We have this thing/ Poem by Gerald Blanchard

Spent all my time with illusion
I lie, laying near you
Soft sounds, distance
Backgrounds, pulling, melting.

We have this thing, souls floating together
Much like the last time, different costumes
Scents, glancing, grinning, ear to foot.
It’s all coming back to us

No one knows really. I like it like that.
Turn my head, at that right moment.
In a photograph I am only but perfect
Together we’re both vulnreable to exposure

Both drowning in numbers
Statistics, size play, positions
Many lies used, after all
I was the king of them.

We sit in the same room not talking
We have this thing, handsome.
I had a dream your face melted, brutal.
I just have to write down this moment.

You are beautiful, I am beautiful and hurt
Once I killed you with a finger
Then brought you back with a fist
With the assistance of my hands

Often our fantasies included an empty realm
The clothes were wore to take off
A particular day, a sudden shirt change
Desert sun and the air was static

There was a weekend together, at the lodge
We felt years in days, and never let the taste leave
In a goodbye you kissed me, hard as jets exploded
We have this thing

Body Cages / Poem by Gerald Blanchard

Hair escaping from the side.
White brief, dark patches.
Everyone feels like, soft fabric under my
palms. Round, firm, tight, patches of static.

(PAUSE)

Love that feel, tug of pulling the waistband.
Engage me in fantasy. Of our bodies, tangled.
Behind you, I examine, your landscape.
Body cages.

Breathing hard, slight motion, your backside,
shaking, tightens, holding.
Tighter, now. I crave that weekend getaway
I’ll be back for your body, and soul.
How could we ever leave, that beauty.
Of that feeling in your stomach.

(PAUSE)

Used you all the time,
but with different bodies. You always stayed
there. I was leaving long ago, anyway,
Wrote this story knowing,
I was comfort in your hands.

(pause)

I’ve thought of you all week. No lies.
Of us all week. Falling asleep in your grasps.
Tender touches and offers.
Saw your room was darkness, wondered where you
roamed. Drove us crazy with teasing. Wanted
to see that tattoo hidden.
Imagine your taste. Imagine escaping.
Together, away, for the time being.
Your black shirt, tight muscles and short hair.
The way you look, look at me.
Say my name like it is your favorite word.
Sacred to admit, I like you mean.

(pause)
But all we have are, Interactions, smile and nods.
Imagine the night, where we can get lost.
Lost in arms, folded. With all issues gone, that time
between us, with trust.

(pause)

I was soaked from the rain, you
warm and inviting. Strong back, confirmation,
that you were into. Years apart. Destinies drifting.
Into us, laughing.
2 AM. In the morning, felt a certain way.
But we still thought of others as we slept. Warned.
This moment. Only last for now.
Saw your weary look.

(pause)

Rips my stomach apart. Eased breathe.
Never to see you again, but only for a brief glimpse.
Of what could have been.
Had a vivid dream. It’s ok to want me, it’s ok to say
hello. Just to see me.

(pause)

Your strong body, my small frame. I jumped up often,
you held yourself down. Got a roaring laugh, love
that black hoodie.

(pause)

Often I hope you will be looking, you always seem to be
Could be tricks or magic, but that’s what I want. Got something
on your mind other than work. Am I a bad person?
For wanting distance, a mountain between us.

(pause)

Even if it’s not soft, relax. Need to feel that other hand.
Baby, I know you want to hide. You are so beautiful.

(deep sigh)

Moment was over, should have held it longer, wanted your body
could have been anybody. Had a thick accent, saw your browsing
history. I was missing. I was missing.

suddenly

it rips at your soul
this gnawing, festering, smelling,
thoughts while I was daydreaming
need to have the world

want to make a painting
with actual feeling
and know the answer beyond the door
but fear the outcome and more

words words all the time, get me through the day
something good happens twice, but then
the world dissolved away
and I was here again with the same thinking

want to be the best, make the painting
with time to rest, no waiting
happiness, where does it drift
somewhere after the work shift

has it been so simple
that I was, I was
with the wrong shadow,
too long in the same pot with no grow

don’t let me out of a distraction
i spend too much time in reflection
of all the times I could have had
but maybe they’d make me sad

suddenly i lost the thing that was chewing at me.

Cyberspace job market of death and the sea of opportunities

Often times we wake up in the mornings tired, grumpy and misplaced about the previous night.  Monday mornings can be even worse, at times. But, they are usually all just the time. Especially if you go to the same job, day in day out. The exciting world of reception: riveting. Actually, not. Although it is nice to be employed one has to wonder if having a job just to pay the bills is anyway to enjoy life.

The writer in me is screaming to get out.  I think. But to write about what? All writers have their special projects (the stories held close to them), they all have their humorous side and all really don’t want to sell out. Though, you have to in this business, in some regard. You are still writing but perhaps not writing about what you wish to be writing about. I think a lot of writers have this ridiculous thought of them in some victorian garb in a bell tower with a feather pen.  I’m not one to judge, I had my own fantasies of being a writer. They can exist, I keep telling myself.   You will have to write something you don’t really want to write about, though. Oh, and that thought frightens me.

Like waiting for a ride that seems like it won’t show up, writing about something that you don’t want to sounds exhausting. Searching in the sea of opportunities for writing jobs I find that its all about things that I don’t want to write about. Soul crushing topics like sports, women’s lifestyle, electronic products. Me? A food blogger? Sigh. I guess the writers plight is fair as we all desire to be writing the essence of our identities. However, it’s also fine to try and write about new things — which I am trying to embrace. I won’t forget my strength points but could attempt other things. If I want to write I know I have to follow three rules 1) read 2)try anything 3)write to live.

Probably.  Back to my wondering thought about searching for a job in the 2k10’s. I am not sure what happened but the job market is like a sea of unanswered craigslist ads and a wasteland of depleted job summaries. Half the time you are wondering if a job posting you are reading is actually worth EVEN READING. Then, an excitement beams. You see something that oh-one-two-three qualifications, then a surprise fourth. You never went to school for that. Or you weren’t in GUAM at the right time to see a raining star (who knows).   Thumbing down the oodles of different offerings is like viewing a webcam of a buffet. You can’t see it but can’t consume it.

None of the jobs seem perfect. Maybe finding the perfect relationship is like finding the perfect job it never happens. That’s a poor view of both the job market and my own relationship goals, YIKES! But, really. When do we give up on our destination for a perfect life and settle for something that isn’t the most comfortable. Have I already done that?

It does happen though. It has to, the job ads can’t all be robots on the internet. Unless it’s a big joke of the internet gods, which hey, is kind of funny. Imagine all of us feebleminded phobies (thats phone and zombies) gazing dreamily at the presents  of opportunity and all for nothing, but so that a few robots can last. That probably isn’t the case, but you can’t help but to think that what we’re seeing is a wasteland of data.  It makes me wonder what job will eventually be PERFECT enough for me that gives me the chance to break free of the cyberspace job market.  A terrifying place.

As I’m sitting in my expensive apartment writing on my laptop I have this renewed sense of energy. One, I am  writing again. Two, I am feeling like any word can be the change of my destiny. I live off that feeling. Day to day out, feeling like any word I write could change the outcome of my life (In a way our internet searches could be the new digital road for us to travel along). I live off this silly gut slamming feeling that any word I could write could change the day.  And in a way a strong proudness is fleeing from my body because of that thought. I know that my words will find that job one day (it’s important after all you have to use words to search for jobs) and that will make truly happy.

 

NIGHT PREY

NIGHT PREY is a screenplay that I have been working on for awhile (since the start of 2016?) that I have really enjoyed writing.  This screenplay has taught me a lot about writing self in that I know how to be very comedic without realizing. Actually all my writings have a depth of comedy to them that I never realized.  It is inspiring me to write a comedy. We will see how far that desire goes. Night Prey is one of my favorite piece of writings. I think about it often and really enjoy the characters.

Log-line:  “A group of teenagers lure and savagely beat a young gay boy during a dark cold night. Unbeknownst to them a serial killer watched their every move and now has them all as his prey”. 

The screenplay is in a good position and I have a lot of confidence in it  — the thing about any sort of creative work is that it will always be in process. I can say that Night Prey is done but it always can be edited. Every time I open a screenplay I will edit something about it, perhaps I get too lost in the editing process (that is one strength I need to hone). Sometimes the hardest part of being a writer is going back and reading the screenplay from page 1 to 100 to see if works or to see if it intriguing.  I think the biggest tip for play writes and screenwriters is that upon re reading your 50,000 word story that YOU have to enjoy its purpose.  With each page you have to read like it is unfamiliar — it still has to catch you by surprise, it still has to have you on the edge of your seat. Your screenplay needs to go beyond the words and it needs to be visualized in your head as a grand portrayal of you.

The Story idea came from a desire to tell a truly scary story but also include themes of gay  identity/experience. Gay characters are not present in horror genre films — as the horror genre is tragically formulaic.  Night Prey explores the unknown horrors of being gay more specifically how isolated/alone gay people feel and it goes beyond that simple statement and in turn encompass a broader theme of how we’re all scared to be alone. Which is an important theme in horror films, being alone, being vulnerable.

As a young gay person you are scared to meet anyone like you at first and scared to let anyone know about you. Essentially you are alone for a large part of your youth life if you are a gay person (but not everyone is the same). You have visions of what it will be like the smiles the haircuts the practiced lines. And you are also afraid of the possible nightmares. Being young and gay is SCARY because you don’t know who to trust and you don’t know what violence can be created from your search of acceptance and comfort. Rumors. Opinions. News Articles. We hear things and they mean a lot to us.  They all infiltrate and pull us into a direction. Not all gay life is the same, some have it easy, some don’t.  Night Prey focuses on themes of gay youth, discovery and the bravery that all young gay people have to gain from experiencing.

Through the 97 pages the reader is put through an onslaught of horror. Over the top evil and shocking occurrences, blood, mayhem, screaming, nudity, surrealism.  All used to scare the viewer/reader which is the main objective of the horror genre. However, littered throughout the screenplay are references to gay culture that are unusual to the casual horror fan. Gay identity is rare in any major platform but ESPECIALLY in the horror genre.  There hasn’t been that gay horror film — and I mean REALLY gay; gay culture references, gay characters, breaking stereotypes etc —  that bridges both cult and acceptance with the audience the horror genre is attended for. Is it possible? I do wonder. I imagine how fans of the genre would respond to this screenplay. It contains all the same materials you would find in a Friday the 13th film or a Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Running. Screaming. Gore. But it’s all queered. Would they enjoy it or be repulsed by the change of their formula?  That is the hardest part of the horror genre breaking through the formula.  Night Prey is shattering the formula unapologetically but still being true to the genre format.  It is a risk. It is a gamble. But it is beautifully mine and I’ve enjoyed writing every bit of it.

At times my desire in life is to bring that first big gay horror film to the screens.  To shatter the expectations of our audience. I grew up watching horror movies and I think thats part of my purpose as a writer to challenge the movies I’ve seen to bring new ideas to light and to find my place as a horror master. Night Prey could just be the beginning.

Favorite Lines from the screenplay:

“I thought I heard demons through the headphones! Scratching noises and screaming. It’s like the pits of hell. I’m serious man. listen?”

“I’ll be honest, I’m looking for someone. And you are not it, sorry. You ever been out here before? Well, there are some places out in the field that are so isolated you’d think you were the only person alive on Earth. Yeah, you could get lost out there.
Goes 90 miles back, thick fields, anything could be out there. Anyone. The ground is different too, soft. You could just observe without anyone knowing you were there. Looking, for how long, who knows. They say everyone gets watched at least once in their life without their knowing. In a shop, down the street, through a window.”

“Ya’ll be friends forever? Know each other secrets. I think that’s hot. Slumber parties, baseball trophies, sweat pants. Late nights, scary movies. Thinking of you all being buddies”

“I always imagined it all so different. With different faces, bodies, haircuts. Longer nights, those stomach wrenching mornings of good- byes.I have been infatuated with love too, all a long, romantic jolts, love letters left. Obsessions. A beauty all mine.I imagine him. Handsome, dark, rough voiced. Older than I, I like that, experienced, fearless, viewed dark things, laughing strong — late night humor. Dangerous, holding me close, could you let go? Part of the pull is knowing that he might. In my illusions we relax together, without touching, static bodies of inclination. Say words we practiced. I would covet his darkness and time spent within. He once said that I always have this look, this look as if I am thinking of something difficult. I wince. If he only knew I was often thinking of nothing. Would he find me mysterious then? We are laying; underwear, socks on, his back to the ceiling. Hours of time spent with no definition. Dark hair, light hair. At peace. Lost in the thickest woods of fantasy. This is what we have always wanted. Time drifting, stress lifting. Galaxies can fly by, all because we’re together. Alone. For what seems like an eternal amount of days, maybe we’ve only been here for minutes though.In his car, passenger seat, grins of promise. Reflection in the mirror, jaw dropped from words. Sun melting into the black. At least this is how I wish it. He believes that he frightens me. The power of asking “Do I scare you” is part of our game. I lie, only to create that electric bond of our different powers. One night, he told me he was secretly a Monster. But how can a monster be so handsome? And on that same night he confessed to me that he killed someone violently. He asked again if I was afraid of him now that I knew of his past. Eyes glimmering, I said yes. But I really wasn’t. I was in love more than ever before.”

” I’d just do anything for you. You’re scared. Ignore it all. It’s just us right now.
You and me could’a been something great, you know? Special. I say that all the time, I mean it. You look at me, not knowing to be afraid or turned on. As we slept together, did you want to run. I only wanted to be your man. From the moment I met you, you have made me feel as if….”

Other thoughts circling my brain // THE FUTURE
Filming Night Prey. 
How to get Night Prey produced.
How to bring my vision to the screen.
Screenplay contests