Hugh Bonar
Junebug '77

The sun is coming down and his skin is dappling. To the right, down below, the ocean rolls on the shore.

He hears it. He hears the ocean rolling on the shore. He feels the sun on his arms...

C enters house, into bedroom where C stands, throws back hand; blow is invisible to camera: he strikes, there is a sound like thunder; she flies onto the bed.

"You dirty motherfucker!"

"You whore!"

C leaps upon her screaming.

Shot of C's head, isolated against multifluous background, streaks of black and fluorescent green descending at furious speeds. "And so we slip DOWN," she shouts. "DOWN, DOWN, DOWN ever further, past beyond dreams, past even beyond the realm of hope!"

Slowly, he takes the shiny silver razor, shakes it once, sharply, to clean the blade, and holding it between them to focus their attention, lowers it down to her skin, where he slowly cuts, leaving a corn syrup trail...

C's severed head before surging background:

"HE CUT ME -- JUST LIKE I WANTED HIM TO!"

(scene cuts to native drums; scenes show African tribesmen; gazelles bounding under sun; chimp masturbating. Then open on wet dark alley. Footsteps. The couple proceeds. He is wearing studded leather jacket, she black mini-skirt.)

"Buildings seemed to collapse as we walked down the street..."

(Black cityscape collapsing)

"Her arms were strong enough to smash through solid wood."

(C smashing table at Mexican restaurant)

"Hosey. Hosanna. Hiawatha."

Burst of light and birdsong. Suddenly car speeds into the parking lot, bumping over the curb, slams on its brakes. C and C, sitting in the patio of the hamburger stand, look up: a tall Indian with flowing hair has exited and approaches furiously. "Oh, shit!" cries C. But it's too late: he grabs C by the collar, holds him up close. "HEY MAN, THAT'S MY LADY!"

They're speeding away. She lights a cigarette.

"He and I had this thing going..."

He nods. "Right..."

"I made him promise that if I ever broke up with him, he'd stalk me."

"Uh huh."

She looks at him. "Wouldn't you do that?" she says, suddenly seductive. "If I broke up with you, would you do that?"

"Uh..." he says.

She shakes her head. "Never mind; I gotta go see my psychiatrist."

Shot of C opening office door; as door opens horrible demonic howls and groans can be heard from inside; there is visible, barely for an instant, a wash of orange, yellow and red lights. She tiptoes away mischievously. Inside, psychiatrist sits in multi-colored lights, in sixties plastic swivel chair, blissed-out, pants around ankles…

i was around broadway and daly the other night and it is another world -- a city that has become itself so totally in its degradation that the natural world is a forgotten memory, and this has its only totally unique set of traits and quirks -- and i felt so much more at home here, because here in all this there was infinitely more possibility of actually looking at someone, of seeing them, even if was only in recognition of violence, or fear, or pain. i bought food from a taco stand where english was a distantly second language and inside the little shack i could see them turning slats of ribs over the fiery grill with grease-spittled tongs, orange flames leaping up through the wrought-iron grill, steam and smoke rising. SPLASH! the dead meat sizzles on the grill. then it was across the street to the liquor store, past the mexican bakery where through the window i can see people pulling down pastries from the chrome racks lining the walls, into the liquor store where an old chinese man makes a set of keys for a mexican in a faded bomber jacket, and i go and get beer and notice a table top set out with obscure mexican candy that i've never seen before, little cartoon characters adorning, all sweet and powdery red, and i buy my beer and look at the cigars and it's back out on the street where i look at the girls as i walk along, paper bags under my arms, and these girls are the most beautiful things i've ever seen. i could lay them out on the street and kiss them endlessly. i could sleep in the concrete and let the trucks rolls over me and ground me into the dust, leaving me sloppy roadkill on the road, faded gutteral into the black. ribs crack and turn beneath rubber roar. split skull-teeth grind into the earth.

He comes over to her house. She's smoking a cigarette. She bars the doorway with one hand. She seems angry.

"Uh...what's wrong?"

"My ex came by after you left."

"Oh. And...?"

"I fucked him," she said.

"You what?"

"I fucked him," she repeated.

"You what?" he said.

"I FUCKED HIM!" she shouted. "YEAH, HE CAME BY, AND THEN I FUCKED HIM!"

He reels, holding his hands to his head. "Ohhh..." His balance is worsening. "I don't think I can....OH!" he shakes suddenly as if hit by a jolt. "Look at that, look at that...OH!" -- another jolt. He kneels down, brushes his fingers into the ground. "My god, I can see so...so deeply, right into the cracks..." Another jolt. Then he looks out in front of him, extends one hand -- "And, my god, the -- the horizon -- the sunflowers -- I -- I -- "

He screams, falling to the ground.

Light opens on palatial, ivy-lined estate. Inside hospital corridors, C walks determinedly wearing white nightgown, arms pumping and eyes locked, ignoring the other patients. He storms into his room; many piles of manuscript paper line the walls. Quickly sitting down at desk, he takes up piece of paper and begins frantically writing with a feathered pen.

Waldau near Berne, the 22nd on April 1905

Esteemed sister-in-law.

I find it necessary to give the following reply to the recently received letter. I was happy to hear from you again; Regret however very much, that you are suffering from a sick leg. I wish you a speedy recovery. Since the 4th of June, 1895, I am now accomodated in the psychiatric clinic Waldau, because I was frightened by own beloved, whom I intended to marry. Unfortunately, I let her go again and the consequence was that we were both arrested. Of course, I started to yell and kick up a row, which is usually the case in such circumstances. Since then I am lying here. Try again once more dear sister-in-law, to visit me as soon as possible and if possible to bring along a small pack of tobacco and 1 or 2 pencils. I am always drawing. But do not forget on any account, to take along little Emma and if possible brother Johann. I want to finish with friendly greetings.

Adolf Wölfi.
Motto. Go get gabbage gobbets. (Ggabis-Ggope ggaufen gefalligst)

Shot of C in consultation office, impatiently smoking. "That's it, man, I've had it with you -- I'm outta here!"

"Well," says the sheepish psychiatist...

C storms from the room, a chimney stack. "Fuckin' regulator…" Climbing to the roof she jumps down into a delivery truck as it leaves the courtyard, landing with a soft thud. She calls him from the red and white tiled bathroom of a hamburger joint. "Hi baby!" she says...

Everything comes together now. In red rooms men dressed in red devil costumes with little plastic horns, and cardboard fire painted red... bra used as bridle... penises pumping into palms... her back curls and elongates with delicate skeletal smoothness, almost visible under luminous skin... raven hair tossed back...then looking down and behind, head pressed into the ground, lipstick mouth stretched into a cube... behind cardboard painted buildings a pair dressed like flies, green jumpsuits with turquoise-foil wings, with scuba masks...delicate snips cut off her clothes with shining silver...pushing her stocking foot into his mouth, pushing out the cheek...on an orange bed with painted daisies...

He snuggles up close. There's something happening...there is an expectation...I feel myself moving back in time...

Junebug 1977


Dominique: the name rolls off the tongue like a taut nipple.

We were in Martinique, where I read to her about a banquet in Ancient Greece -- "cracking open the pig pastries I discovered a fine fat oriole, nicely seasoned with pepper. As well as honey rolled in sesame, peacock's eggs, and a hare tricked out with wings. At the corners of the tray stood four little gravy boats, all shaped like the satyr Marsegas, with phalluses for spouts and a spicy hot gravy dripping down over several large fish swimming about in the bottom of the tray."

She sits on the macrame bed while through the wicker windows we watch the translucent ocean beyond. Dominique is so beautiful; I can run my finger along her lower lip, lightly pressing...

The next day we walk through town, Dominique takes off her shirt and walks along the dirt streets -- I am wearing brown polyester bell-flared slacks, shirt open, camera pressed to my face, tilting sideways, then straight. The white pebbles crunch under my shoes. The sun shines through the sea. We pass by street vendors selling black tea and 'Fresco' (written on hand-painted sign) in old green bottles from sea-worn stands. One we know, Dominique beckons him over. She lays down on a turquoise blanket by the road, and smiling, draws his hands to her breasts, he squeezes them together, slickened with sweat -- dusty hands molding, her mouth is open, red mouth in silent gasp that is almost laughter, lips slightly curled at the corners, just, just imperceptibly... I tell her about Marlene Dietrich twisting her hair in Moroccan archways, how my love for Marlene is nothing compared to my love for her, the chaos of her mouth, the character of its infinite curl...

We are upstairs speaking into a reel to reel, miniature microphone propped on tiny stand. Reels slowly spinning, I see her in the bathroom, the water running, steam rising, embracing the air; I see her brown foot dangling from the tub, steamy droplets trailing the circular mirror.

C and C walk down city streets when suddenly they hear a blood-curdling cry -- it's the ex-husband on top of a large tenement building. He's wearing a vest with no shirt on, blue jeans, big knife in one hand. Seeing he has their attention, he points, screams, leaps. However, he has failed to notice high tension wires beneath; he collides and current splices through him; sparks and smoke rise up; he screams; in a sudden burst his limbs are torn away: he explodes.

"Whew, that was a close one -- hey -- !"

He whips his head around. She's gone!

Now he's calling from the red-tiled bathroom. He's shaking his head, struggling. "But -- wait a second! -- I -- I --"

He shakes his head. "But baby, I got this vision, see, you and me, we're all dressed up -- I'm in a black tuxedo with, you in miniskirt with raven hair, we look like maniacs, beautiful, it's all there in our eyes, everyone knows we could tear them apart -- we tear each other apart -- that's it, we do, we tear each other apart and live, walk together with hands held lightly, touch each other with such fucking gentility, up the long hill and into the amphitheater, we walk through the crowd and their eyes are all upon us, there's nothing they can do about it, just stare, and then we sit, and the music plays, and the music goes, you see -- I watch you listening, you've never heard it before, but I have, I know what's coming, I know every note by heart...and now you are hearing it, and now we both have come to listen..."

There was nothing to do but invite him to join their dancing. They had come to the garden in search of the extraordinary, so it they were neither surprised nor frightened when a young man stepped out from within the trees. It seemed very natural that as he danced he should fall in love with the beautiful Vasilisa. The other princesses encouraged the two and contrived to leave them alone. But at that moment the sun rose, and all enchanted creatures must depart.

But the prince was too much in love. He followed them and recklessly threw open the forbidden gates of Kastchei's Palace. All at once the most infernal trumpets and bells sounded-- a rout of demons immediately closed off any path of escape. The branches were filled in an instant with hundreds of imps, and the underbrush teemed with goblins. Then at last their skeletal king appears. Nothing of the horror of his two-headed attendants, or even his children with their arachnid bellies, could equal that of Kastchei. A thin blue skin was unable to cover his bones; his eyes flowed with slime. A chimera he was, to the ends of his long green claws!

But the Prince carried with him an egg. In the egg the Death of Kastchei was held prisoner. Kastchei rushed at the Prince who threw the egg into the air. The King leapt to catch it, but it fell, breaking in a thousand pieces. Kastchei's Death escaped, and immediately he and his rout of demons disappeared.

The petrified knights all at once began to move. Sunlight penetrated all parts of the forest, dissolving the Palace of Kastchei and the dwelling of his dreams. Crowns appeared on the heads of the princesses, and Vasilisa and the Prince find themselves attired in full wedding regalia. All the Knights and all the Princesses -- still enchanted, but now by a benign power -- formed a great wedding cortege, and without further delay there takes place in the Kingdom of Thrice-Nine the marriage of Prince Ivan and Princess Vasilisa.

C and C stand together on amphitheater stage, hands held, as triumphal conclusion to "Firebird" plays, growing in urgency, even before conclusion the crowd is cheering, they stand bathed in the light, heads raised, to the sounds of

GENERAL

REJOICING


Speeding away, we drive through a marshy area on narrow road, green and black rice paddies on either side. i look at her in the passenger seat, blowing smoke. i used to be so afraid -- often i still am -- now there is this new vision of sweetness. "hey, look at that!" we zip past a man tending a pebble garden in front of his little hut --rakes his pebble garden and washes himself out in the sands -- makes new patterns and smiles at the moon, rakes and comes apart again; sand man, moon man, china man, hat with gauze of silk, demon mask beneath; grinning at the moon; laughing at evil; laughing at his big bad evil self -- drinking hot wine on cold nights from frail china bowls, gripped by knobbly white fingers. the wine is hot as it goes through him. he is filled up beneath the cold winter's moon. the moon is as hot as wine.