Here is the original screenplay for my film Noise Matters. This is the unedited version and includes the flashbacks of Dagobert as a child which ended up being removed from the shooting script.
I want to be free.
Desire, pain, sadness, greed, hatred, fear and the list goes on and on.
I need your help, your guidance.
You are wise. People everywhere say you are wise, they come to you for advice.
People are misguided.
Continue reading Chatting Up The Master
Practical nonsense is the art of saving my life from ordinary detection.
Practice invisibility and start the first two with the same seven letters.
No one writes them anymore and yet we use them all the time.
Who is we? Me plus the imaginary monster at the scene of the crime.
Get everything you came here for. We are all cheering for you.
Thank you, I’ll waste the chances all by myself.
Apologies are in order for who I was and for who I am.
Victim of my own element of surprise.
There are too many alwayses in what I write.
Look, a rhyme.
Paragraph new and things look brighter.
Dinner is ready and steady and nice. Zeitgeist.
Fresh start. Political indoctrination, screens, figures and stage.
The conspirator always rings twice.
Chapter One: Manhattan.
I see a bridge in black and white
A voice saying something about New York
This doesn’t interest me anymore.
There’s a black woman
I know her name but I won’t tell you
She’s my last connection to a world full of rudeness,
at least that’s how she remembers it.
A world of shoes I didn’t like,
full of good people too afraid to be bad.
This world wasn’t made for you my friend.
You’ll never live up to the expectations
you are decent and that’s your sin.
She came in and out of that world wanting a piece of it,
She finally got it.
She’s dead now but still breathing.
The guru says, stop thinking.
But it won’t stop.
Get out of your head, is the master’s advice
But I’ve got no place else to go.
It’s the curse of the outsider,
you get to witness but you don’t get to join.
There’s something broken inside my chest.
It hurts when its unjust.
I see a man with a hat and dying skin,
with a scarf and this space for rent.
A poet and his friend plays the violin.
Two girls, they look-alike.
They love him and his friend owes me.
Organizing thoughts is no easy task.
Playing for no reward would be nice,
but I already see the room and the microphone and the tongues sliding across my neck.
Someone is bound to pity
the pretty boy who could not understand.
Jack had a secret, something he had never told anyone. Ever since he could remember he fantasized about killing anyone he met. As a child he had assumed everyone was spending their time plotting means for the extermination of their fellow human beings. The planning started out very simple, a brick over the head, a knife in the back, but over time it became more and more complex and the culprit always remained undetected.
When Jack was old enough to realize others didn’t share his inclinations toward premeditated murder he did all he could to modify his way of thinking. As a young boy, he established what he aptly named ‘a course of purification’ through a series of mental exercises that ultimately proved futile. The more he tried and the more gruesome were the fates of his victims. Unable to eradicate the evil, he learned to coexist with his mental habit vowing to never let another soul discover it.
A few schoolyard confrontations had proven to him beyond a doubt that he was a coward. After getting past the initial shame he welcomed this discovery that would most likely prevent him from ever acting upon his secret impulses. From then on he busied himself in becoming the man his cowardly ancestors would have wanted him to be, an invisible man.
“It pours out of you like a torrent.”
Michael moves up to the window. The fog crept slowly over the hills leaving the trees exposed to the last remaining sunlight.
“Do you see that?”
John turns his face away.
“You’ll never see it if you don’t look.”
“There’s nothing to see.”
“Yes there is.”
“The world! The whole wide world is out there.”