side notes; a sketch for a sketch

Open to black and white of what at first appears like two silhouette, paper, cutout, mirror-reflections staring at each other; like a still image from a Busby Berkley film

the one on the right has a 1920’s flapper-like hairstyle and the other on the left wears a Gatsby hat; the two silhouettes stare at each other. 

From black and white, the tone changes to a deep, dark purple and for several beats, and frames, it stays like that before it softens to natural tones of shadows with surreal interruptions of tones caused by the lights from the city outside that spill and color their nearby shadows in a lunar blue; the blue glow reaches and illuminates their skin tones 

Like voyeurs watching we see  from slightly behind this view and slightly above looking down, the hand of the one wearing the Gatsby hat on the left, moves to touch the other, leans over and pushes the one with the flapper hairstyle back, and leans over in a deep kiss

it is awhile before the shadows make sense of the features and the shapes to distinguish who is the male until more light is introduced. 

the smooth, white, shiny satin that glows in the light worn by the flapper, cling to broad shoulders and the unmistakable outlines of well-built muscles as each acts out their role; a silent pact between them.

Until, both caught in the heat of this, the flapper decides to change tactics, and suddenly shifts position to the dominate position which, lends a kind of perversity with the shimmer of the satin chemise and the feminine elegance of his make up as his hair falls across her like a curtain, as the Gatsby hat gets tossed across the room 

which closes with an outline view of them through a keyhole as her hands are seen removing his chemise going up the muscles of his back 

 ac yn ymddangos yn fy amseroedd mwyaf enbyd, fy nghanllaw trwy Uffern

Choklad

One day a few months back, I was lost in thought walking along this road. I was coming from the right going back, I guess, and in my peripheral vision I was aware of a speck on the right of my horizon vision, following me. I stopped to look. And a few miles back there it came to me at full gallop. So, now we are friends, while I am here. 

Animals are always following me wherever I go, it is strange but I suspect it is because they know I prefer them to people 

***yes, there is more blog Noir of course btw; alas finished the backstory script of ep, 1(pure agony!)

et apparaît toujours dans mes moments les plus désespérés

 

tack

 la télépathie

 curtain

Electra’s dictionary and film noir; first impressions (jmmusechron continues)*

 

So, quite compromised, there comes a text

….or rather …. it is the horror of the sound that alerts me, 

no mistaking that operatic shrillness that shatters your teeth through your ear drum as it hemorrhages (Jörn’s text alert for his mother is a short recording of her reaching operatic crescendo)

and …..so it does come somewhat delayed—that ….it is a text message —alert—

“knulla!  det är mamma!”Jörn exclaims

“Oh….” I panic as I try to get my foot from where it is wedged but I fall onto the floor and my hair is caught between a shelf bracket 

but he’s busy texting his mother as I hear another message alert tone come through as he mumbles what sounds like Norse pagan curses, and—I’d rather not mess with that and try to remove my foot from the pocket of his suit jacket but the linen closet is too narrow and it’s the same side he’s holding his phone with

“Yo ! Jörn! ….hey?—hej!”

“Vad?” he glances at me as if surprised to see me —and as I am but he takes a moment instead to think and he says, “you need to go greet Mama and Pappa downstairs right now.”

I don’t answer. Instead fall all the way back now and land against the wall with a bang to my head and almost take the shelf down with me

but what is worse is that we hear Stina’s voice again outside the door. She is talking to….?

Jörn mouths the name “Marcus” to me from…. across the small space of our compromised positions —in the closet. 

We hear her knocking on …. some door near us in the corridor

To my alarm it is my name she calls!

“Oh my god!” I look up at him, and whisper in horror then anger, “she’s right out there! this is your fault!”

He starts to laugh but holds it —successfully back

“You are laughing!? This is not funny—“

But just then his phone begins to alert a call,

“skit, it’s Marcus—“ he whispers as he and I look at each other realizing if they are right outside the door they can hear his phone ….he whispers, as he fastens me up and smooths out the cuff of my trousers as he removes my foot from his pocket  saying, “relax, this works in our favor,” and without much warning, says to me, “just, play along,” as he answers his phone and at the same time opens the closet door as we both fall out the door 

My first impression of Marcus is that he is a very tall man —at least from my perspective. And he wears Italian leather shoes 

Stina is looking down at me, she says,

“so office and recreation ….”

*wanting a break from writing Elan/Raoul script scenes backstory for ep 1; so emotionally draining