MOVIE SCRIPTS BY DUANE LOCKE 


MOVIE SCRIPT 16
 

Director: In this cinema,
We are going to privilege
The details of daily life,
And each scene will be
Viewed from an isolated perception.
Only the literal fact
Will be camerized,
No symbolism or sur-symbolism.
An awareness of the ordinary mind
Will be transmitted.
 
The movie:
 
Snow falling, snow falling in front of snow.
Snow falling,
Seems nothing but snow.
But in the right hand corner,
Barely seen,
The sun is falling on a sunflower.
 
The petals of the sunflower start blazing,
A yellow fire is seen.
 
The snow melts.
 
The sky is a pale blue, a Perugino blue,
The type of blue that Perugino painted skies.
 
Camera moves back. The sunflower
Is seen to be in a frame, a dark gold frame.
 
It is on a museum wall in a heated building.
 
One museum guard says to another guard,
"Do you know there is a heavy snow, outside?"
 

"No, who cares, it so warm in this museum."
 
Snow starts to fall on the shoulders of their uniforms.
 
 
 

MOVIE SCRIPT 17
 

A man with crowbar, pulls on a lock
Of a door that has not been unlocked in years.
 
The man has his sleeves rolled up,
He wants to display his tattoo.
 
It is said to be the only tattoo
Of its kind in existence. Done in Hong Kong.
 
The tattoo is a mandarin duck with spread wings
Standing on the eye of a gigantic peacock feather.
 
He finds an urn, mostly ashes.
It was the ashes of something burned
 
Many centuries ago. He finds
A human arm, so old
 
The skin is dried to the bones.
He carefully examines the skin.
 
On the arm there is a tattoo
Of a mandarin duck with spread wings
 
Standing on the eye of a gigantic peacock feather.
He looks at the tattoo on his arm.
 
His arm is missing.
Now he has only one arm.
 

MOVIE SCRIPT  18
 
A right-handed man holds his left hand
In front of a large, flaming candle.
 
The skin is translucent as translucent
As a hand in a painting by Gregory De La Tour.
 
He holds up right-hand, it is opaque.
He examines his right, it has turned to marble.
 
He takes a chisel from his sculptor's rack,
He will carve a hand from the marble.
 
The chisel only slides off the marble.
He notices that it is marble from Carrollton, Texas.
 
He picks up a hammer, and carries the chisel
To find his wife, so she can carve him a hand.
 
She has left a note on the mirror in her room,
She is leaving him forever, going to Carrollton.
 
He goes next to his neighbor, a bulky man,
To get him to carve a hand from the marble.
 
The neighbor has a note on his door
That he was moved permanently to Carrollton.
 
He goes down town to find someone
To carve the marble into shape of a hand.
 
The town is empty.  It is now a ghost town,
Everyone has moved to Carrollton.
 
He finds out there is no one in the State of  Florida.
Every one had moved to Carrollton.
 
He decided that he just had to live
With his right hand being marble.
 
He could learn to use his left hand,
But it was going to be terrible
 
Being all alone. No one to drink
Scotch whiskey with on Thursday night.
 
He looked in his mirror.  He saw
Only the marble, no other part of his body.
 

MOVIE SCRIPT 19
 
Director: in this cinema on the life of Xavier Villaurrutia
Is be done in the style of  "s'mbolo del barroco" and will be
Titled "Muero ergo sum."   We will not use any narrative
Or linear organization.
 
The only words spoken is in the beginning is when Villaurrutia
Quotes himself, "Mientras por competir con tu cabello."
 

An interruption:  The assistant director protests that Villaurrutia
Did not say that, it was said by the poet G'ngora.
 
The director immediately fired the assistant director, telling him
That he did not understand the aesthetic philosophy upon which
This cinema was based.
 

The  movie:
 
In front of  an inn that has only the floor constructed, an albino
Fox plays chess with the skeleton of a fox.  
 
The wind knocks over a blank canvas on an easel.
 
A blonde wig hung on a clothes line
Falls on the head of a barking black dog.
 
The night is a swinging door, and the door
Never stops swinging.
 
A crayon crumbles around some chives
Sprouting out of a crack in the sidewalk.
 
An unfinished Galatea is begging the sculptor
To carve her a tongue.
 
The echo of a shadow is having a spasm
Inside a locked trunk.
 
Sur magazine publishes Nostalgia de la muerte.
 
The End
 

MOVIE SCRIPT 20
 
Director:  This is to be a philosophical movie
That eschews mimesis, does not mirror the illusion
Called life or the illusion called the world. This
Cinema's veracity is that this cinema is life,
Is the world.  This cinema is literal realism,
Is literal realism, or literal visualism, or visualistic reality.
 
The movie, La Chevelure Vol D'une Flamme:
 
The redhead sought the bar where Modigliani
Longed to see a wagon wheel covered by snow
In Russia. The white spokes made him think of
Bones, rib bones, and he could reach through flesh
And go through blood to contact the mysterious
Reality of rib bones.  He could touch what was known by
Predated man and predated paint by touching.
The rib bones were always concealed by flesh when alive
And could never be seen as living rib bones. The rib bones
Could only be seen when dead, and the mystery,
The hermetic knowledge was gone.
 
It was snowing in Livorno, the redhead wore a midriff,
And had chill bumps on her stomach. She touched
The bumps, the bumps were like stone cupolas
On soft flesh. The bumps felt like Braille.  Soon
As she feels herself, she was reading sentences.
The sentences said that her hair was a sunrise
When in open air, and her's was a sunset
When she was in the evening shadows.  When
She combed her, the comb became a satyr,
The comb stood upright and danced on its hooves.
The comb rubbed its horns against her skull.
 
She was so happy that she decided to go
To her attic and write a book on metaphysics.
She would write a book on Being,
Even Heidegger had not written
The definitive book on Being.
Yes, she screamed with joy, as she leaped
Through the snow, reading the sentences
Of the Braille of the chill bumps on her stomach,
"I will write a book on Being."
 
Modigliani waited at the bar for the redhead,
But she never arrived. He drunk
One Campari after another Campari.
 
 
 
 
 
Copyright by Duane Locke 
E mail: duanelocke@netzero.net
 
Biographical Note:
 
Duane Locke, Doctor of Philosophy, English Renaissance literature,
Professor Emeritus of the Humanities was Poet in Residence at the
University of Tampa for over 20 years.
 
Has had (July 6, 2003) 4,897 poems published.  With 103 more, he will 
have 5,000 poems published.
 
Over 2,000 were published in print magazines, such as American 
Poetry Review, Nation, and Bitter Oleander.  In September 1999, 
he became a cyber poet, added 2,897 poems published in E zines.
 
Is the author of 14 print books of poetry, and in 2002, added 3 
E books,The Squids Dark Ink,  From a Tiny Room, and  The Death of  Daphne.
 

He is also a painter, having many exhibitions, his latest at the 
city art museum in Gainesville, Florida.  Also, a photographer, 
now has over 172 photos in e zines.  He does close-ups of trash 
tossed away in alleys.
 
Duane Locke now lives alone in a two-story decaying house in the 
sunny Tampa slums. He lives isolated and estranged as an alien, 
not understanding the customs, the costumes, the language (some 
form of postmodern English) of his neighbors.  The egregious 
ugliness of his neighborhood has recently been mitigated by the 
police force who put up bright orange and bright yellow posters 
to advertise the location as an al fresco shopping mall for drugs. 
His alley is the dumping ground for stolen cars, and thus one 
advantage of living in this neighborhood, if  one's car is stolen, 
he can step out in the back and pick it up.  Another advantage is 
that the burglars are afraid to come in on account of the muggers.   
Taxi drivers and pizza deliverers are afraid to come into this
neighborhood.  When he has a visitor, the visitor arrives with 
fear and trembling.
 
His recreational activities are drinking wine, mainly Shiraz, 
listening to old operas, and reading postmodern philosophy.