed the students to finish getting in their basic composition and to keep the drawing light because they would be working on the same piece the next day and they needed to ensure they would be able to establish the values by building up tone in the second sitting. Aaron told one student, “Look for rhythms, remember the simple shapes make up the whole, start with big shapes and refine to smaller ones. Remember, simple graphic shapes in the right spot tell the right story.” With the students Aaron addressed basic drawing issues. </div><div class="MsoNormal">On the second day Aaron started by showing the students a series of Velazquez paintings from two books (“Velazquez catalogue Raisonne’ Werkverzeichnis” and “Velazquez Painter of Painters” both by Jose Lopez-Rey.) Aaron discussed Velazquez’ influence on artists who came after him and of the way he used his under-paintings to tell most of the story and would simply add the opaque lights as needed. Aaron showed how Velazquez corrected and changed his under paintings throughout the portraiture process in a couple paintings of King Philip IV Aaron showed how Velazquez started with what he saw and was obviously asked to idealize King Philip. Aaron analyzed a few of Velazquez’ paintings and showed the students what made his paintings a success, from composition, to design, brush strokes, and paint application. Aaron enthusiastically talked about one of his favorite artist’s with a sort of child-like excitement that you couldn’t help but smile. After getting the students excited and inspired Aaron sent them back to their easels. Students painted from the model for the entire second day.</div><div class="MsoNormal">One student Deirdre said about Aaron’s approach to teaching that “He is great because he is clear and very easy to understand, he’s just very sweet.” She also talked about the importance of studying this monochromatic under-painting technique saying, “you know when you go to a gallery or a museum the work that stands out has the best value structure and this workshop has prepared me to create better value studies before starting my finished painting. ” Another student named Jeroen, who had only painted two paintings before the class, said, “I feel like I know how to start a painting now, and how to go from a drawing to painting.” He also said about Aaron, “he is inspiring and it’s fun to just listen to his stories and little ideas he has for you as a beginner.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">So the workshop ended with a group of students better prepared to take that next step into painting. They learned that the secret to all believable representational work is solid value structure and a grasp of the basic drawing fundamentals. <span style="color: red;"> </span>Aaron simply put it, “As a teacher of this technique the main goal is to provide the students a bridge to painting from drawing. You need to become familiar with<span style="color: red;"> </span>your tools and how to apply paint as you are experimenting with all of these tools and techniques in a very limited range of color. That is one part, but you are also learning the techniques for under painting which most artists use with all of their studio paintings”, and hopefully these students will as well! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvF1YCFSdd7mUC0cSr_-ZqEDrtGQKUWGMTrcG23pm1mTDaHUJac0QhNdoJ6a7nyI3xnVBfN5lZjJgbJubLtd6_UFrehCRIbpvaX7l3xLG-dkViVkqSvI1FhlPiuKwcYhOYL-RUu-DC-A6b/s1600/DSCF2977.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvF1YCFSdd7mUC0cSr_-ZqEDrtGQKUWGMTrcG23pm1mTDaHUJac0QhNdoJ6a7nyI3xnVBfN5lZjJgbJubLtd6_UFrehCRIbpvaX7l3xLG-dkViVkqSvI1FhlPiuKwcYhOYL-RUu-DC-A6b/s400/DSCF2977.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-7380278792618157482010-03-29T15:00:00.000-07:002010-03-29T15:02:24.312-07:00Crossroads<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLVX_yzmYGtKt2jXAImmZ4xsD-iFZnMcWyJj6G7Q3ex5DKOlvDmQU3xdKnO4h6b9RuFmvccpDj6xJ3CDZ0dqyg0mWm-d98nEi34-Dm64iTXxHKd6zWh-zaEuoDG7AmOV1HhVA2ModyWLT/s1600/Crossroads_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLVX_yzmYGtKt2jXAImmZ4xsD-iFZnMcWyJj6G7Q3ex5DKOlvDmQU3xdKnO4h6b9RuFmvccpDj6xJ3CDZ0dqyg0mWm-d98nEi34-Dm64iTXxHKd6zWh-zaEuoDG7AmOV1HhVA2ModyWLT/s400/Crossroads_2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> Come and be sick with me.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I need that kind of friend.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Share in my sickness and sadness.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Share in my health and happiness.</div><div style="text-align: center;">You feel like something I need more than something I want.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I don't want to live but I can't wait to be born.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to tell you how much you give to me.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to hear your smile when you speak.</div><div style="text-align: center;">But the time isn't there and you probably wouldn't believe.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm tired of making this world tired of me.</div><div style="text-align: center;">So come and stand with me.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Because I've got nowhere to go and no blood left to bleed.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The two ways I could go. Both look dark and cold and the old man said </div><div style="text-align: center;">there might be snow.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The ice in my veins is starting to show.</div><div style="text-align: center;">If I can't have both roads I'll just walk in the grass.</div><div style="text-align: center;">If I can't be free I'll just have another glass.</div><div style="text-align: center;">So come and be sick with me?</div><div style="text-align: center;">We will tell each other everything, except those things.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We will share all the beliefs and dreams we know are OK.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We will say everything that's accepted to say.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want something to break but not my arm.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want something to shake up. I want to fight scream and then laugh </div><div style="text-align: center;">and make up.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to cough up my feelings and bleed out my love.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to show you all that I need.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to be afraid again, to feel like I've sinned.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I just want to hold you close and dance to slow tormented tunes.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe Conor, Dylan, or some blues?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1269897567_0" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;">The Cure</span> for the good and awful news.</div><div style="text-align: center;">So come and be sick with me until we feel.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Let's eat cereal and watch cartoons?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Let's sit close and waste afternoons?</div><div style="text-align: center;">I need that kind of friend.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I need you here again.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Come and be sick with me until the end. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-18775624224910828322010-03-23T14:26:00.000-07:002010-03-23T15:41:29.246-07:0030 of My Favorite Living Artists, people who Inspire me...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.seancheetham.blogspot.com/"><img border="0" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig37cIBiSERF6VU7dzWgIrRQIf2s_8Q4-LNorpHiUi4I7VCsnk4Juq1gNUcnGI-GQDoE9uVDU3LdzgkZyXoXEmZYC0genAdpWZLgdrgPONa3aYNl1kKXepedHgbOiVEgFJ3VQ8aGhl3T_q/s400/GunnarPortraitBlog.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> "Gunnar" by Sean Cheetham<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQO2N0GIEANVogRuHC5xXh7FL9a3Lj0nBW2bC04rmjMNvfrhyvJPHDdalmNiLW2AwwMihOjxFEhyphenhyphenZmriZplhJ8iFCwM3Bi63x2_IHENP9k-8S8I8jIGYx2AYzP5cPidaYUVyroDtUFynxS/s320/rose2small.jpg" width="320" /></div> Rose by Stephen Schirle <br />
<br />
I think it's important to promote the artists who inspire me and countless others. These artists may not be as popular as others or in the public eye, but I have been exposed to thousands of artists and these are the one's who always amaze me with their work. They have varying styles and approaches, but they all have one thing in common. It's that thing I like. The respect and appreciation for the world around them and their ability to translate it to all of us. These are artists who don't compromise their vision to please others. They are artists who don't play the political games as far as I can see. They are all what I call TRUE ARTISTS. Doing it just for the love of creation, first and foremost. <br />
<br />
<b>Click on their names to learn more about them.</b> <br />
<br />
In no particular order:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.stevenassael.com/">Steven Assael</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://seancheetham.blogspot.com/">Sean Cheetham</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.danthompsonart.com/">Dan Thompson</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.johnasaro.com/">John Asaro </a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://mccawfineart.com/">Dan McCaw</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.michaelhussar.biz/">Michael Hussar</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.kevart.com/">Kevin Llewelyn</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.highstreetstudio.com/">Bill Perkins</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.imscared.com/">Craola Simkins</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.nerdrum.com/">Odd Nerdrum</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.seriks.com/">Stephen Schirle</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.kentwilliams.com/">Kent Williams</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.eegallery.com/artists/hus.inx1.html">Steve Huston</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://richardmorrisgallery.blogspot.com/">Richard Morris</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.willwilsonstudio.com/">Will Wilson </a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.onejoseph.com/">Joseph Todorovitch</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.gagosian.com/artists/jenny-saville/">Jenny Saville</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.michaelgrimaldi.net/">Michael Grimaldi</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ashleywoodartist.com/">Ashley Wood</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.allenspiegelfinearts.com/hale.html">Phil Hale</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.boston.com/ae/theater_arts/specials/antoniolopezgarcia/">Antonio Lopez Garcia</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.markryden.com/">Mark Ryden</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.nataliafabia.com/">Natalia Fabia</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ryansbrownart.com/">Ryan Brown</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thegiant.org/">Shepherd Fairey</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sergiosanchezart.com/">Sergio Sanchez</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.vansaro.com/">Van Saro</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sparetimer.blogspot.com/">Kinman Chan</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://dominickdomingo.blogspot.com/">Dominick Domingo</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.peterdeseve.com/">Peter De Seve</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-49664860818437192622010-03-21T13:13:00.000-07:002010-03-21T13:13:06.010-07:00Fuct upWhat's the point in drinking if I don't get drunk? <br />
The point in thinking if it's already been thunk?<br />
What's the point in speaking if it isn't profound? <br />
The point in singing if it's not the right sound?<br />
What's the point in loving if it isn't for one? <br />
The point in believing when you see the great sun?<br />
What's the point in saying we will be together forever when today's all we've got? <br />
The point in dreaming when all your dreams are shot?<br />
What's the point in walking when there's nowhere to go? <br />
The point in life when it's a re-run show?<br />
What's the point in fucking if you don't cum? <br />
The point in adding it up when I can't find the sum?<br />
What's the point in dying when you are too young? <br />
The point in living when your spring has been sprung?<br />
What's the point of it all, each and every bit? <br />
The point of every last little piece of shit?<br />
Feeling like Niche the nihilistic prick. <br />
I wish you would just suck on my stick.<br />
Feeling like heaven is so far away.<br />
Feeling like leavened is the only bread left.<br />
The floor is dirty and unswept. Time is ugly and lovely. <br />
My clothes are faded and unkept.<br />
I'm not supposed to be negative so I guess I have to stop writing down shit.<br />
I love rainbows and dolphins and that is the truth. I guess that's it...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-52765909847884439752010-03-15T21:00:00.001-07:002010-03-15T21:07:10.557-07:00you...<meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/Matt/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">What's wrong when you can't get up? What happens when you don't know how to do what needs to be done? When you try to work but everything you do just makes you feel like more of a jerk. Time keeps flying by on a clock with a sinister stare. It knows you need the ticks to slow, but it works harder to leave you bare. You're distracted by food and advertisements or the possibility of sexual gratification. All in search of a satisfaction you can't find, of a quench for your unquenchable thirst. The sand collects in the pit of your stomach weighing you closer to the ground. Just when you feel you can't take anymore you look to find there's no one standing around. You're alone and you'll die this way. So what is it you’re doing as those ticks fade away? Why must you torture yourself with dreams of content? What is this life and for who was it sent? I don't know, I can't decipher the language or crack the code no matter what, or how hell bent. I look for answers but I always turn back to the void. I think if I can just get that quick nut? Or just fuck her thick butt? If I could just win one time… </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If I could just write that one line.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then it'd be okay right? But I can hear that voice in the back of my mind. Telling me I can't. Telling me it won't. The ash in my pit won't turn to sweet nectar. That voice is a demon an empty threat left for destruction. He's here to stop the things I feel just beneath the surface. I won't let him. I'm peeling now and the fresh soul is coming through. It's clean and awake. It's aware and it's true. It's me and it's you. I can feel the energy you give me with a smile and a confident nod. I can feel your love like it's coming from god. I know this life lives in your eyes. I know it's you that makes me try. And I thank you for the gift you hand over each day. Unselfishly you wrap it and pack it with needs. The needs I've asked for with sorrowful eyes, the needs that allow me to search the night’s sky. You made this dreamer. It's you who believed, you who loved me when the world was conceived. You've given me more than I could ever achieve you've offered that hand, that soul, that belief. You are amazing awesome and sweet. These words sound so silly because to explain you it would take ones that haven't been imagined, spoken, perceived.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-26674390728726619352010-03-15T17:16:00.000-07:002010-03-15T17:20:10.709-07:00Eastbound and Down- Spec Script<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLe5OZ7y7Zeo1jE9-RI0340iA93Mkwg7geqQlorqwXGus-UFQSPSN1wx8K01glOUwl5TPAohEgp3AVBFThyphenhyphenttwMrj0C7XyDzFtg4O2vawTn9Sd-Yj0hS0hAOBNi6YNuTA5eutARX4rzKN0/s1600-h/eastboundanddown_fj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLe5OZ7y7Zeo1jE9-RI0340iA93Mkwg7geqQlorqwXGus-UFQSPSN1wx8K01glOUwl5TPAohEgp3AVBFThyphenhyphenttwMrj0C7XyDzFtg4O2vawTn9Sd-Yj0hS0hAOBNi6YNuTA5eutARX4rzKN0/s400/eastboundanddown_fj.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here is the next sequence of events from my Eastbound and Down spec script! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">SHOW TITLE: EASTBOUND & DOWN<br />
<br />
CUT TO:<br />
<br />
EXT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - DAY (TITLE: SEVERAL SHITTY YEARS EARLIER)<br />
Twelve year old Kenny stands with his older brother DUSTIN at his side, on the dirt road. Kenny wears an oversized (#55 POWERS) baseball jersey. A mustang speeds off, kicking up dirt in their faces.<br />
<br />
YOUNG DUSTIN<br />
Wanna go kick the shit out of mongoloid Mike?<br />
The two boys smile at each other, pick up sticks, and run down the dirt road.<br />
<br />
KENNY (V.O.)<br />
Thank god we left that shitty ass trailer park and moved back home to Shelby.<br />
<br />
<br />
CUT TO:<br />
<br />
EXT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - DAY (TITLE: SHITTY NOW)<br />
The shotgun still digs into Kenny’s face. The door opens wider to reveal CLARK “super” POWERS (late fifties, Tom Selleck look, overweight, tacky Lion pendant, unruly chest hair, he wears an open robe and tight sweat pants.) <br />
<br />
<br />
KENNY (V.O.)<br />
I spent my whole life trying to be like this mother fucker... I had some good times on account of it too; millions of dollars, girls lickin’ my asshole, Mexican, Belizian, Spaniard pussy, and a shit ton of kickass b-b-ques... But, none of that matters now. Here we are, standing in front of the same old fuckin’ trailer he left us at twenty-five years ago. <br />
Clark’s girlfriend WHISPER, a twenty-something blonde with big fake “everything,” walks by in the background, nude.<br />
<br />
<br />
WHISPER (O.C.)<br />
Supe? Who is it? Shit, come back and finish fuckin’ me! <br />
Clark ignores her and keeps the gun on Kenny.<br />
<br />
CLARK<br />
I said. Who the FUCK are you?<br />
<br />
KENNY<br />
What? It’s me... I’m your fuckin’ son. You don’t know who I am? <br />
Kenny stares at the barrels of the gun. Clark pulls back the gun, smiling, and points it to Kenny’s crotch, revealing that Kenny has just urinated on himself. Clark then points the gun to the ground and starts laughing. <br />
<br />
CLARK <br />
Aw shit! It’s my piece a turd son. <br />
Kenny looks down at the urine spot and tries wiping at it. Whisper walks up to the door laughing, still nude. <br />
<br />
WHISPER<br />
Is he the smart one?<br />
<br />
CLARK<br />
Nope. The fuckin’ retard who got all my talent. <br />
<br />
KENNY<br />
Dusty? Pffft! I could have been a fuckin’<br />
astronaut scientist. Anyway, I just came to see if your sorry ass was still alive. Some faggot agent said you were dead, so I had to come check for myself. To be quite honest with you, I’m a little sad it isn’t true. Kenny looks at Whisper with shame, then turns to leave.<br />
<br />
CLARK <br />
Come on. You didn't drive all the way here in that black man’s truck just to come and see if I was alive. Come on in and have a Miller Lite you little pissed up bitch. I have some sweat pants you can wear.<br />
(to Whisper)<br />
Put some fuckin’ clothes on and get this little pussy a diaper. No, I’m just kiddin’! Get him my nice sweat pants. You know the ones you like me to make sweet animalistic love to you in. <br />
Kenny looks disgusted.<br />
<br />
KENNY<br />
Diaper? Ha fuckin’ ha, asshole. Other than coming to make sure you didn’t finally eat shit and die, I was coming to tell you how much you fucked me up, and--<br />
<br />
CLARK<br />
Na-na-naboo-boo. Quit your fuckin’ cryin’. <br />
Clark walks away from Kenny and pulls out his last two Miller Lite cans from the fridge. <br />
<br />
INT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER<br />
Kenny steps into the tiny trailer. It’s riddled with old pictures of Clark and various women, him playing baseball, trophies, and a poster of him which reads, “Samsung’s “SUPER” Lion CLARK POWERS”. A Samsung Lions Jersey (#55 POWERS) hangs encased in glass on the wall autographed by Clark Powers.<br />
<br />
KENNY <br />
You have your jersey, signed by you, hanging in your own fuckin’ house? <br />
Clark comes up behind Kenny while he stares at the jersey. He gets eerily close to Kenny’s ear, his curled mustache nearly touches Kenny.<br />
<br />
CLARK<br />
You want it? Thousand bucks, take it now! <br />
Kenny whips his head around. Clark is standing with the beers, smiling. Whisper comes out of the room in a slutty dress, holding sweats with a roaring lions head on the crotch. <br />
<br />
KENNY<br />
No! I do not want your fuckin’ piece a shit jersey. Or your lion sweats, although they are one of the most awesome pieces of clothing I have ever seen in my short, yet beautiful life. <br />
(to Whisper)<br />
And you. I got to be honest with you. I wouldn’t wear that to a dog fight. <br />
(to Clark)<br />
I will take a beer though. We need to talk about some shit, you old fuck. <br />
<br />
CUT TO:<br />
<br />
EXT. DUSTIN’S HOUSE - BACKYARD - DAY<br />
Dustin is in his catcher’s gear. DUSTIN JR. holds the speedometer facing the strike zone. WAYNE, wearing Kenny’s jersey and cap, hurls one straight down the middle. Dustin shakes his hand and smiles at Wayne.<br />
<br />
DUSTIN<br />
That was a heater!<br />
<br />
Dustin Jr. looks at the speedometer and jumps up and down. CASSIE watches from the porch, smiling. An arm wraps around her shoulder. It’s STEVIE JINOWSKI wearing a Kenny Powers mask and hair hat. Cassie shakes off his arm and jogs into the yard to the safety of her family. Stevie flips her off. ROSE mimicks Stevie from her baby walker. <br />
<br />
STEVIE <br />
Church bitch.<br />
<br />
CUT TO:<br />
<br />
EXT. JEFFERSON DAVIS MIDDLE SCHOOL - MORNING <br />
Janitors are finishing up the quote on the school sign. It reads, “Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils... - Louis Hector Berlioz.<br />
<br />
CUT TO:<br />
<br />
INT./EXT. APRIL BUCHANAN’S CLASSROOM. - AFTERNOON<br />
April sits at her desk, staring out the window. She sees Cutler, outside chatting up one of the “hot moms.” Cutler pats the mom’s ass as she walks away, he turns back to see April watching, she glances away quickly and looks to Kenny’s bat which is in the trash. She looks to her desk and sees the headshot he gave her, signed Powers XOXO!!!.<br />
<br />
CUT TO:<br />
<br />
INT. DUSTIN’S HOUSE - NIGHT<br />
Jinowski lays in Kenny’s room staring at Kenny’s signed photo through the Kenny Mask he’s wearing. Jinowski is obviously masturbating, with the door open. He comes to a quick finish and turns to see Wayne across the hall, watching in horror. Jinwoski pulls up the mask and looks at Wayne who’s squeezing his eyes closed. Jinowski slams the door. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-71629753078110189392010-03-12T11:45:00.000-08:002010-03-12T11:50:53.709-08:00Cemetary Dwellings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ZeAJsg8eg_yLgpgRktnQgo4al-KznDHjGzw7qpF7l6JMDqz1TtL0RImwftI8cdCPiEN8GOY6K3_XqrUguK5SPXmU7wqzVCbiOUR-TL_CG-fyZBVR05cPdk_dFX5vaJoJhEqhU-0f_j6R/s1600-h/busybee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ZeAJsg8eg_yLgpgRktnQgo4al-KznDHjGzw7qpF7l6JMDqz1TtL0RImwftI8cdCPiEN8GOY6K3_XqrUguK5SPXmU7wqzVCbiOUR-TL_CG-fyZBVR05cPdk_dFX5vaJoJhEqhU-0f_j6R/s640/busybee.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">The cherry blossoms are here. The ones you will never see. Somehow they're here for you anyway. When I think of you the sun gets warmer. My skin feels newer. I know what to do when I remember you. I know which way to go, I know which road. I depend on these times alone with you in my heart. I hear so much more when all I hear is silence. I fear so much less when I think of the violence that took you away. The fight to be first that left you last. What is the point if we aren't fighting? Are we left alone dying? If I lose my fight I might as well crawl in your box of bones and spend the night. These words you call out to me through the ravens caw. These things you tell me in the soft silent wind and the buzz of your wings. These things you give me in the warmth of the sun. The blossoms are beautiful and when I look at them I can see. You're living inside. You're that single bee going from one to the next and sharing the blessed. You will just keep working there's no time to rest.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A man has arrived with a group of three. His brother his daughter and the clipboard lady. She's ready to close another deal. He's got three with him but he's left all alone. In his angry replies I can hear the sadness of his eyes. In his lost walk and anxious talk I can see him bleed for the one he's lost. I can hear his tears as they tell him, isn't this nice? There's a view of the mountains from here! One boasts. As the three try to decide. He leans on the tree. It's holding him up as his heart bleeds. The bee carries on his work. Impregnating the next flower with life, for all its worth.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-24661570778392987632010-03-11T00:48:00.001-08:002010-03-11T01:15:11.689-08:00Kenny Powers of Eastbound and Down<meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/marchant07/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Tm_th-T69L7-Ndnn3tVlua3W-DhS4tnpvubLKjkaPcXY6cD3EYcC8eWc-2DSryfQStSwgXEYBvBHd-uSCKIaw-lrDOcXFdo7ixXh96isWb-PfiDWtvecJ5kOPxxydjsvtPawwUIS_rm3/s1600-h/kennypowersshades.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Tm_th-T69L7-Ndnn3tVlua3W-DhS4tnpvubLKjkaPcXY6cD3EYcC8eWc-2DSryfQStSwgXEYBvBHd-uSCKIaw-lrDOcXFdo7ixXh96isWb-PfiDWtvecJ5kOPxxydjsvtPawwUIS_rm3/s400/kennypowersshades.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">This spec was written as a follow up to the first season finale. I was enthralled and amazed by the characters of this show and the overall writing which offers you a character who is really not a very good guy and is very hurtful to others, but inside all of that bigotry and rotten behaviour is a heart of gold and a character you can't help but pull for. I wrote this script as an almost, "Where is Kenny Powers now?" after the final episode of season one. If you are a fan of the show, please read it and tell me what you think. "If not just shut up because I don't give a fuck what you think anyway nerd!"</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Logline: </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">When he has nothing and nowhere left to turn, Kenny Powers must return to his roots and beg his estranged father for a shot at getting back in the game... </div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><b>Synopsis: </b></o:p></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Eastbound and Down’s hilarious character and foul mouthed bigot, Kenny Powers has just left behind everyone he loves in Shelby to pursue his last shot at getting back in the majors. When he learns his “Big Break” has fallen through, he is left with nowhere to turn. He must return to his roots in the last place he wanted to, the trailer home of his estranged father, Ex- Baseball washout, Clark “Super” Powers to beg for a shot at getting back in the game… the Korean baseball game! It’s his last shot at redemption and winning back the love of his life, but his arch nemeses Reg Mackworthy and Ashley Schaeffer will stop at nothing to ridicule and humiliate him. Back home in Shelby everything is changing without him while his one true love April Buchanan is waiting to share some important news!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Script Title: Eastbound and Down – Chapter 7. “Who’s your Daddy?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Genre: Comedy</div><br />
<br />
<div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Number of pages: 27</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>HERE is the opening, if people want more I will add each scene!</b><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">FADE IN:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
INT. KENNY'S DENALI<br />
<br />
KENNY POWERS puts in his audio autobiography: "You're<br />
Fuckin' Out. I'm Fuckin' in." His recorded voice calls<br />
out from the speakers. <br />
<br />
RECORDED KENNY<br />
When my ass was twelve years old, my<br />
piece of shit, cocksucker of a sperm<br />
donor daddy left me and my brother Dusty<br />
all alone... while our mom was all full<br />
of some real fucked up ass cancer or some<br />
shit. Anyway, that's besides the point,<br />
and I don't like getting off topic. I was<br />
trying to explain how I became a God<br />
amongst men. <br />
<br />
Kenny turns down the radio and sits in silence as his<br />
rearview dreamcatcher sways. He reaches up and stops it. <br />
<br />
KENNY (V.O.) <br />
Dreams? Fuck Dreams. I used to have<br />
those... And I used to be one of the<br />
greatest of God's creations too! But,<br />
now look at me. I just left the one girl<br />
that loved me for who I really am. Not<br />
just cause of the super star, world class<br />
athlete, all around ass kickin', son of a<br />
fuck, mother fuckin' MAN that I am. Or<br />
because of the shit ton of money I was<br />
gonna be worth, but cause she really<br />
understands me. She was the only girl<br />
who could make me cum on myself with just<br />
kissin'. And she loved me too. God<br />
Damnit. What the fuck happened to me? <br />
<br />
Kenny adjusts the rearview mirror to see himself.<br />
<br />
KENNY (V.O.) (CONT'D)<br />
I'll tell you what happened, I came in<br />
there like a tornado of greatness and<br />
saved them from their sad lives and they<br />
all wanted a piece of my shit... But,<br />
when I heard that Tampa guy on the phone<br />
I just had to be alone again with my<br />
above average I.Q. I had to get outta<br />
there. <br />
<br />
CUT TO:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
EXT. GAS STATION - SHELBY, N.C. - EVENING <br />
<br />
A car pulls up. APRIL BUCHANAN sheepishly gets up from<br />
the curb to join her ex, TERRENCE CUTLER. They hug. <br />
<br />
CUT TO:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
INT. KENNY'S DENALI<br />
<br />
Kenny has tears welled in his eyes. He drives on. <br />
<br />
KENNY (V.O.) (CONT'D)<br />
FUCK! Now, because I left April and her<br />
wonderfully supple titties behind in that<br />
fuckin' cunthole of a town, here I am<br />
with nothing and nowhere left to turn. I<br />
never felt this shit-fucked of a feeling<br />
since that day he left us.<br />
<br />
Kenny pulls into a dirt driveway through a thicket of<br />
pine trees scraping against his Denali. <br />
<br />
KENNY <br />
I hate fuckin' nature. Scratchin' this<br />
expensive shit. I can't afford this<br />
shit... This has got to be the worst<br />
fuckin' day of my life.<br />
<br />
CUT TO:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
EXT. DILAPIDATED TRAILER - DAY<br />
<br />
Kenny snorts a bump of coke, then gets out. He wipes the<br />
dirt off of his snakeskin boots and faces the door. <br />
<br />
KENNY (V.O.)<br />
This here is the last place I wanted to<br />
end up, but here I am, ready to face him. <br />
Cause my ass ain't no fuckin' pussy. My<br />
ass is a champion. I'm the mother<br />
fuckin' Shelby sensation, fuckers! <br />
<br />
Kenny slowly climbs the three step staircase breaking the<br />
second stair. He pulls his hair behind each ear and<br />
knocks on the tattered door. Suddenly, a double barrel<br />
shotgun bursts forth from an opening in the door and<br />
presses up against Kenny's Face. <br />
<br />
MALE VOICE (O.C.)<br />
WHO the FUCK are you?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>SHOW TITLE: EASTBOUND & DOWN</b><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-86635557171482504822010-03-04T22:52:00.000-08:002010-03-05T11:08:05.929-08:00"Be my Valentine?"<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqypn0RAodqaKdJjpum-WRNH9onNKhKbr3GeSWA2IM8o57c4YIbrlz6_cPWuGKN_BBgxaVCKA6UXZqcE6cCYGKBCv8FUkXXBg92Vj4yQA3RMfvDis5UCfAJm1LFkM7EadOHq1V_HxM7SQX/s1600-h/heart1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqypn0RAodqaKdJjpum-WRNH9onNKhKbr3GeSWA2IM8o57c4YIbrlz6_cPWuGKN_BBgxaVCKA6UXZqcE6cCYGKBCv8FUkXXBg92Vj4yQA3RMfvDis5UCfAJm1LFkM7EadOHq1V_HxM7SQX/s400/heart1.jpg" width="275" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I did this sketch to go with this poem, with my new Pen Charles Hu gave me! </div><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b> 2/14/2010</b></span></div><br />
All we need is love she said from the other side of the moon. I believe her and know she will be there for me to see. All I need is love to feel the needs of my own disease. My own disbelief. My own grief.<br />
The grievances of trance-less decadence in return for my failed retreat. What is love if no one knows? What is love if it can be needed? What is love when there's nothing left to concede?<br />
<br />
I know I've got something to figure. Something to trigger a new response? Something I've had all along? Something I've had a million countless times but something I've only had once.<br />
<br />
Forgotten regret makes me remember to forget.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-22603058551108765032010-03-03T09:55:00.000-08:002010-03-03T09:56:07.776-08:00Audrey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDCxmKAmdarXeyrTJ0Yx4PAGU7yfciMsMNo8MeTBGCqzBXa3MOntrEMnWEPq3W-_bqQh5rNV_r9gAMGaAd-NuC3QPaLpgdcHShVg7iC5ucOEaoW30dPWtFXv7r8pbwHxiUP6srgwasaaM/s1600-h/Audrey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDCxmKAmdarXeyrTJ0Yx4PAGU7yfciMsMNo8MeTBGCqzBXa3MOntrEMnWEPq3W-_bqQh5rNV_r9gAMGaAd-NuC3QPaLpgdcHShVg7iC5ucOEaoW30dPWtFXv7r8pbwHxiUP6srgwasaaM/s400/Audrey.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">portrait I did a while back, It needs a lot of work but I was happy with some aspects.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-31055369913919464312010-03-02T22:44:00.000-08:002010-03-02T23:37:24.723-08:00Demoneater sketch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0p2L5hyxPRfetJ3t8T-prC657HsSgZjU-6DSCsl0uR0-DXNpK294T58o8YlQ84xGgzRjo6h1aAlSTz5fxuV2q8IJMx0XZwPBWnEySgV7PfkQ72i-jdR71PvI0SXC0xqQbf-mPhxP8kCt/s1600-h/Demoneater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0p2L5hyxPRfetJ3t8T-prC657HsSgZjU-6DSCsl0uR0-DXNpK294T58o8YlQ84xGgzRjo6h1aAlSTz5fxuV2q8IJMx0XZwPBWnEySgV7PfkQ72i-jdR71PvI0SXC0xqQbf-mPhxP8kCt/s640/Demoneater.jpg" width="371" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is a sketch for a Graphic Novel Idea I have about a boy who can see "His Demons" as actual beings growing from his skin. He is tormented throughout his life by these demons. I will post some more about this story soon... </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-35441790912301183022010-03-02T15:44:00.000-08:002010-03-02T16:16:10.002-08:00Candidness is next to Godliness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1MrpK-staJj1kaeW6Abyj0PCrHcjaBZqbJPcTc365PnK6RXXZO2zMZ0GXjMsGYI5M40DYLS7_levWG_ohrEI5Nnj2LD_zzaidUQmxc3CGSvNpGpQDpRpYjlfEwdxixP2qfKe9QT5bva2L/s1600-h/Mammoth+2006+031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1MrpK-staJj1kaeW6Abyj0PCrHcjaBZqbJPcTc365PnK6RXXZO2zMZ0GXjMsGYI5M40DYLS7_levWG_ohrEI5Nnj2LD_zzaidUQmxc3CGSvNpGpQDpRpYjlfEwdxixP2qfKe9QT5bva2L/s320/Mammoth+2006+031.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Candid is always best. Whether it be a photograph, a moment between friends, or a face you make during good sex. When we lose that idea of "looking right" and become the moment we're in. That is where life and love and the pursuit of happiness exists. It's in those little moments when our mind is silenced and we allow ourselves to become that look, that laugh, that tear, that sigh. I can preach from my pulpit about knowing it with all my heart. But to what end? With what point? I've surely got no idea how to get there. I simply want to cherish the fact it's there. <br />
<br />
But as it is, you can't really acknowledge that candid truth without falsifying it somehow. As soon as it's seen it's gone like the light you see in her eyes. <br />
<br />
So I don't know what I'm trying to say or even why. I think maybe that candid truth is our only truth or our only lie for that matter... <br />
<br />
Maybe that IS god or that spirit of the universe we all know to be there? That true lie some of us know so well we call ourselves agnostic or atheist in order to piss off the daddy of our own consciousness. Maybe god isn't meant to be seen? Maybe it-she-him-that isn't meant to be acknowledged, understood, loved, hated or even ignored, but maybe just a candid realism we shouldn't try to see and only try to be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083396077758815349.post-60194536514935045662010-03-02T11:27:00.000-08:002010-03-02T14:20:11.652-08:00Girard Marchant 10/16/1957 - 08/20/2008<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ625e8XUa_KE-nhzniDAZnfj-FWG8L-NM4YLEaKDRBP7fIpkL2LXX95xNAcMJcQA5ouL-ZMR1kLzxAFJSX5UpZA7eO-m8UhWz78plHGAHGjZPrxLhNTw6xeyPl-tj-sEmwJuFtAGCUSPq/s1600-h/IMG_6175.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ625e8XUa_KE-nhzniDAZnfj-FWG8L-NM4YLEaKDRBP7fIpkL2LXX95xNAcMJcQA5ouL-ZMR1kLzxAFJSX5UpZA7eO-m8UhWz78plHGAHGjZPrxLhNTw6xeyPl-tj-sEmwJuFtAGCUSPq/s320/IMG_6175.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444158749636873026" /></a><br /><br />I lost my "Dad dad daddio" on 08/20/2008 and since his funeral on 08/27/2008 I have been visiting his grave site and sometimes I get the urge to write while I am out there and I wanted to post this for the first of hopefully many writings on my new blog.<br /><br /><br />"The End" <br /><br />It's not too eventful. The digging of the grave. Doesn't seem like much work. Two men a tractor and a few boards. That's all it takes. A life is gone and a time forgotten. They come on a little golf cart to do their work.<br /><br />Silence bleeds in between their machines of absolution. In the silence I can hear the beat of the ravens wings. It sounds so pure like when a child sings. I'm here wondering how to make my thing happen and how tomorrow will look through my everyday glasses and worn out tires. Wondering how people will look at me or how I'll breathe. But they just dig and prepare for the latest soul to rest. Sometimes I wish for that lonely sleep. But what happens after that?<br /><br /><br />I can feel the cold wet grass become warm and dry under my bare feet as the sun of today introduces all the possibilities of another existence for the two of us. The world and I. My love and I. My life and I. My work and I. My death and I. The warm sun on my back reminds me of dreams and things I wanna be. The warm sun on my back reminds me of me. The warm sin in my heart reminds me to bleed.<br /><br />I'm looking straight ahead for something but I keep forgetting I'm looking and get lost in the rush of yesterday which makes tomorrow a blink. Then it's here again another year I don't even know where it went. Somehow it got bent. I fight these thoughts of darkness In the dark I'm sleeping. I need an elixir, a fixer, something or somehow to break my disgrace. Something to help me see my face.<br /><br />I can't find it and I don't even know what it is or how it fits. Like a new pair of shoes or a Christmas gift. I just keep searching and through this mess I sift.<br /><br />But for what? For who? Just to keep from being the next hole they dig? I guess it's better than giving in.<br /><br />After they're done digging up six feet of dirt they load it in a truck bed and haul it away and like the remains of a life lived, it slowly rolls away. Then the boards are placed and the tractor leaves the site. Ready for the pain and resolution of tomorrows broken heart goodbyes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3