Paris Ga
Aug 13th, 2002, 08:44:54 PM
He damned his writers block. The pencil, riddled with teeth marks, felt his pain. As per the moment, his mind was absent, devoid of all artistic creation. The cause, Doris Gray's tea leaves. If a cigarette smoking man spit his entire life into a cup, that's how Paris Ga imagined it would taste, like the tea leaves. Little bits of cancer. Twenty minutes removed from his methodical sipping to appease the elderly face with sincere eyes and two chins, his stomach still quaked. His throat reflexed from the aroma of the nearby cup and Paris had to concentrate in order to keep himself from retching.
Back to the play.
<hr>
Heaju Mi enters stage left.
Heaju - You cider sharing New Republic nipple f---ers.
Mayba - The drunken dwarf comes to call.
Dav - How can we help you Hea?
Heaju - How about you do this for me. Segregate my motherf---ing state of residence, hmm?
Dav - Is this about the Gungans?
Heaju - Two months ago. I proposed an ordinence at town hall to excavate or slaughter and cull all gill composed degenerate ingrates who infested our fine town, Colonel. All I want--is them out of my back yard.
Dav - You know how many people voted in favor of proposition 309, Hea? Two.
Collonell Dav Remlag points at the pale faced biggot with his index finger.
Dav - You voted twice.
<hr>
His pen touched the page, then pulled away. Maybe the lacky, Mayba, could say something here? What's a good witty retort for Heaju? Should it be a witty retort? His attention shifted. Ceilla Nu!
He jumped up, nearly colliding with the food tray and the rancid substance some might refer to as liquid, to turn up the volume on his thrity seven inch television monitor.
On screen: Ceilla Nu.
Alright, if beauty had a name it would be Ceilla Nu. Her skin was undoubtedly the softest substance in the world, and her plunging neck line persuaded the young Paris Ga to become sporadically transfixed on her... comforting pillows.
"I don't try to take myself too seriously. I think that's the secret."
"In this new movie you play a woman who quits her job as a high paying office exec, and travels half way across country to get back her kidnapped children, who were taken from you by your ex-husband. Where did you get the inspiration from, to play this character[/i]?"
"My mother. She--in life--she's my inspiration. That's what your seeing on screen there, my mother[/i]."
"Recently you broke up with your boyfriend Fre' Yates of three months--"
The rounded lady moved behind the plastic bubble.
As a reflex, a red cheeked Paris switched off the TV.
"Paris? Did you like my tea? Did you drink it all up?"
"Oh! Yeah. Good. Good tea. It's--it's good. I haven't really gotten a chance to drink it all, though, quite yet." He searches his mind for an excuse. "I've been working on my play."
"Your play? I didn't know you write plays."
"I do. Ever seen Fiddler On the Roof? Me."
Doris holds her breath for a moment, not being familiar with the play itself or plays in general.
"Kidding."
"Oh." Doris chuckles. "Well--you call when you want me to take your dishes, yes?"
He nods his head.
After several seconds...
... that seem like an eternity, Doris pathologically turns her ankles toward the door. Discouraged by the elderly lady's slow effort, Paris tries to mentally push her out of his room. Sweetheart, just find your feet. But alas, telekinesis fails him, today of all days. Come on. Elapsed time to the door closing shut: fifteen seconds.
Paris hurriedly switches back on the TV.
On screen: A boy band of five dances in the realm of music video. The sonic high pitched squeal of their voices aches Paris's tympatic membrane.
Talking to the TV in a low emotionless voice, "Why are you dancing? Does your song enthuse you that much? One leg in the air-the twirling..."
He switches off the gleeful jamboree boys. Black.
<hr>
Mayba - With the same name.
Heaju - Well at least I was honest about it. What about you, though? The both of you. This whole town. You're all hypocrites. You want the same thing I do, you're just not willing to admit it."
Dav - We don't all want the same as you, Hea.
Heaju takes the time to shake his head.
Heaju - That's a lie. I tell you Colonel, just come to one of my meetings, just one, and i promise you--you'll come back a changed man.
Dav - Well I'm sure I would, Hea. Just look what it's done for you.
Heaju stares at Dav for several seconds, teeth grinding.
Heaju - Live your lie.
Heaju exits stage left.
<hr>
Maybe that's good enough. Review it tomorrow.
Paris closes his notebook. Rolling over so that he is prospate on his mattress, head protruding from beneath the box springs. He finds a neat little place for his work, hidden underneath his bed, amongst other boxes. Sitting up erect, once again on his bed, Paris stares off. His olfactory sense defeats him as his eyes wash over in a watery glint. The god awful aroma of tea leaves, a less than subtle reminder to dispose of wasteful material. His focus shifts to the cup.
From a connected, closed off, room a flushing sound is heard. The comode empties and gurgles. He felt sorry for the plumbing, but more so for the cigarette smoking man.
Back to the play.
<hr>
Heaju Mi enters stage left.
Heaju - You cider sharing New Republic nipple f---ers.
Mayba - The drunken dwarf comes to call.
Dav - How can we help you Hea?
Heaju - How about you do this for me. Segregate my motherf---ing state of residence, hmm?
Dav - Is this about the Gungans?
Heaju - Two months ago. I proposed an ordinence at town hall to excavate or slaughter and cull all gill composed degenerate ingrates who infested our fine town, Colonel. All I want--is them out of my back yard.
Dav - You know how many people voted in favor of proposition 309, Hea? Two.
Collonell Dav Remlag points at the pale faced biggot with his index finger.
Dav - You voted twice.
<hr>
His pen touched the page, then pulled away. Maybe the lacky, Mayba, could say something here? What's a good witty retort for Heaju? Should it be a witty retort? His attention shifted. Ceilla Nu!
He jumped up, nearly colliding with the food tray and the rancid substance some might refer to as liquid, to turn up the volume on his thrity seven inch television monitor.
On screen: Ceilla Nu.
Alright, if beauty had a name it would be Ceilla Nu. Her skin was undoubtedly the softest substance in the world, and her plunging neck line persuaded the young Paris Ga to become sporadically transfixed on her... comforting pillows.
"I don't try to take myself too seriously. I think that's the secret."
"In this new movie you play a woman who quits her job as a high paying office exec, and travels half way across country to get back her kidnapped children, who were taken from you by your ex-husband. Where did you get the inspiration from, to play this character[/i]?"
"My mother. She--in life--she's my inspiration. That's what your seeing on screen there, my mother[/i]."
"Recently you broke up with your boyfriend Fre' Yates of three months--"
The rounded lady moved behind the plastic bubble.
As a reflex, a red cheeked Paris switched off the TV.
"Paris? Did you like my tea? Did you drink it all up?"
"Oh! Yeah. Good. Good tea. It's--it's good. I haven't really gotten a chance to drink it all, though, quite yet." He searches his mind for an excuse. "I've been working on my play."
"Your play? I didn't know you write plays."
"I do. Ever seen Fiddler On the Roof? Me."
Doris holds her breath for a moment, not being familiar with the play itself or plays in general.
"Kidding."
"Oh." Doris chuckles. "Well--you call when you want me to take your dishes, yes?"
He nods his head.
After several seconds...
... that seem like an eternity, Doris pathologically turns her ankles toward the door. Discouraged by the elderly lady's slow effort, Paris tries to mentally push her out of his room. Sweetheart, just find your feet. But alas, telekinesis fails him, today of all days. Come on. Elapsed time to the door closing shut: fifteen seconds.
Paris hurriedly switches back on the TV.
On screen: A boy band of five dances in the realm of music video. The sonic high pitched squeal of their voices aches Paris's tympatic membrane.
Talking to the TV in a low emotionless voice, "Why are you dancing? Does your song enthuse you that much? One leg in the air-the twirling..."
He switches off the gleeful jamboree boys. Black.
<hr>
Mayba - With the same name.
Heaju - Well at least I was honest about it. What about you, though? The both of you. This whole town. You're all hypocrites. You want the same thing I do, you're just not willing to admit it."
Dav - We don't all want the same as you, Hea.
Heaju takes the time to shake his head.
Heaju - That's a lie. I tell you Colonel, just come to one of my meetings, just one, and i promise you--you'll come back a changed man.
Dav - Well I'm sure I would, Hea. Just look what it's done for you.
Heaju stares at Dav for several seconds, teeth grinding.
Heaju - Live your lie.
Heaju exits stage left.
<hr>
Maybe that's good enough. Review it tomorrow.
Paris closes his notebook. Rolling over so that he is prospate on his mattress, head protruding from beneath the box springs. He finds a neat little place for his work, hidden underneath his bed, amongst other boxes. Sitting up erect, once again on his bed, Paris stares off. His olfactory sense defeats him as his eyes wash over in a watery glint. The god awful aroma of tea leaves, a less than subtle reminder to dispose of wasteful material. His focus shifts to the cup.
From a connected, closed off, room a flushing sound is heard. The comode empties and gurgles. He felt sorry for the plumbing, but more so for the cigarette smoking man.