August 20, 2012 Comments Off
Music Track by Occurrences in the Rain. Directed by Ginnetta Correli
From a film currently in production called: Marty’s House
August 14, 2012 Comments Off
Music by Occurrences in the Rain. Directed by Ginnetta Correli.
Shots on TV from the movie: Diamonds are Forever directed by Guy Hamilton.
December 24, 2011 Comments Off
October 18, 2011 Comments Off
MINDSCAPES IS A FILM EVENT WHICH STRIVES TO BRING TOGETHER ESTABLISHED AND EMERGING ARTISTS FROM AROUND THE WORLD.
FILMMAKERS CASSANDRA SECHLER AND GINNETTA CORRELI HAVE CURATED THE MINDSCAPES SHOW IN ORDER TO CREATE AN ALTERNATIVE SPACE FOR DARK, PERSONAL FILMS OFTEN IGNORED BY THE COMMERCIAL WORLD.
WORKS SELECTED REPRESENT A CRITICAL MOVEMENT HAPPENING UNDER THE BELLY OF MAINSTREAM CULTURE.
NUNO O.C. MADEIRA
SIMON THEIS HANSEN
MARIANO RENTERIA GARNICA
EAT CAKE AND WORSHIP SATAN
AS HUMAN PATTERN
August 24, 2011 Comments Off
Sound: Zigo Rayopineal
Film: Ginnetta Correli
April 18, 2011 Comments Off
Written & Narrated: Alastair Cook
Directed & Edited: Ginnetta Correli
Soundtrack: Pierrepoint’s Epitaph by Dirk Drieson
June 4, 2010 Comments Off
“You read at third-year college level,” the school counselor says.
Wow, me? I smile and show my teeth.
“We don’t have a class to put you in but you can be a reading tutor for a remedial reading class,” she says.
Wow, my first few days of class at Wisbe Junior High school. I am so smart. I get to be a tutor. I always thought I was smart.
“Do you know how to type?” The counselor asks.
“Great. Some kids come here and don’t have a clue how to type. For now you go ahead and join Mrs. Reisland’s typing class in room twenty-four.”
“Okay,” I say. I join the class.
“Go ahead and sit. Join in when you’re ready,You can just start typing with the rest of the class.”
“Okay. You know, I think I’m gonna like this school. A new start. I can’t wait,” I say.
“Good glad to hear it Beatie. Now go ahead and take a seat,” Mrs. Reisland says.
I take a seat near a boy with straight red hair and freckles.
“Hi, I’m Beatie.” I smile and show him my teeth.
“Hi,” he says. I know he likes me, I can tell. I smile at him. My teeth choppers like a rabbit’s two front teeth. I watch him type. He types fast. He does not look at the keys. The typewriter is not electric; instead, it’s a manual Corona. What’s weird is the keyboard doesn’t show the letters. It’s a blank keyboard. I try to type the words from the typing book assignment. I can’t type without being able to see the letters on the keypad.
“Is something wrong?” Mrs. Reisland asks. She inspects my blank paper.
“No, nothing,” I say. I keep my eyes on my feet.
“Well, if you need any help let me know.” Mrs. Reisland cannot help me.
May 28, 2010 Comments Off
Father is quiet. We travel in the Datsun to Mother’s trailer twenty miles away to the desert. A mile an a half outside the town of Twenty-nine Palms.
The trailer park is called the Oasis Park. We pull into the trailer park.
“Where’s the Oasis?” I ask.
“Please don’t talk, Just don’t talk,” Father says.
Up a dirt road inside the Oasis Park a small barefoot girl pushes a stroller
and smiles at us. Father passes her and stops the car in front of space #348.
The man Lenney, from the mental hospital sits on the porch of a single wide manufactured home. He wears a white tank top and holds a beer can. His dark slippers surround his white socks. He takes a sip of beer. Father backs up the Datsun and pulls up the driveway. I get out of the car, my trash bags filled with clothes. Lenney smiles at me and glides his hand across his greased-back hair.
“Where’s Frata?” Father asks.
“Oh, let me get her. Honey, he’s here with Beatie,”
Mother comes outside. Her hair grown long. She wears a pony tail. Mother smiles and welcomes me with her arms.
I don’t want to hug Mother. Mother smells of sweat and cigarettes.
“Hi Mom,” I stare at an old frayed green couch on the porch. We walk inside the modular home.
“Frata, you know I doing you a big favor,” Father says.
“What do you want us to do, live in the street?” Mother says.
We sit on the red velvet couch from the bright yellow house our family once shared together.
Father sits. “How much dis gonna cost to get dis dump out of foreclosure?”
Father’s shirt pocket stuffed with his blue checkbook, pen and pocket protector.
“Two thousand dollars.” Mother says. She lights a cigarette.
“What you do with all the money you get from the state?”
“I don’t have it,” Mother takes a drag off the cigarette.
“Mama Mia. You crazy”
Father swings his head towards the shag carpet. Lenny takes a sip of his beer. Lenney sits in the kitchen at the metal dining room table, his back to us.
“What does he do all day?” Father asks. He points to Lenney.
Lenney takes another sip of beer and takes a seat on the couch near us. He wipes his face with his shirt. No one answers Father.
“Frata, what you are doing is crazy, I don’t know how you gonna live Frata. Your gonna end up back in dat mental hospital.”
Mother stares at the carpet. Father writes the check and tears it out of a
book. He hands the check to Mother. “Make sure you call the mortgage company tomorrow and let them know you need a receipt.”
Mother takes another drag of her Salem. “Again, What do you expect me to do?” She stares at Father.
“Frata, I don’t expect you to do anything. It’s your life now. If he gets a job maybe dat could help your situation. Maybe then you could go back
to college and become a real nurse.”
Father hands Mother the check. She smiles and folds it. Mother stuffs the check inside the back of her back jean pocket.
“I am a nurse.” Mother keeps her eyes on the ground.
“All I know is I have to get back to the office. Dis is your problem, nurse.” Father points to me.
I keep my eyes on a dusty framed black and white poster of Elvis on the wall nearby. Darlin little pie/Don’t you worry/I’m gonna be right by your side. I smile at him. Elvis will not let me down. Father stands up and tucks the front of his shirt back inside his pants. Father puts his checkbook inside his shirt pocket.
Father does not move his head back to Mother or me. Father’s neck is stiff and points straight ahead. Father walks out the sliding glass door.
May 23, 2010 Comments Off
“Your dad told me to tell you can get pregnant now,” Valoria whispers to me. I’m in my room trying to figure out what shoes to wear. My China doll shoes or my brown track shoes.
“What are you talking about? I thought you weren’t going to tell him.”
“He saw blood in the toilet earlier in the bathroom; he just knows.”
“How could he know?”
“He just does, that’s all. So he wants me to let you know that whatever you’re doing with boys, you could get pregnant now. So you better be careful.”
“He thinks I’m having sex with boys?”
“Well are you?”
“No, I am not having sex with boys.”
WHAT TO DO WITH A PERIOD
Father sits on the red velvet couch in the living room. Father’s hand is in his pants. His belt unbuckled… I know what your thinking his pants are always unbuckled. Father watches bombing footage from World War II on television. His head faces the dark kitchen. I open a drawer in the kitchen and grab the plastic cellophane wrap box and three paper napkins. I fold the napkins in half. I pull out a sheet of plastic wrap and rip it against the blade of the box.
I wrap the plastic wrap around the napkins. I repeat the process three times
until my sanitary napkins look like burritos. Father keeps his eyes on the
television. I take the burritos to the bathroom. I put two inside the cabinet under the sink and safety pin one to my panties.
Operator: “I have a collect call. Will you accept the charges?”
“Who is it?”
Operator: “She says her name is Lucy Ricardo?”
“Hi Mom, how are you?”
“I made you a key chain today in occupational therapy.”
“You know I could always use a key chain.”
My eyes spin slow. I look out the window. Mother is silent.
“Mom, I gotta go.”
“Beatie I’m getting out of the hospital this week.”
“Really? Where are you gonna go when you get out?” I hear Mother breath on the other end of the phone.
“Lenney and I are getting married. We are gonna buy a mobile home.”
I have nothing to say to this.
“Beatie, you can come stay with us.”
I have nothing to say to that.
A Few Months Later
Frances is tall, dark, and part Italian. He has olive skin. I kind of forget about how his wavy black hair sits almost to his shoulders. Instead, I concentrate on his smile. Frances is two years older than me. We have been boyfriend and girlfriend for about two months. I love him and he loves me.
“Hey cutie” Frances pulls up beside me on his beach cruiser.
“Need a ride?” He pats the handlebars of the bike.
“Sure,” I say.
Frances lets me to jump on the handlebars. His special chosen plucked cherry blossom. Frances smiles. His feet move fast fast. Frances stands on the pedals his throat behind me. I feel his face on my my neck. The smell of his cologne makes me want to be close to him.
“Turn here. I don’t want my dad to see me.”
I point to the alley close to my house. Frances stops the bike.
“Here you go, cutie.”
“Thanks Frances, you’re so sweet.”
I wrap my arms around and look up at him. We kiss gentle. Frances’s lips are soft. Both of us into the moment. I melt into his eyes with love. Frances looks into me and then I see it. The brown mud Datsun turns up the alley.
“Shit! It’s my dad.”
The Datsun accelerates and is coming right for us.
“Oh no, he’s gonna kill me,”
Frances’s stares straight ahead. Father pulls up next to us and rolls his window down.
“Get in da car, and you leave her alone, Beatie has enough problems.”
Frances pedals away fast.
“Get in da car, Beatie.”
I have no choice. I get in the car.
“What are you doing with dat boy, huh?”
Whack! The gorilla’s hand bounces off my head. A volcano erupts in my brain.
“You’re too boy crazy. Instead of school you study boys. Dats crazy.”
My chest pounds. Father whacks me again on the head.
“Dad, we’re just friends.”
“Don’t lie, Beatie.”
Whack again! This time on my cheek.
“Now get out.”
I get out of the car Father opens the front door. We walk inside the house. I make my way fast down the hallway. Father is right behind me.
“You Goddamn Dummy Ding!” Father gives me a sharp toe in the butt. A whack and another kick. I’m on the ground. Father quietly kicks me with his right dress shoe. He is done. I crawl to the bathroom and shut the door. I lock it.
“You dick! You dick!”
I grab a brush and throw it at the door. Father can’t get me. If he tries I will punch him with every muscle. Every fiber. Every bone of my body.
“You need to leave dis house,” he says.
“You keep a dirty room and you lie. I cannot keep you here. Understand?”
I yell from behind the bathroom door. The clack of Father’s feet knock in a hollow rhythm and the front door closes. The Datsun’s motor starts. Father leaves.
I sit on the floor. My fingers trace the dusty floorboard of the bathroom. The particles of dust like fibers of people. I blow the dirt clean.
March 21, 2010 Comments Off
Filmed in Tecopa CA last weekend. Cold. Wind blowing crazy. We left next morning. Use to fantasize baking my old age here. Smoking. Creating. Until the woman cleaning our motel room said: “Don’t drink the water”
The Hanging Stanes
Featured: This Collection McEwan Hall Showcase in Edinburgh, Scotland March 2010
The Hanging Stanes was written by Sam Meekings.
Alastair Cook recites.
Music by Rad Wolf.
January 7, 2010 Comments Off
Film about a lie.
Ambient Sound: David Eng-Last Nights of Paris
Spoken by Ginnetta Correli
December 18, 2009 Comments Off
Mr. Fedlister, combs my hair and parts it down the middle. He pulls each side of my locks behind my ears.
“You need a haircut,” Mr. Fedlister spits on the comb and strokes my hair strands again with the comb.
I’m ready for my close up. I stand on the stage. My hands rest on a textbook. The book sits on a classroom desk. A nature scene and earth globe behind me complete the picture scene.
“Smile. Say cheese,” the photographer looks through the lens. I hear a click.
Lights flash. I smile and hold the pose.
“One more time please” the photographer presses the button. The lights flash again. I blink. See dots. The dots blink and don’t stop. Off and on someone plays with a light switch in my brain. My head starts to hurt and my brain can’t keep up with these lights. I try to chase them away and close my eyes. The lights come back. Watching them swim I see neon-colored tetra fish. My stomach feels pain. I receive a message from the burrito I brought from home and ate today at lunch.
“Out. Let me out. I can’t stand it in here! I can’t breathe, Beatie,”
“Mr. Fedlister, I think I need to get to a bathroom fast.” My hand rubs my belly.
“First, Comb your hair again. Your hair is so messy, Beatie doesn’t your dad ever take you to get your hair cut?” He hands me a small black comb. I run the comb quick against my ears.
“I’ma comin’ out, Beatie, ya better let me. I ain’t stayin’here no more,”
“I gotta go,” I hand the comb back to the teacher and run out of the room. There is not much time-Burrito wants out. Once at the bathroom. Latch a door behind me. Hug the latrine. Stick my finger down my throat. Hang my head inside the bowl. I gag.
“Please Beatie, get me out fast!”
Try again. Put my finger inside. Tickle my throat.
“I’ma comin’ Here I come!”
something comes up my stomach. I release broken Burrito into the potty.
“You saved my life.” he moans. I stare at broken Burrito and flush the toilet.
Dressed and ready to walk to school. An unwrapped burrito sits on the counter of the kitchen. I throw it in my brown lunch bag along with an apple.
I eat my burrito and take two bites from my apple.
Neon fish swim in my head again. My brain gets a message from Burrito.
“You gotta let me out fast. I can’t take it no more.”
I let Burrito free into the latrine.
“Thank you Beatie, I love you”
“Beatie, your dad’s on his way from work to pick you up,” I lie on a cot, covered with a brown blanket inside the nurse’s station. Mrs. Reid pats my head.
Father arrives, his eyes soft.
“Mrs. Reid, I think I’m gonna throw up again.”
“You betcha, Beatie, I wanna be free your brother Jeffrey isa’ comin too,”
Mrs. Reid grabs a plastic dish off the table near the cot. My body shoots up and I hurl Burrito onto a dish.
“Good girl, get it out.” She pats my back. I hold the plate close and concentrate.
“This is the third time in the last two weeks your daughter has thrown up at
school,” Mrs. Reid says.
“She also looks like she’s losing weight. She’s getting too thin. Maybe you should have her looked by her doctor. Does Beatie have a pediatrician?” Father pauses for a moment, his feet uncrossed.
“I’ll take her to dat doctor soon.”
Father stares at the wall. Father’s legs cross.
A few days after school I see Mr. Fedlister. He walks toward the teacher’s
“Mr. Fedlister, watch me. Watch me.”
I run through the grass, both my arms raised at the elbows. My Hands flop straight ahead. I run, dive and roll. I am a gold medal gymnast, a swan.
“Good job,” Mr. Fedlister glances in my direction.
I stand proud. My arms reach for the sky. This is the moment. I wait for my medal. My arms held high. The star spangle banner plays God bless America. Father and the rest of America watches me from inside the Olympic stadium. Father stands from his seat first.
“Look at dat” his gorilla hands clap with a strong muffle sound for me.
The world follows Father. People rise from their chairs. The world gives me a standing ovation. It’s the proudest moment in the American history of women’s gymnastics. The camera on Father. He wipes tears with a clean handkerchief. The camera on me. I smile valiant. The medal placed upon my neck with a bouquet of purple lilies handed to me by “Bella” the famous gymnastic coach.
Beatie brings home the Gold. Nadia, the silver medalist gives me a hard look. I smile at her. I don’t care, too bad for her. I won.
Mr. Fedlister walks away.
I WALK HOME ALONE
My mind thinks about food. I am hungry. I hope Father left the back sliding door unlocked and I can steal some cheese and bread out of the refrigerator.
Father told me: “Do not eat dat food when I’m not home. “You can eat an apple if you’re hungry.”
I open the wooden gate to the backyard of the bright yellow house. I make sure I put my foot on each of the round concrete stepping stones. (Someone told me that if you step on a crack you break your mother’s back.) I skip on each stone leading towards the sliding glass door to the dining room. My stomach growls. The sliding door is locked. I peer into the window and see the time on the clock near the thin bar table. The time reads 3:15. I hit the glass with my fist. I cup my hands and make circles around my eyes and press my face against the window. I see a bag of red apples on top of the refrigerator. I turn and pretend to eat a vanilla ice cream cone dipped in chocolate.
I hear a noise, a slight cry. I walk toward the sound. Lift my leg to take a step.
See greasy, gray fur. Red eyes open, a bright red mouth. A long thin tongue. A belly in the dirt. I lose my balance. The face of death. My behind foot grazes the spine. My lead foot smashes the ribs. Hear the crack then a high-pitched baby squeal.
My heart rushes and I run. My mind follows. I am scared and sick to my
stomach, but think your here with me and I know I’m not alone. We will make
it, won’t we? We just gotta wait till Father gets home, right? Wish we could leave but where would we go? Next door? Lorena’s house? No… Father will have a fit if we leave. We better stay here.
Now can you see the cat’s ear? A pink bit of flesh poking out of the ground. It’s sick isn’t it? All these dead cats in our lives, but your here with me and you won’t let me down. Thank God. Were gonna make it. We sit on the steps and wait. Thank God your here with me. I don’t know what I would do without you. A few hours pass. The cat is silent now. Let’s stay far away from it.
THE DEAD ARRIVAL
Father arrives! He opens the sliding glass door quick.
“Sorry I’m late, I had to present an offer for a house” he says.
“Daa-Dad, there’s a dead cat out here. I had to sit here alone while it died. It was horrible.”
“Yeah, Dad… dead” Father walks out to the backyard.
“Where’s dat kitty?”
“Over here Dad” Father follows us to the dirt. Father squats and examines the cat. Father’s knuckles bend with one knuckle stuck on his chin.
Father grabs a garden hoe near the peach tree. He taps the dead animal with the small shovel, a serious look to his face.
“Dat poison I put out must have worked.”
before i died i felt the wind rushing my face by Rad Wolf
October 6, 2009 Comments Off
Three years later. Sunday morning. The father finally speaks to Mary. A fragile man.
Inside a humid sacristy the priest advises the ministers and sacristan.“Mary fill the pitcher. All the way. Use the Boones Farm. It’s going to be a full house today.”
In the name of God. At the alter. Mary helps a frail priest pass eucharist.
“The blood of Christ” She hands the young solder a half full goblet.
“Ah-man” The young man sips the sacrifice.
She stares. Sees blood in the man’s eyes. Mary wonders if the soldier can still smile with a lover. She wipes the glass clean with a lipstick soiled handkerchief.
Most evenings. After dinner. Mary escapes by van to the desert. Alone she listens to classics. The young woman imagining fears. Pain. Mary recalls the other day. At work a handsome rock star sneered at her uniform.
“God what a sleazy looking costume. Come here baby take the dollar”
The next day. In a hot kitchen. The father glares at Mary. She cooks dinner for her dad and a wounded serviceman. Makes chicken garbanzo soup.
“Mary have you ever actually been to confession?” The marine asks.
“No. Fuck. Never got around to it.” She looks inside the dishwasher for a knife.
Most every word out of Mary’s mouth these days is “Fuck.” Her father sticks to a chair. Can’t stand the girl. The old man’s options limited. The soldier hungry as hell. What a slut The father’s daughter still has no degree. She carves and chops dead chicken fat off the butt.
“Shit. Is that the mailman?” Mary wipes her hands with a dirty dish towel.
She runs to the box. The winter schedule arrives. Mary opens the envelope. Looks at it. “Shit!”
The University of Guitar Hero raised tuition fees again. Mary stuffs the college catalog in the trash. -ginnetta correli
October 1, 2009 Comments Off
In wet dreams. Jack penetrates the blind man’s wife. Left with cream splatter on hand. The toilet sea must swallow confessions of love… daily. Ashamed to admit dirty whispers of smelly knickers. The wife has no choice. The mother and infant pirate must drown. The other day the vet told the pretty “bitch” young Jack would grow up to be lazy and lie. Maybe even ingest “Mary” and that girl what’s her name? “Jane”
Life scares the man’s wife. Pinching her once raw now soft nipples. Jack wants only to suck easy treats from plastic bottles instead. To kill is not her blood. A stranger’s blood. The bastard’s blood. Deadline. As canine alpha two bleeds the woman’s heart is ripped. The male pup cries with hunger. Pushed and bitten by “King” baby Jack cast to sea.
August 20, 2009 § 2 Comments
The small yellow house is dark and smells like sweat again. I see Father in the living room. He stares at the walls. He does not look at me. Sandy’s father, the police officer
stands in front of Father. The policeman holds a clipboard and writes a report.
“So, Mr. Scareli, you say your wife is not schizophrenic.
“She’s not crazy. It is dose damn doctors they make her crazy, with all those drugs they give her.”
“You’re saying your wife is not mentally ill?”
“No, she is not mentally ill… but your wife is a prostitute.”
“Mr. Scareli, don’t bring my wife into this.”
“Well, she looks like a prostitute.”
“Let’s get back to your wife. She was found today walking around the
neighborhood in the nude wearing a nurse’s bonnet. It was also reported that she accosted a teacher at the school.”
“Who said dat?”
“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Scarelli. She could be a danger to herself and to the neighbors.”
I look out the front living room window. Mother sits in back of a patrol car.
“Why is Mom in a police car?” Father does not answer me.
“Where is she going?”
I feel that thing in my throat. The lump is back.
“Dad, where is she going?”
Father and the policeman ignore me.
“Dad, answer me!”
“Your mother is going to a mental hospital,” Sandy’s father says.
“Yeah, well your wife is a hooker,” Father says.
“Yeah, well your wife is crazy.”
I watch Mother from the window. She sucks her thumb. Sandy’s father walks out of the house. He gets in the patrol car. He straps his seat belt. He starts the motor. The
police car turns onto the road, forward and fast. I run to the curb and watch. Mother is trapped. She turns her head. She stares at me with a thumb in her mouth.
Mother is gone. I walk back to the house. I can’t breathe. I have got to get to my room. I focus on the carpet. I pass Father’s feet. I look down. I can’t look at him. I can’t say a word. The lump is killing me. I walk faster. I make it to the bedroom. I close the door. I am alone. My throat is clogged. I lie down on the bed. I bury my face in a pillow. I am frozen. My throat is clogged. I stare at the darkness of a pillow. I press it against me. I choke.
It’s dinner time. Father and I sit in our chair assignments. Father does not speak to me.
August 7, 2009 Comments Off
Finally finished this. Thank You to the band: End of Science for a great tune and to the actors some of whom are pissed at me at the moment.
July 27, 2009 § 1 Comment
Another spoken word about failure.
Written and Narrated: Ginnetta Correli
July 21, 2009 Comments Off
THE BABY SHOW
I like to ride my bike and play dirty Barbies. I also hang out with my blonde ponytailed friend, Lorena. We like to believe we are on the Laverne & Shirley Show. We achieve this belief as we remain in constant character. Never do we let our audience leave our sight. Today, our victim is Grandma Alice. She shares the bedroom with Lorena.
“Push, Laverne, you can do it!” Lorena screams in my ear while I lay on Lorena’s twin bed. My feet press the headboard. My legs spread open.
“That’s sick, I tell you!” says Grandma Alice. She watches us from her bed.
“Oh… oh” I groan.
“Make Boo Boo Kitty come out, Laverne!”
“This is too much. It’s sick and crazy!” Alice rubs her tired eyes.
“I feel like I gotta poop real bad,” I say.
“I see her, Laverne!” Lorena says.
“Oh my God, I can’t hold it! Ugh! Ugh!”
“Laverne, Boo Boo’s head! Blood, I see blood and poop!”
“Ah! Ahhh!” I pretend to push.
Lorena grabs a stuffed animal from Grandma Alice’s bed-a stuffed yellow fluffy chick.
“Stop right now!” Alice pleads with us. We ignore her. Lorena shoves the baby chick hard between my legs. I start to push hard.
“Keep pushing, Laverne! Wait… Stop! You made it!” Lorena’s marble green eyes focus in between my crotch. I give birth to a furry stuffed animal. Boo Boo the toy does not breathe.
“Breathe, Boo Boo!” Lorena slaps the stuffed chick hard against its neck.
“Come on. Breathe!” I say.
“She isn’t breathing!”
“No, tell me my daughter is alive.”
“Come on. Breathe, you wet retard!” Lorena’s blonde ponytails swing. She whacks the stuffed toy again.
“Hurry up, Lorena, I wanna go to sleep.” Grandma Alice shakes her head.
I close my legs and sit up and stare at Boo Boo. “Get some water on her!” I say.
“Here, just spit on her. We have to hurry.” Lorena throws the baby chick at me. I spit on Boo Boo’s head. Boo Boo lies still.
“She’s dead, Laverne.”
“My baby’s dead?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“Oh for Pete’s sake, this is ridiculous, Lorena hurry up! Get this over with. It’s dinner time. Beatie’s gotta go home.” Alice pulls her short gray hair at the crown.
“That can’t be. No, Shirley. My baby breathed and moved in my belly. She was happy.”
“I know, Laverne. I don’t know what to say.”
“My little girl?” I cry. Lorena places Boo Boo on the pillow next to me. I let my head rest next to my daughter. My daughter is dead.
“I’m sorry, Laverne. I tried everything.”
“So, what do you want me to say, Shirley? That’s okay? My daughter is dead?”
“Beatie, it’s time for you to go home. I’m tired. Show is over,” Alice says.
“But Alice, don’t you understand? I just lost my baby. How would you feel if you lost a baby?” Alice doesn’t answer me.
“Yeah, Grandma, how would you feel if you lost your baby?” Lorena asks.
“Just finish this crap up, Lorena.”
“Okay.” Lorena grabs Alice’s hand and the three of us hold hands together.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Lorena and I make the sign of the cross. Boo Boo lies on a soft pink pillow printed with pastel butterflies resting on petals of tulips. Lorena and I raise the pillow high and stretch our arms. We bring the pillow fast down to the ground hard. I watch Boo Boo’s head bounce. We shove our baby under-to be forgotten below the clutter of Lorena’s bed.
DINNER WITH THE RICARDOS
I walk home alone from Lorena’s house. The winter night is chilled. I notice street lights illuminate the sidewalk. I feel alone as the cars drive by; headlights brighten the dark night. I’m hungry.
I arrive home to the small yellow house. The house is dark and quiet. I make my way to a bedroom. The room is dark and smells like sweat. I turn on the lamp near the bed.
Mother lies under heavy blankets.
“Mom, wake up. Are you still asleep?” She says nothing.
“Mom, wake up.” She is silent.
“Mom, get up.” I shake her with my hands.
“Wake up, you’ve been sleeping all day!”
Her eyes glued shut; I see the paste of sleep. She wears a red housecoat she hasn’t taken off in four days.
“Mom, you gotta get up, he’s gonna be here soon, what are we gonna make for dinner?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Mom, get up!”
I hear the sound of Father’s Datsun. It pulls in the driveway.
“He’s here. Shit!”
Mother gets out of bed and moves to the kitchen. Her body smells. I run to the kitchen, grab a pot and fill it with water. I turn the fire up on the stove and hand her a wooden spoon. Mother stirs water. We hear the sound of the front door being opened. The sound of Father’s dress shoes thump toward us. We do not make eye contact with him. He drops his attaché case in the usual spot by the dining room table.
“What did you make?”
“We’re making macaroni and cheese,” I say. My heart beats fast. He walks to the kitchen and sees the cold water in the pot.
“With dis water? You made water, Frata?”
Mother stirs the pot. She keeps her eyes on the pot.
“I work all day, you sleep all day and all you have is water? It’s not even boiling yet.”
“Da-Dad, it just takes a little while. We didn’t think you’d be home so soon.”
“Come on, it’s 7:30. What do you think, I’m stupid, huh? Get outta here, Beatie.” He waves his hand at me. He’s gonna King Kong-swipe me on the head. I feel a hot tear drip on my face.
“Frata, go taka a bath. You stink.” Mother is silent.
“Get in the bath, Frata!”
Father pushes Mother out of the kitchen. Mother stumbles. We chase her to the bathroom. She closes the door behind her. We hear the sound of water filling the bathtub. Mother turns the water off. The room is silent.
“Did she get in the tub or is she dead?” Father asks me.
We open the door. Mother sits on the floor-motionless in the nude.
“Get in the damn bath, Frata it’s been five days. Get in the bath!” Father pulls Mother to the tub.
“Go to hell. Leave me alone.”
“Come on, Mom. You need a bath.”
“All you do is sleep. You’re gonna end up crazy,” Father says.
Father and me force Mother into the bathtub. The water makes a huge wave. We press her down and hold her. Mother gives up and stares off into another world. Mother is stranded.
“Let’s eat.” Father says.
We shut the door and forget about her. The two of us cook and eat macaroni and cheese at a skinny bar table with four chairs. The chairs face the kitchen. Father and I do not face each other. I chew my food fast. Father does not speak to me. Two chairs between us. I dream in a quiet trance for you. A brother who sits in the last chair, chair four. I can see you. You look confused and scared but you swallow your food fast. My dream is interrupted by a loud bubble sound. The bathroom vibrates. Mother has farted.
“Oh mama mia. Is the whale alive? Frata, are you okay?” Father yells from the dining room. He chews his macaroni.
“Real funny,” Mother says.
“Mama Mia, I thought you died after dat explosion…”
My eyes water. I laugh and pee my pants.
July 15, 2009 § 1 Comment
The Cast of Lost People In My Life
An Italian man. He says: dis and dat instead of words like this and that. Some of the kids in our neighborhood say: “Beatie your dad is a creep”
Our schizophrenic thirty-four-year-old mother. She has red hair and believes she is Lucy Ricardo. Not much about Mother resembles Lucy except maybe her hair color.
Me, a skinny twelve-year-old girl with brown hair, buckteeth and a long thin nose. I pretend I’m the girl version of little Ricky.
Me, as I lie in bed most evenings before sleep and watch the only show on TV: The episodes of our past.
Thank God you’re here.
THE BEACH TRIP
Father sits on the red velvet recliner chair. His eyes read the opinion page of the newspaper. Father’s hand twirls his ding dong inside his off-white cotton underwear. I’m used to it. He stops to drink his morning coffee from his usual green, broken-handled coffee mug.
“I could show houses today” Father says.
Mother smokes a Salem. She sits wearing her paisley, blue and pink housecoat on the nearby living room couch.
“Frata, why does your old bathing suit not fit? Where’s dat money gonna come from? Now I have to maka money for a new bathing suit at Kmart. Frata, why do you get so fat? You need to exercise-maka movement!”
“Dad, let’s go!”
“Beatie, it’s Memorial Day. It’s gonna be hard to finda parking.”
“Why do we have to go to Newport Beach all the time?” I ask.
“Beatie, you know we only park by the church at Newport. Why do you ask such a crazy question? Dat is where we go.”
Mother picks her nose with the tip of her dirty fingernail.
Father gets up from the chair and sets his empty coffee cup near the kitchen sink. He walks to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.
“Ughh” Father grunts.
The toilet flushes. My cue. It’s time to fry an egg omelet in a pan.
Mother coughs on the couch while I crack an egg shell. The egg sizzles inside a black iron pan. The egg is ready; I peer into the bedroom. Father is showered and dressed in forest green, Boy Scout-issued shorts and an old white shirt. He stands near the bed and holds a pair of pink rubber flip-flops.
“I will wear dees shoes.” Father says.
BREAKFAST WITH THE RICARDOS
We sit at the long thin bar table that faces the kitchen.
We have chair assignments:
Chair 1= Father, Chair 2= Mother,
Chair 3= Me Chair 4= empty.
Why do we have chair assignments? I dunno.
“Give me plate.”
Mother and me hand father our dish. Father splatters a piece of egg
omelet, a wedge of orange and a piece of sourdough bread onto each of our plates.
“Here, put pepper” Father, shakes the pepper rattle. Mother and me stare at our plates.
“Father son oily ghost amen.” Father moves his arms in the sign of the cross.
“Can we have some ice cream?” Mother asks.
“Frata, all you want to do is eat sugar and sleep, dats why you get so fat.”
Mother’s eyes widen. She opens her mouth and shoves in a piece of omelet with her butter knife.
We eat our meal and finish the breakfast in a quiet trance. In my trance, I dream about you a brother who sits in chair four.
LUCY AND THE WHALE
“Do they make bathing suits for whales?” Father shouts to the sales clerk at Kmart. Mother and me stand by the dressing room. We wonder if they do make bathing suits for whales and if they do, will it fit Mother? She weighs about 160 pounds. I think whales weigh more.
The sales clerk comes back. She holds a one-piece bathing suit with a ruffle
skirt. “How about this one?” she asks. She hands it to Father. He studies the suit.
“Yes, go try dis on, Frata.”
Mother doesn’t look at the suit. She snatches it from him and shuts the dressing room door behind her. Father and I wait near a woman and her two daughters. They both remind me of Barbie. They watch us. I see them whisper and giggle.
“Hhhuhh…huuhhh…huhhh.” We hear Mother’s heavy breath while she tries to zip the back of the suit.
“Frata, are you alive?” Mother opens the door.
“Oh Mama Mia!” Father says. “The bathing suit fits the whale. Oh, thank God!”
“Oh, she eats so much and sleeps all day, she’s lika beach whale, lika she’s dead. A dead beach whale.”
Mother stands in front of us in the aqua blue bathing suit. Her eyes seem vacant and the bathing suit fits tight.“Frata, get dat one.”
I LOVE FRATA
We are on our way to the Beach. Father drives us in our brown Datsun station wagon. Mother sits on the front passenger side. She stares straight ahead. Her mind orbits the planet Geodone.
“Gerald Ford was put in power by big business. Dat’s why he’s the President. You know Frata, the CIA is the reason we have drugs in this country.”
“Uh huh,” Mother says. A vacant dullness in her eyes. A Beatles song plays on the radio.
“You know Frata, Beatles were all on dope, Dat’s why they sing dat song ‘I get high with a little help from my friend.”
“Frata dat smells bad. Did you brush your teeth after you ate dat egg dis morning?”
“I gargled with gas,” Mother looks out the car window.
“Yes, gas.” She smiles.
“You smell like gas.” Father says.
We arrive at the Beach. We circle the church parking lot like crows. We always park by the church near the beach.
“Frata you look on dis side, Beatie you look on dat side.” Father gestures to us with his index finger, moving it to the right and to the left in a salute motion.
“I see one right there!” I scream.
“Where do you see?”
“Over there-the red Bug. It’s pulling out!”
“You got a good eye,” he says. Father guns the motor with his pink thong. He pulls up behind the Bug we wait as the Bug pulls out. The traffic behind us waits for our mud brown station wagon to move out of the way. We park the Datsun.
“I’ll change in the car.” Father changes into his tight blue nylon bathing suit. His legs covered with a few thick patches of dark coarse hair that stick to the seat. Father rubs his leg. We walk through the beach following Father. His pink thongs flick sand onto us and everyone else behind him. Father notices a young freckled-faced girl with long blond braids. She lies on a blue and red towel, printed with a cartoon of Minnie Mouse. “Pretty good stuff there!” he shouts to the young girl. The girl’s mother gives Father a hard look.
“Beatie, I’m a man and dat’s a pretty girl just like you and your mother. It’s natural”
I shrug my shoulders. Mother ignores him.
We find a spot and lay our towels on the sand and watch teenagers toss Frisbees. Children splash in the water. I feel calm. I come up with an idea:
“Hey, Dad, let’s play that game.”
“What game is dat?”
“You know, that in-the-hole game?”
“Oh dat game.”
We roll onto our bellies with our eyes facing Father’s index finger.
“In the hole,” Father commands. We stick our fingers in the sand.
“Out the hole.” We lift our index fingers out of the sand.
“In the hole. Out da hole.”
We keep up the finger charade as we challenge our reflexes.
“Out da hole. Out da hole. In da hole.”
Mother’s out. Her finger is not fast enough. I am still in the game-me against Daddy. I am smart and have the best reflexes. I want to win. I will win.
“In da hole. Out da hole. Out da hole. Out da hole.” Faster! Faster! Our fingers duel.
“In da hole out da hole in da hole.”
“Ah, ha!” I win! I beat the “In the Hole” master!
Father laughs and hands me a piece of tangerine. “You win.” Father smiles.
Mother looks on, mesmerized by the sea.
“Frata, I’m going in dis water.” Father points to the sea. Mother is silent. She lies on a faded yellow beach towel, her hands wrapped behind her neck. She stares at the sun and smiles. Saliva trickles down the side of her mouth.
I sit on my towel, watching Father. He swims near a tall gray wave. The curl begins to break. Father does not allow the force to knock him down. Instead, he pushes his head under the wave and appears a few moments behind the swell. Father stands in the water.
“Mom, I’m gonna swim.”
“Don’t drown, honey.”
“Okay” I tell her.
I run to the sea. I dip my toes in the foamed, murk-filled water. The ocean feels cold on my body at first, but I get used to it. I see Father and move towards him.
Father trots over to me as if he is a little boy and I am Elmo. We stand by each other’s side. Father splashes me.”Hey, that water’s cold!” I splash some
water back at him and skip away.
“You gonna get it, I’m gonna get you!” He kicks the water at me. We chase each other along the shore. I am happy until Father grabs my arm. He begins to lead me to the deep end.
“Come on. You with me.”
“Oh, no. Daddy, stop!” I turn and try to run towards Mother. Father has a firm grip on my arm.
“No, I wanna go back.”
“Why you so scared all the time? When dat wave comes, you go under the wave. Look. Watch me.” I watch him thrust his head into the spout. He comes up quick and spits.
“Now you try.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Come on, I’m right here. I’ll always protect you. Don’t worry, I’m going to be right here, next to you always.”
“Of course I promise, look I’m your father!”
The next gray wave starts to fold in front of us. I close my eyes and press my head into the wet darkness.
All I can do is hold my breath and wait to get to the other side. I let the ocean take me. I’m not afraid anymore-whatever happens, I’ll let happen. I like this feeling; I’m free. The wave dissipates. I float next to Father.
He turns and grabs my face hard and pinches my cheeks.
“You see? You go under the wave!”
I giggle and have learned to fool Mother Nature. I continue to swim. I am free. At one point I turn and see Father walking back to Mother. I follow him.
“Frata, feel the water.” Father shakes water drops from his head onto Mother.
“Aah!” Mother jumps on her towel and pretends to swing her fist at him. Father reaches for her and grabs her. Father lifts Mother’s body slow into his arms.
“Ahh maybe you not so heavy for a whale” Father grins.
“Oh Ricky,” Mother whispers.
At that moment. I witness a moment. A moment I wish I could hold onto forever. Mother holds Father tight. Their eyes focus on each other with deep admiration. Ricky Ricardo, trots with Lucy in slow motion. His feet hit the sand hard. He carries Lucy in his arms, determined to take her to the sea. The water splatters under his feet. Mother’s body sways with his every move. I notice her hair-red hair with soft curls. Her curls bounce against Father’s chest. Gently, Ricky tosses Lucy into the ocean.
He slips and rolls with her. Lucy and Ricky are in love. Nobody can take this feeling away from me or from Mother and Father.
The tide comes in, Lucy and Ricky roll together and float on their backs. They stare together at the powder-blue sky. Both seem entranced by the small cradles of water and are comforted by the water’s healing power to clean away all the hurts and disappointments they have felt together in the past, the present and maybe the future. People on the shore stare at them. An old couple and a young family. The people envy Mother and Father. I adore them.
The sky becomes dark. It’s time to go home. We pack our belongings and head for the Datsun. I am in a wonderful heaven. Lucy and Ricky are in love.
I sit in the back seat, the seat belt strapped tight around my shoulder and waist.
“I know you cheat on me,” Mother says. The happy episode of “I Love Frata” comes to an end.
“Come on, Frata, you’re crazy.”
“Crazy?” Mother jiggles her boob with her fingers.“Captain Ricky, tell my titties.”
“Frata, you’re a crazy woman. I don’t know why I married you. I tell you don’t talk. You talk and you make no sense.”
Father jabs Mother with his salute finger.
I have no other option but to watch. “You guys, don’t fight. Please don’t fight.”
“You’re gonna end up in the hospital, Frata. You’re crazy.”
“Captain Ricky, you’re gonna get wet, I tell ya.” Mother hurls and spits at Father’s face. The spit, foamed and thick, sits on Father’s olive-skinned cheek. Father’s hand turns into a gorilla’s. He swipes Mother across the side of her mouth. Mother’s head swings like a wrecking ball. Mother’s skull throws itself as far back as it will go while still attached to her neck. It crashes hard onto the headrest.
“Please stop!” They ignore me. “Please stop!” I beg again. I start to feel a lump inside my throat. This feeling does not go away and it hurts. I need to make tears come out of myself. Yet, a lump in my throat blocks salt liquid from my eyes.
“Please you guys just, stop it!”
Mother turns to me in the back seat. She stares at me for a moment. Her lip bleeds. She smiles at me and whispers,“Mars.” Mother winks at me and leaves. She leaves me for another planet. Father and I are trapped in the Datsun. The motor hums in a one sound monotone. Father does not speak to me.
Give or take a few dates and times. See how it goes. Thank you for any support on this project.
This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialog, and all characters with the exception of a few well known historical figures and situations are products of the authors imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. Where real life historical figures the situations incidents and dialogs concerning those persons are entirely fictional and not intended to depict actual events.
(c) copyright Marshmallow Press all rights reserved. No portion of this book can be reproduced or copied without the written author-publisher consent.
ISBN:978-0-61521384-2 Library of Congress:2008930162
July 8, 2009 Comments Off
For more music please visit my MySpace page and yes of course it’s me in the kitty suit.
May 29, 2009 Comments Off
I created a new You-Doobie today. Maybe you’ll give it twirl if you get the munchies. Thanks for watching.
May 8, 2009 § 1 Comment
Lately the editor of this blog has been making Utube Videos. Hopefully they don’t suck. This was made Saturday for the Nurse Lucy Ep to be put out soon. It was orgasmic working with The Echelon Effect. Although, most of the ladies died in the end.
April 3, 2009 Comments Off
Five nights a week a college boy chops and cooks desert field mice at the Runaway Ralph Diner near Jack Rabbit trail. He likes the job but sometimes the mice bite him when he takes them out of their cage.
“Don’t worry my frosty cupcake.” With a quick kiss on the young female’s skull. The young cook twists her neck and pulls off her tail. Using a meat cleaver the young chef hacks the mouse in two then slits the skin butterfly style. The cook looks for eggs. Some of the female mice are pregnant so the young chef makes a cut along the belly and removes any embryos.
Those babies are collected and saved in a monkey dish inside the walk-in fridge for Friday.
On Friday nights during busy happy hour the Runaway Ralph serves rodent caviar. This delicacy is served with oyster crackers inside paper Dixie cups for $3.95.
The diner’s boss is cool. She lets the college boy drink red wine and smoke Mary Jane as he prepares the only main entree the Runaway Ralph serves.
The “Dish” prepared in the classic tradition is an inexpensive favorite among desert hunters. Hungry camouflaged suburbanites who crave an alternative to choked chicken.
To prepare the “Dish” the cook loosens his belt and unzips the fly. He knows the kitchen will get hot once grease snaps in a pan.
Exposed at the waist the college boy sits on a plastic glass rack. The sweat browed guy concentrates with constant stare on his mallet. The guy pounds hard and shakes the backside of a young white female mouse.
“come on pretty girl make daddy happy” The boy’s wrist moves fast and hard. The female silent with a fixated stare.
“Come on” his voice shakes.
A jar of Miracle Whip falls from the counter.
“Here it comes”
The jar lands hard on the young lad’s lap.
The container cracks. White thick cream spills onto the young man’s stomach.
The cook’s body shakes. His fingers pinch. A man sniffs and lifts the once pregnant mouse. The man chef opens her wide. The chef stuffs the lifeless woman with some soggy Wonder bread and a final warm squirt of the fake mayonnaise.
With a moan the college boy takes a rest break then smokes the last of the roach while the man chef dips the young mother in fresh thyme and raw egg. The woman is dusted with some powdered sand and fried to golden.
Finally, she is served on a warm ivory plate. -ginnetta correli