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fangirlinglikeabus · 6 years

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Strings

Summary: In a bar in the middle of nowhere, two women meet. Frenchman’s Creek/Jamaica Inn crossover. Vague space AU. F/F. Mentions of rape, war, torture.

ao3 fanfiction.net

Mary Yellan was born and grew up in the fields of Agros, learning from childhood all of the skills of farming. Then, when she was older, she stayed by the sea a while; she soon left there. But it wasn't in either of these places, although they shaped her in their own ways, that she met the woman - the laughing woman, full of life and happiness and sadness all at once. That happened years later, in a bar on the other side of the galaxy.

"Erna's a dangerous place for a lady to be, Miss. 'Specially round here."

Mary kept her eyes trained on the door; she was waiting, with some apprehension, for Jem's return. Any moment now she expected him to come waltzing through the door, a smug grin on his face, to take her rocketing off somewhere else before his customers had realised that the ships he had sold them were, underneath their new coats of paint, rather similar to ones recently reported missing.

"Is that so?" she said distractedly.

The man who had taken it upon himself to come and warn her nodded. "Oh yes," he said solemnly. "There are pirates operating in these parts."

This made Mary pay more attention. "Pirates?" she asked sharply. "What sort of pirates?"

"Why, they've been a terrible trouble to us here recently. Stealing the merchant-men's stock and everything. Causing havoc with the local women." He blushed at the thought.

A memory stirred in Mary's mind, of Joss Merlyn and his crew luring low-level ships to come crashing down onto the planet, killing the survivors. "Have they hurt anyone?" she asked.

"Oh, well, not as such, Miss, but we're awful fearful that they will. Foreigners, you know. From the outer reaches. There's even rumours that there's a woman on board."

Mary thought of her own adventures with Jem, and it occurred to her that this man would be horrified beyond belief if he heard of them. Perhaps if she were in a slightly different situation, she would've challenged him on it, but she needed to keep a low profile for Jem's sake. Instead of saying anything, she smiled and sipped at her drink. She noticed her hand was shaking slightly; places like this always made her skittish.

The man noticed. "Are you alright, Miss? I haven't scared you too much with my talk of pirates, have I?"

Mary smiled, but it felt insincere, even to her. "Oh, no," she said. "I'm not easily frightened."

"Quite right, too."

Mary turned around in her seat. It was a woman talking, one of the nobles in the place, by the looks of it. She smiled down, something of mischief in her eyes.

"You shouldn't talk so light of it, Lady St Columb," the man said gravely. "What with them taking advantage of our girls and all."

Lady St Columb leaned on the table so that she could better talk to the man; Mary watched her ringlets swing in front of her face, Jem momentarily forgotten. "Is that so?" she asked, in a tone of faux-politeness cultivated carefully over many years. "I rather thought they were enjoying being taken advantage of, myself, but I suppose it's always possible that I've misread the situation entirely."

The man stared at her in open mouthed shock, and she seized the moment to take Mary's arm. "Come on," she said in a low voice. "I'll take you somewhere quieter. You mustn't mind the tales of the men here, really. They're just frustrated because their wives prefer the pirates to them. I think if you spent enough time here you'd understand why."

Mary protested weakly - she'd really got to wait for someone, she wasn't planning to stay long, but Lady St Columb waved them away.

"Nonsense. And if your friend was the one trying to sell my husband a repainted stolen ship, he's already left. Not everyone is quite as gullible as Harry, and he was foolish enough to try and resell a man his own property."

Mary felt a familiar sense of frustration rise within her. The lady caught her expression.

"Done this before, has he?" she asked casually. At this point, they reached her table, and she pulled a seat aside for Mary, who dutifully sat down.

"Yes," said Mary. "But I can catch up with him, if I find someone that will take me soon."

"And deprive me of your company? How inconsiderate of you. There's no need to leave quickly, anyway; I have a friend with a fast ship that'll allow you to stay an hour more, at least."

In any other situation Mary might've coldly refused and left to find her own way back to Jem. But there was something about this woman - something in her smile. The same thing, perhaps, that had attracted her to Jem - a sort of wildness, although in her it was reserved, tied down by something else, an awareness of duty unfulfilled, perhaps, or merely less of a need to explore far and wide, to get a rush from law-defying activities. So she agreed, and stayed where she was.

"What did that man call you? Lady -"

"St Columb," the woman said smoothly. "But I really insist that you call me Dona. It makes everything so much more cosy, don't you think?" A smile tugged at her lips. "I don't think I ever caught your name."

"Mary. It's Mary." Even as she said it, Mary was aware of the danger in giving her name away to a complete stranger, but the smile drew her in, and she found herself ignoring every warning that Jem had ever given her.

"Well then, Mary -" the smile grew wider - "tell me about yourself."

Now she became distrustful. She remembered a man met on the moors, long ago, whose manner had encouraged her to pour her heart out; she remembered his snarling face as he dragged her away from safety. "I don't think I should," she said warily.

"No? Well, that's probably for the best. I doubt the line of business you're in is entirely legal. And my husband - bless him - likes to think that he's an important member of the local law enforcement. How do you know I won't just go running to him after I've seduced you for information?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Mary's mouth. "Seduce me?" she said.

"Well, of course. Didn't you realise that was what I was doing?"

"I think you're joking."

"Hm." Dona acknowledged the accusation with a shrug. "You might be right. Still…" She leaned forward in her chair, elbows on the table, head resting on her hands. "Don't you want to know what drew me to you?"

"Go on," Mary said cautiously. She couldn't let herself trust this woman, no matter how appealing she might seem.

"There's a sort of defiance in your eyes, in the way you hold your chin up. I think you could stare down a man holding a gun to your head and he'd apologise."

Mary shook her head. "You've read me wrong. I'd be scared." She thought of that night, the blood on the floor, being dragged across the moors.

Dona hummed again. She picked up the drink that had been resting on the table and sipped at it, never looking away from Mary. "Then why," she said, "did you choose to take up with a cheating ship thief? There's a lot of risk in a job like that. And I doubt the sex appeal alone would be enough to convince you."

That caused Mary to pause. "I don't know." She remembered Dona's flippancy at the talk of pirates, her friend with the fast ship, and made a wild guess. "Why did you choose to take up with a pirate?"

Dona didn't even flinch. But there was something more serious in her eyes as she said, "Perhaps I'm trying to run away from myself."

"Are you?"

"I've yet to find out. But don't you, sometimes, find some inexplicable dissatisfaction with your life that dogs you, no matter how hard you try to escape it? Maybe, to avoid it, you do some foolish, shameful thing. You hope with all your heart that by acting out you'll get a glimpse of what it means to live. And yet, there it is, that same dissatisfaction."

"Maybe you should travel," Mary suggested. A year ago, she'd never have thought it. A year ago, all she wanted was to head back home to the fields, even if there wasn't a place for her in her old house.

Dona shook her head and smiled; this time there was a sadness to it that Mary hadn't noticed before. "I'm too tied down to this place."

"By what? Your husband?"

She nodded. "And children. I have two: a boy - oh, he'll be marvellous, as marvellous as any mother thinks her son is going to be, as marvellous as any of the men here - and a girl. She's a silly thing, but I suppose it's cruel to mock her when it's a miracle that she'd be anything else in a place like this."

"You don't seem foolish to me."

"Well, you've only known me for less than an hour, so maybe you're not the best judge. You don't think my acquaintance with the most wanted man on the planet is foolish?"

"Only as foolish as travelling with a ship thief," Mary shot back. "I don't think either of us is in the position to judge."

"That's true," Dona mused. "That's very true. Perhaps, though, it gives us something in common." She looked Mary dead in the eyes. "Don't you think?"

"There are very few people I have anything in common with any more," Mary said quietly.

"Oh, come now, don't be like that." "Like what?"

"You're brooding. What happened? Something wonderfully gothic, I hope?"

"Gothic, maybe. But there was nothing wonderful about it." When she'd woken up after days lying unconscious and bruised, she'd been angry. Furious, even. Ready, despite her aunt's protests and the risk of further injury, to go downstairs and face Joss Merlyn. He was a monster, a dictator in his own home. She held no sympathy for him, even now. That didn't mean that she couldn't remember him pathetic, drunk, confessing his sins for her in some misplaced search for forgiveness. Or him dead on the floor of his house.

He'd been a fool to think he could be absolved of his crimes, and he'd been a fool to think he could survive making a deal with a man such as Francis Davy had been.

"How can you associate with pirates?" she asked. She hoped the question would distract Dona from her.

"How can you associate with a thief?" Dona shot back.

"No, but I mean - pirates do have a reputation for violence." She was thinking of the wreckers, not quite pirates but near enough, who had once lured only sea-ships to their doom, but had extended their work to the sky when ports were installed on that part of the planet; it was more dangerous, the crashes more explosive unless you could manoeuvre everything to just the right place, but maybe that was why they liked it. The added risk gave a wilder tint to their eyes.

"That's true," Dona conceded, "but fortunately for me these particular pirates happen to be of the honourable sort. Stealing from the rich to - well, stealing from the rich, at any rate. I'm not sure they've worked around to the other part yet." She smiled fondly. "Their enigmatic leader does, however, make a lovely soup. You should try it."

"You're sure he'll take me?"

"If I bat my eyelashes at him for long enough then yes." Dona leant forward on the table. "And I'm hoping that if I bat my eyelashes at you for long enough then you'll yield to my superior charms."

"And do what?"

Dona reached across to take Mary's hand. There were still old scars on it - she couldn't remember from where, maybe struggling across the moors, or something from her happy days and years of farming - and Mary flinched slightly when Dona's fingers brushed it. It was only a momentary reaction; she soon relaxed, and let herself enjoy the sensation of another's fingers playing across her palm.

"Whatever you want, darling," said Dona with a wink and a smile. Despite herself, despite the suspicion she felt, forced herself to feel, on any new acquaintance, Mary's heart fluttered. Always finding herself attracted to the wrong sort of people: a thief; a married woman who consorted with criminals. People who would be sure to get her in trouble.

"No strings attached," said Dona when she saw the expression on Mary's face change, thinking of her husband and her children and her pirate, all but the last inevitably tying her down to this place.

"No strings attached," Mary repeated back, only half-knowing what it meant but meaning it anyway; because of her dead parents, because of her dead aunt, because of a home lost for no reason except a change in herself.

"I know a place where we can have some more privacy," Dona told her.

Dona ended up batting her eyelashes at her pirate friend in a little under the hour promised. Mary could never remember his name, even after he'd introduced himself - in conversation with Dona he was always 'her friend', 'her pirate', like calling him anything else would create a gulf between two strangers, people who had never met before and really had nothing to tie them together, except for perhaps a dubiously similar taste in men and in each other.

Mary wasn't in love with Dona. She wasn't even sure if she was in love with Jem, and she'd known him for far longer. It wasn't like what they had could be called a relationship by any reasonable person.

Still, she could have been in love with Dona. Her wit, the way she spoke, was appealing, drawing Mary in; but she also felt something underneath, something that she couldn't quite put a name on. "Perhaps I'm trying to run away from myself." Dona's words stuck in her mind. Mary, on the other hand, wasn't trying to run away from herself; only her past. Seeing the ships crashing down, the murders of her aunt and uncle, being dragged across the moors by Francis Davy. The memories haunted her mind, waking and dreaming. After one of Joss' cronies had tried to rape her, it had been almost a year before the idea of being that close to Jem - or anyone else for that matter - stopped making her feel sick to her stomach. It was like a wound that would never quite heal - even the slightest of jolts would force the closed skin back open. Maybe she'd made the decision to go with Jem because she'd thought, subconsciously at least, that travel would help. It hadn't, but a large part of her now found the idea of returning to places of the past repulsive.

The pirate's ship was styled after the old sailing ships that Mary had sometimes seen rotting on the sea-shore near her uncle's inn, left there as technology advanced and more and more people stopped caring about the upkeep of such ancient things. It seemed Dona's friend had a taste for the old-fashioned. Of course, it couldn't be a perfect facsimile, given the added need for air in space, and the differing propulsion systems of a space-ship. He kept the sails, though. He claimed that it wouldn't look right without them.

True to Dona's word, the ship was surprisingly fast. Mary sat on the deck for the journey; after a while, Dona came to join her.

"I thought you'd be staying with your friend," Mary said.

Dona shrugged. "I can see my friend any time I want. You, however, I have only a limited amount of time left with." She sat down next to Mary and pulled herself closer, wrapping her arms around her companion.

"What did you mean earlier when you said 'no strings attached'?" Mary asked, her proximity to Dona focusing her mind onto their previous conversation.

"You mean you didn't know?" Dona asked, amused. "And yet you replied in kind. That's very trusting of you." She hesitated; Mary could hear her steady breaths, feel them as they fluttered the hair on the back of her head. "What I meant was - imagine, for a moment, that there are only two people in the world. You and me. We have no lovers, no reason to hesitate in whatever we choose to do. But once the moment is over, we return to being two strangers, free to move on with our lives and forget each other. It's very simple, really." She laughed. "And I think rather fanciful of me."

Mary didn't say anything. She watched the stars go by above them. Perhaps privately she agreed with Dona - it sounded like something out of the pages of a novel. But at the same time maybe she needed something fanciful, something to cheer her up.

Dona became quiet. She hummed slightly under her breath. Mary let herself melt into the sound, and they stayed like that for the rest of the journey.

In too short a time, they had caught up with Jem. He seemed relieved to see her, in his gruff way; there was no laughing, no embraces, with Jem Merlyn.

Dona said goodbye to her with a kiss. "It was nice meeting you, Mary," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

And soon after that the war began.

Really, they should have been prepared. There had been mumblings about danger in most places Mary and Jem had visited; minor conflicts, scraps over trade, moral arguments about the things being traded. But no-one had thought there would be a war. No-one ever did.

It was a mess that caught up nearly the whole system in alliances so convoluted that after it was all over there probably weren't many people who could figure out entirely what happened. At the end of the day, they made little difference: both sides had wanted land and control; both sides saw great destruction. And the people who won - the people who were now in charge of the entire system - had clamped down on government sanctioned slavery but turned a blind eye to the ships that scoured planets for people to kidnap, and which had seemingly doubled in number in the aftermath of the war.

Mary had - miraculously - managed to escape the whole thing relatively unscathed. She'd once more been separated from Jem, for much the same reason as before, but this time it hadn't been safe to catch a ride - movement between planets was, by law, extremely limited when the sky was peppered with the debris of people who had lost fights, and there wasn't anyone willing to risk legal action just to carry Mary somewhere. So she'd whiled away her time with a nervous young woman and her much older husband, immigrants to the particular outer reaches planet that she'd found herself on. Apparently some trouble at home had necessitated the move - she hadn't paid particular attention, mostly choosing to keep herself to herself, and they hadn't said much on the subject anyway. And when everything was over and an uneasy peace had settled, she said goodbye and set off in search of - something. She couldn't say quite what - Jem, maybe. She just knew she couldn't bear to sit still anymore.

Mary would never figure out what coincidence brought her to the exact same bar in Erna where she had met Dona three years earlier. Pirates were no longer plaguing the area - the war had played a part, as had the local authorities' eventual success in clamping down on their activities. Mysteriously, their arrested leader had managed to escape the prison on the day before his execution for the death of a man visiting from the city. No-one had managed to work out how he'd done it, but Mary gathered from a few resentful murmurings that Dona had been seen around the house where he was kept at the time.

"I always knew it was her," one man declared to Mary once he saw she was interested in the topic. He stared - very conspicuously - at her chest.

"No you didn't," his friend scoffed. "None of us did. It weren't till after she got caught for spying that any of us knew a bloody thing. Excuse my reaches speak, ma'am." He addressed this last remark to Mary.

Mary wanted to tell him that she'd heard much worse on her travels, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she asked, "Spying?"

"Yeah. It's the general feeling here, ma'am, that if it weren't for that damn - if it weren't for Lady St Columb, we would've done a bit better in the war."

"Might even've won!" His friend chimed in.

The man ignored him. "But it's alright, see, because she got her comeuppance for that. There's some here that think she could be punished more, but I'm a fair man. If you see what happened -"

He was cut off by the sound of the doors opening.

Mary could finish his sentence for him: "If you see what happened, you'll know what I mean." She got caught for spying. Mary sucked in a deep breath and tried to stop herself from trembling.

In the doorway stood Dona St Columb. A dark scar that barely missed her left eye crossed her face. It had never properly healed, and gave the impression that it could split apart the entire front of her head at any moment. One of her hands glinted in the sunlight; Mary guessed it was a replacement. There was a lot of demand for those nowadays. But her physical appearance wasn't the most shocking change. As Dona grew closer, Mary caught the look in her eyes. She could still remember the sadness in them before, and mingled with that the joy for life. Now they were just dead.

When Dona walked past her she stood up almost involuntarily. But what would she say to her? They'd met once, years ago. And once you'd gone through a horrible experience, whether it left scars on the outside or not, there was nothing anyone could say that wouldn't feel false. Mary knew that.

Dona slumped down at the bar and ordered a drink. Someone had left a newspaper there; she picked it up and began to flick through the pages. The front cover had an article about depowering the androids left after the war - 'androids', which implied artificial life rather than the near resurrection of the dead pioneered in the midst of fighting, was the accepted term now. Many people - including the writer - felt that it was unnatural to continue human life after death. These poor souls had died in the war, or not long before it, and they should be allowed to stay at rest. It occurred to Mary, as she read it from her position hovering at Dona's side, that no-one in this discussion had bothered to ask the 'poor souls' what they thought about being 'deactivated'.

Dona yanked down the newspaper, startling Mary out of her thoughts. "If you really want to read it," she said, "you could have asked me to give it to you, rather than standing so close by." There might have been a glimmer of recognition in her eyes; Mary couldn't tell.

"Hello," she tried. "Do you remember me?" She sat down next to Dona.

Silence.

Dona turned over a leaf of the paper. "It's funny," she said, "the disconnect between using such an impressive piece of technology -" here she waved her right hand - "to handle something so primitive." She flapped the paper. "But then again, this has always been a place that firmly believed in tradition, and everything that that implies. I had to call a man from off world to fix my hand up."

She finally turned to Mary. "Does it sound ridiculous that I missed you?" There was a flicker of a smile on her lips.

"What about your pirate?"

"He had other business during the war."

"Your husband?"

"He…" Dona paused. "When I was uncovered, he was really very sorry at what was happening - I could tell, he was, and shocked too, that his wife could do such a thing - but he didn't do anything to stop it. He told me that everything would be alright if I just confessed, he practically begged me to confess because he hated seeing me in pain. Unfortunately for him, I've always been stubborn. Then he died fighting. Brave enough to defend his homeland; not brave enough to defend his wife. I suppose it takes different types of strength to do either. I've been forgiven, you know, by the new government, but nobody trusts a spy, not even after an official pardon. My children were taken away after Harry died. So if you're thinking how extraordinarily ridiculous it is of me to miss a woman who I've only met once in my life, the truth is that I have nothing else left."

"I -" Mary hesitated, knowing she couldn't say 'I'm sorry', couldn't apologise for whatever horrible things had happened -"I wish I could do something to help."

"You're here. That's more than anyone else is. And please - don't tell me that your coming here was a coincidence. I'd much rather think that you sought me out on purpose." Dona's drink arrived, and she took a moment to taste it. She made a face. "This bar has always made terrible beer. I don't know why I bother anymore. What happened to your thief?"

"We got separated," Mary said, and left it at that. Dona let her.

"I need to get off this damn planet," she muttered to herself.

An idea occurred to Mary. "I have a ship," she said.

Dona looked up. "You do?" she asked. She seemed surprised, like she hadn't expected anyone to be listening to what she'd said.

"The Mary Anne. It's how I got here. There were people I stayed with, on the outer reaches, during the war. They gave me it. It's a bit patchy - a while ago there was some accident with it, don't ask me what because I don't know - but it could get us away."

"You're asking me to come with you?"

Mary hesitated. But she knew the necessity of leaving the places of the past behind you. "Yes."

"Well." Dona thought for a while. "You've lost your thief, I've lost my pirate. We could go looking for them." She glanced at Mary, and again there was that hint of a smile. "And have some fun along the way. I'm sure I can still remember how to enjoy myself, if I have you to help jog my memory." Hope was in her voice now. Cautious hope, but hope nevertheless.

"We can go straight away," said Mary. "After you've paid for your drink, that is." A memory came to her. "No strings attached?"

Dona dug around in her pocket for money, which she gave to the man behind the bar. "I don't have any strings left," she said. "Nothing to forget for the moment I'm with you." She tilted her head, sizing Mary up, admiring her. "So I think I can afford to make some new ties."

She stood up unsteadily and offered Mary her arm. Mary took it without hesitation and, together, they left the bar.

#frenchman's creek #jamaica inn #daphne du maurier #fanfiction #femslash #writing fanfiction like a bus #me? writing fic for niche literary pairings? it's more likely than you think

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femmesfollesnebraska · 5 years

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Artist Collab Feature: Erna Kuik & Christie Collins

This collaboration titled The Art of Coming Undone has been a joint effort between Dutch artist Erna Kuik and poet Christie Collins, pairing her artwork with my poems. The project, currently underway and projected to be finished in January 2019, looks to be included in a manuscript by the same title that will include 35 pages of poems by me along with 12 images by Erna. What makes this collaboration really special is the intimate connection between poem and image. Half of the images have been created based on the poems. The other half of the images informed the writing of new poems.

Said Collins:

This collaboration began when I happened upon Erna’s market booth in Amsterdam when I first witnessed her haunting and poignant images that visualize at their heart the longing and loneliness of female dysphoria. Immediately, I felt I had found a visual artist working with the same themes and the same vision as my own: the visual representation of my poems, even though at that time we were strangers. I approached Erna about forming a collaboration, and we have been working together since to tell the story of a woman’s journey through desire, marriage, anxiety, unrest, depression, and divorce, and self-reinvention. It has and continues to be a labor of love dedicated to all women who have loved and lost, who have suffered, and who have battled mental illness. Set largely in Louisiana, the narrative unfolds as a kind of re-envisioning of Kate Chopin’s famous novel, The Awakening, an artistic partnership that Welsh artist Penny Hallas called “strong and beautiful work…a vibrant and equal collaboration.”

As Leslie Jamison said in her powerful article “Grand Unified Theory of Female Pain:” “I want to insist that female pain is still news. It’s always news. We’ve never already heard it. It’s news when a girl loses her virginity or gets an ache in the rag and bone shop of her heart. It’s news when she starts getting her period or when she does something to make herself stop. It’s news if a woman feels terrible about herself in the world—anywhere, anytime, ever … The wounded woman gets called a stereotype, and sometimes she is. But sometimes she’s just true.” We work from this belief: that all female pain is relevant and true. All female pain is its own kind of art. Its own kind of poem. Its own immense collaboration.

DEAR READER, LOVE POET

I have a theory that no poem sounds like a bad poem,

provided that the knowing poet has taken time to practice reading

the verse aloud, visualizing the valleys of syllables in each word, breathing

in just the right corners, following the line breaks like a trail through the woods.

For all we know, a giraffe might stumble into this poem. He might unfurl his long black

tongue against a toddler’s rosy cheek, and if you hear this image aloud, you can see the long,

spotted neck of the animal. It doesn’t cross your mind to judge if one can get away with writing

a poem about a giraffe. It’s already been done and here you are, too, at the zoo participating

in the tenderness of this moment, this world, this strange existence feeling smaller, kinder.

If the reader is prepared & passionate, certainly any poem could be moving, which

is why I wish I could be there with you now as you read this line to yourself.

I want to go back to the beginning & read this poem to you because in hearing it,

I would give you a small piece of myself which would break from my voice into flight,

vulnerable yet soaring. As I read this poem, you would hear undercurrents, a brave passion.

In all honesty, you may hear me slip or stammer on a word because that happens sometimes

as do other truths when I let go of this tight grip, when I let the robe slip off my shoulders,

when it’s just me and my voice in front of the stage lights, the audience waiting.

HOW TO BUILD A DOCK

Block out three summers, buy a forest of Western Red Cedar.

Prepare for failure, the kind you must dive under water to amend.

Use string to measure the distance between posts or the distance from start to finish.

Be the lover whose song cannot be cured. Be the girl whose father wouldn’t approve.

Only when you finish will you know that there was always futility in your desire:

Here, at the edge of the dock, you are surrounded by saltwater, but you are no closer to knowing the sea.

Christie Collins is an American poet based in Cardiff, Wales. She moved to Wales last year from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where she taught full-time in the English Department at Louisiana State University in addition to working as a remote editorial assistant for Copper Canyon Press. In Cardiff, she is a doctoral candidate in Creative and Critical Writing at Cardiff University under the supervision of Richard Gwyn and Ailbhe Darcy. As part of her degree program, she also teaches creative writing workshops for the university. Her critical and creative work has been published in or is forthcoming in Kenyon Review Online, Entropy, Cold Mountain Review, Chicago Review of Books, Canyon Voices, Appalachian Heritage, Poetry South, Poetry Wales, Still: The Journal, Wicked Alice, So to Speak, and Reunion: The Dallas Review. Her chapbook titled Along the Diminishing Stretch of Memory was published in 2014 by Dancing Girl Press.

Erna Kuik is a Dutch photographer, visual artist, and writer. After graduating from the Artez Academy in 1992, her artwork was awarded the Gretha and Adri Pieck Prize, an award to encourage young, promising artists. Her work tends toward an expressionistic style, known for its strong lines in linocuts and its poetic content. She wrote and illustrated children's books about very creative hares published by Atlantie Verlag Switzerland and has published other work that features her photography and illustrations. Her art can be found in many private collections worldwide and is exhibited in museums like the Haags Gemeentemuseum in The Hague and Museum De Fundatie in Zwolle and in galleries most recently during Slow Art In Motion Zutphen, Weg van Kunst in Kampen, and Lingeprint Grafiekmanifestatie in Huissen in the Netherlands. She loves to be in her studio; the spirit of making fluid thoughts into sparkling crystals on paper keeps her going. Her book Zwei lange, lange Ohren received many good reviews and was nominated for the Luchs Award by die Zeit in Germany.

Les Femmes Folles is a volunteer organization founded in 2011 with the mission to support and promote women in all forms, styles and levels of art from around the world with the online journal, print annuals, exhibitions and events; originally inspired by artist Wanda Ewing and her curated exhibit by the name Les Femmes Folles (Wild Women). LFF was created and is curated by Sally Deskins. LFF Booksis a micro-feminist press that publishes 1-2 books per year by the creators of Les Femmes Folles including the award-winning Intimates & Fools (Laura Madeline Wiseman, 2014) , The Hunger of the Cheeky Sisters: Ten Tales (Laura Madeline Wiseman/Lauren Rinaldi, 2015 and Mes Predices (catalog of art/writing by Marie Peter Toltz, 2017).Other titles include Les Femmes Folles: The Women 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 and 2016 available on blurb.com, including art, poetry and interview excerpts from women artists. A portion of the proceeds from LFF books and products benefit the University of Nebraska-Omaha’s Wanda Ewing Scholarship Fund.

Current call for collaborative art-writing: http://femmesfollesnebraska.tumblr.com/post/181376606692/lff-2019-artistpoet-collaborations

https://www.facebook.com/femmesfolles

#artandpoetry

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michaelfallcon · 6 years

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Remembering Erna Knutson, Coffee’s Feminist Pioneer

Erna Knutsen (1921—2018).

Our lives, all of them, are lived in versions. I have a version of my life, my parents have another, my siblings another, and for every person I count as a friend or acquaintance, there are yet more versions of my life. This is not news to anyone. Famous people famously have many biographies written about them, many different versions of who they were and what they did or didn’t do.

Erna Knutsen was not a famous person, generally. She was a famous person, specifically. The regular world, the world that is not engrossed and consumed by, obsessed and beset by coffee, that world may not know who Erna Knutsen was. The coffee world—and not just the specialty coffee world—knows who Erna Knutsen was, though we may not agree on any one version of her story. But I think we might all agree, or most of us, on a version of the person.

She was generous, if not to a fault, then beyond normal, with her time, knowledge, and understanding. For years before the Specialty Coffee Association of America (now the SCA) hired its first professional staff person, Erna was the unofficial spokesperson for the industry, speaking to reporters about the new fad known as specialty coffee. Perhaps because her story can be understood as something of an underdog story, she loved to see people succeed against the expectations if not the odds; and while she was not at all shy of the spotlight, she was likely to drag someone else into the spotlight with her to share it. She had a guffaw that bordered on a cackle and yet was thoroughly charming because it was so genuine, and often surprising, because if anyone could find humor in unexpected places, it was Erna Knutsen.

“During the discussion after one cupping session, Erna had scored a particular sample much higher than the rest of the jury, so Paul asked her to explain what she liked so much about that coffee. She put on her reading glasses, perused her cupping sheet for a few seconds, then looked up and replied, ‘Oh… I’m sleeping with the farmer!’”

-career coffee professional Stephen Vick, talking about the Cup of Excellence jury in Nicaragua, 2006

I am writing in the past tense because Erna died in June of this year. At 96, she was well past the age when we ask what it was that caused her death. Enough was enough. She had already lived more than one life by any measure and for those of us who claim coffee as a living, it was her second life that meant the most, her coffee life. Erna’s father, Edwin, died just three months before his 100th birthday. Long life was in her blood, is one way to put it. Another way would be to say that long life was in her spirit, and her spirit was needed to launch an industry. To give away the ending, that is what Erna Knutsen did.

Some people will tell you she did this by coining a phrase. Some people will tell you she did this by taking a seat at a table where women were not welcome. Both of these things are true—they really happened—but neither of them sparked a specialty coffee revolution. Erna Knutsen set the fire by reframing the primary transaction within the coffee trade. She understood something so simple to us now; but something that was, for green coffee brokers 50 years ago, like searching for the forest through the trees. Erna saw that green coffee sales could be counted in small bags, not just huge containers. More importantly, she saw the emergence of a roaster class for whom this idea meant something and upon which she could build a business model.

They were known as the “small trade” back then, in the late 60’s, townie and regional roasters who couldn’t buy a container or half a box of coffee at one time, even for a component in their bestselling blend. As far as the coffee traders of the day were concerned, these roasters were anomalies and throwbacks, odd-ducks in a world full of fat geese roasters that ate containers of coffee for breakfast. Shipping anything in containers was only a decade old at that point, but the steel box had quickly become a metric in coffee since the coffee world was dominated by a handful of large roasters—four of whom owned 70% of the market—who thought of margins in fractions of a cent and sometimes in fractions of lost cents.

Erna’s thinking was different.

***

To speak of a “confluence of events” can be dismissive of the components, as if they were all passive players. While it is true that Erna Knutsen first gazed out upon the coffee landscape at a precise and distinct moment in time, ripe for her particular point of view and manner, it might also be true that the moment was made precise and distinct because she was there to take advantage of it.

When Erna took a job as secretary to Bert Fulmer, a partner at importer B.C. Ireland, in 1968, she was 30 years into a long career as a secretary. She’d worked in banks, on Wall Street, and, after moving to San Francisco in the 1950s, for lawyers and even the Vice President of Coffee at the American Molasses Company, where coffee sold to giant roasters failed to capture her imagination. A dozen years later, she was vice president of B.C. Ireland, still a rare thing in business even in 1981, and unheard of in the coffee industry.

B.C. Ireland was established in San Francisco in 1885 and initially focused on spices, herbs, rice, and peanuts. By the turn of the century they were also importing enough coffee to merit a mention as a player by W.H. Ukers in his seminal All About Coffee as he listed San Francisco importers active in 1905. By the 1950s they were listed among the top “non-roasting” coffee importers in the United States in terms of volume. They continued to import herbs and spices, however, and this might be why, in 1981, the name “B.C. Ireland Coffee Company” was established as a business in California.

The registering agent? Erna Knutsen, president.

Erna had not only gone from secretary to vice president of B.C. Ireland, she was to be president of a new entity devoted exclusively to coffee. Four years later, as she told it, she bought the coffee importing company and renamed it Knutsen Coffees, LTD. Erna liked to add that she fired all the men in the process, but she always said it with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. Because if she did fire all the men, it was with cause. In 1985, the year of its 100th anniversary, B.C. Ireland ceased doing business and Knutsen Coffees LTD. was born.

They were all men and they didn’t think women deserved the break. But I fooled them. I bought the company and fired them all. No! Did I? Oh! Oh, no. Yeah. Imagine trying to keep a woman out? Anyway, I learned a lot from them.

-Erna, during her second SCAA award acceptance speech, 2014

This outcome, in 1985, on the brink of her 65th birthday, would have seemed entirely unlikely for most of her life. Or at least up until 1975, when she predicted it would happen.

***

By the time Erna Knutson arrived at B.C. Ireland, she was in function what we would call an executive assistant today. She’d come a long way from the typing pool at 120 Wall Street in New York, or just taking shorthand, a skill that helped her land her first job at a bank the day after her wedding to her first husband. She was only 18, and got married because, she said, in those days it was “the only way for a girl to get out of the house.”

That was in 1939, and the depression still loomed over the country. A decade or so earlier, in 1926, her family had left Norway to escape one depression, and arrived in American just in time for another. Erna was five. She had never seen an apple, or tasted red sauce. All of her mother’s sauces were white, but their Italian neighbors in a tenement building in Brooklyn used red sauces. Two aromas Erna most associated with her childhood were Italian cooking and coffee being freshly ground and brewed by her mother every morning before sunrise.

“When we moved to New York, she bought coffee once per week from a tall, handsome man with a big top hat who would deliver it fresh-roasted to our house. That man was the grandfather of David Dallis, still in New York and still a small batch roaster.”

-Erna in a 1994 interview with Kevin Sinnott for Tea & Coffee Trade Journal

According to Erna, she was busy as a “housewife in the country” (i.e. the East Bay) when Bert Fulmer of the “coffee Fulmers” asked her to help him out part-time at B.C. Ireland. One of her responsibilities was maintaining the “position book” which kept track of the company’s green coffee. Within the comings and goings of green coffee, she discovered what she would come to call her gems.

Like most lives long-lived, various versions can come from none other than the person who lived it. It’s hard to say at this point exactly how Erna went from part-time secretary to trader specializing in selling “broken lots” of less than a container, gems, to the rare small roasters of the day. But we know a few things with relative certainty, between 1968 and 1973:

• Erna became interested in the small coffee roasters who were being largely ignored by traders at B.C. Ireland at the time.

• Erna saw a way to connect these small roasters to broken lots of coffee.

• Erna tasted the coffees she sold, but understood that to communicate effectively with these roasters, she needed to cup coffee.

• Using the most offensive terms imaginable, some men at B.C. Ireland told Bert Fulmer they would quit if she was allowed into the cupping room.

• Despite this, Bert Fulmer encouraged Erna to continue speaking to small roasters and selling them coffee.

• The first time she bought a full container of coffee, she had to taste the coffee at her desk in a cubicle, sitting next to the exporter. “The boys” roasted and brewed the coffee and brought it to her.

• That first box was Sumatra Mandheling and she sold the entire container in one month, just like she promised Fulmer she would.

In 1973, Erna Knutsen was allowed to take a seat at the cupping table at B.C. Ireland. But Erna’s reputation was established before she entered the cupping room and it was that same year that Tea & Coffee Trade Journal, taking note of this novelty trend of small roasters looking for better coffees, interviewed Erna. It was in that interview that she famously uttered the phrase “specialty coffee.”

***

What was evident when Erna was finally allowed to cup coffee was evident for the next 40 years of her life until she retired in 2013 at age 93. She had a fine palate. Armed with a cupping spoon and a willingness to sell small lots of coffee, the “small trade,” now known as “her” roasters, flocked to Erna and in 1975 she predicted she would buy B.C. Ireland in another 10 years.

That’s another thing about Erna Knutsen: she was true to her word. Erna did not invent travel to origin, but she was among the importers that understood early on in specialty coffee that “boots on the ground” was essential to buying quality coffee. “The way I do business is so personal,” she said. She wanted to look the farmers in the eye the same way she looked her customers in the eye when she made a commitment, perhaps a necessity for a Norwegian. But this need became a hallmark of trading specialty coffee, the ability to say, not only have I tasted the coffees, I’ve been there. Before the emergence of specialty coffee, coffee traders traveled to origin to visit banks and brokers, but not coffee farms.

Forgive the borrowing, but there are also many other things which Erna did. If all written down, they would fill the world. She would be the first to laugh long and hard at the suggestion that she was either savior or saint. But some lives count for something more than most among so many people that we should pause long enough to imagine everything we don’t know about that person, or even the secret things we do know, because the life, the life of Erna Knutsen, was lived in any case worthy of your consideration.

Erna received a lifetime achievement award twice from the Specialty Coffee Association, at ages 73 and 93, something that can only really happen when you outlive expectations. She had played a vital role in the founding of the organization. If you watch the video of Erna accepting her second award in 2014, she is standing next to her business and life partner, John Rapinchuk. If you look closely at the necktie John is wearing, you’ll see it is decorated with small portraits of Erna. If you knew John, who died last year, you know this sort of thing was not atypical of him. But also, if you knew John, you know he adored Erna and that as he tied his tie that day he smiled not only because the tie was a little funny, but because so many people seeing it would understand and share in the true love behind the funny, and that, more than anything else I can say for right now, almost perfectly describes what it was like to know Erna Knutsen.

Mike Ferguson (@aboutferguson) is an American coffee professional and writer based in Atlanta and currently part of the marketing team at Olam Specialty Coffee. Read more Mike Ferguson on Sprudge.

Top photo by Zachary Carlsen for Sprudge Media Network, taken at an Equator Coffees cafe opening in 2013.

The post Remembering Erna Knutson, Coffee’s Feminist Pioneer appeared first on Sprudge.

Remembering Erna Knutson, Coffee’s Feminist Pioneer published first on https://medium.com/@LinLinCoffee

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epchapman89 · 6 years

Text

Remembering Erna Knutson, Coffee’s Feminist Pioneer

Erna Knutsen (1921—2018).

-career coffee professional Stephen Vick, talking about the Cup of Excellence jury in Nicaragua, 2006

Erna’s thinking was different.

***

The registering agent? Erna Knutsen, president.

-Erna, during her second SCAA award acceptance speech, 2014

This outcome, in 1985, on the brink of her 65th birthday, would have seemed entirely unlikely for most of her life. Or at least up until 1975, when she predicted it would happen.

***

-Erna in a 1994 interview with Kevin Sinnott for Tea & Coffee Trade Journal

• Erna became interested in the small coffee roasters who were being largely ignored by traders at B.C. Ireland at the time.

• Erna saw a way to connect these small roasters to broken lots of coffee.

• Erna tasted the coffees she sold, but understood that to communicate effectively with these roasters, she needed to cup coffee.

• Using the most offensive terms imaginable, some men at B.C. Ireland told Bert Fulmer they would quit if she was allowed into the cupping room.

• Despite this, Bert Fulmer encouraged Erna to continue speaking to small roasters and selling them coffee.

• That first box was Sumatra Mandheling and she sold the entire container in one month, just like she promised Fulmer she would.

***

Mike Ferguson (@aboutferguson) is an American coffee professional and writer based in Atlanta and currently part of the marketing team at Olam Specialty Coffee. Read more Mike Ferguson on Sprudge.

Top photo by Zachary Carlsen for Sprudge Media Network, taken at an Equator Coffees cafe opening in 2013.

The post Remembering Erna Knutson, Coffee’s Feminist Pioneer appeared first on Sprudge.

seen 1st on http://sprudge.com

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witchofthescions · 2 years

Text

From the far side of the rock, Erna and Lenar could hear Gosetsu and Hien sparring. As they got closer, the friendly banter became clearer.

"Mina's little Master Shun," Gosetsu said, his tone a mix of fondness and teasing. "What a fine young man you've become!"

"A man should not be addressed by his childhood name," Hien protested. "I've told you about that before!"

Hien spotted the duo's approach. "Ah, the mask slips! And I was so close to cultivating a winning persona."

"There will be opportunity enough for putting on airs after you have returned in triumph to Doma," Gosetsu remarked. "Now is the time to show our true character."

"'Shun', was it?" Lenar teased once they were within range.

Hien sighed and shook his head. "...Yes, yes, 'tis a name my parents gave me as a child—but I should like to think I have long since outgrown it!"

Erna laughed while Lenar simply grinned.

"But as you seem determined to bring it back into use, I believe a match is in order. If I win, you will be honor-bound to divulge one of your darkest secrets."

Erna laughed harder while Lenar looked surprised.

"Well, I suppose I did open that door, didn't I? Alright, fine. Just don't let beating a blind man in a swordfight go to your head."

"You don't think you have a chance of winning?" Gosetsu remarked.

"Of course not. My skills lie in healing, not swordplay. However, don't think I won't put up a fight, either."

"I look forward to seeing what sword skills you do have," Hien said. "Perhaps we might learn something from one another!"

Erna and Gosetsu sat and watched as the two sparred, Erna absolutely fascinated by every single thing about it. Though they had very different styles, they both prioritized speed over raw power. Lenar fought a bit more like Yugiri or Thancred, favoring quick strikes at weak points and even quicker retreats. His goal was to overwhelm and confuse. It tracked with what she'd seen of the two previous times he'd taken up the sword; with the Warriors of Darkness, he had surprised Arbert and kept him off-balance long enough to land a killing blow. With Fordola, he caught her off-guard and made it as difficult for her to get her feet back under her as he could. But it became very apparent very quickly that in a fair fight he was at a significant disadvantage.

Hien went for a lunge that would not fool a sighted person. But Lenar could not react swiftly enough. The lag between what his carbuncle saw and his ability to interpret it was too great. And so the telling blow connected, ending the match.

Lenar flopped onto the grass, his carbuncle oh so helpfully crawling on top of him and sitting on him. His fairy did her best to heal what few injuries and bruises arose from the match.

Hien took a seat next to him, letting out a triumphant laugh. "Well! It seems you were correct on both fronts. Well fought, Lenar."

"Indeed," Lenar said. "Now, if you'll afford me a moment... to catch my breath..."

"Take all the time you need, my friend." Gosetsu and Erna came over to sit with them, Erna gushing about how amazing that little fight was.

"I owe you a secret," Lenar said, once he'd recovered his breath. "Now, would you prefer tit for tat—an embarrassing childhood secret for an embarrassing childhood secret—or something a bit more substantial?"

"Now now, no point in going to such extremes for a silly bet," Hien said.

"Tis naught that I haven't already told the rest of my companions," Lenar said. "And if we are to be companions for a time, I feel it would be fitting if I were to tell you as well."

"That is rather kind of you," Hien said. "But it would not do for you to share something of such personal significance at swordpoint. I would rather such a secret be freely given."

"Fair enough." Lenar sat up and made sure he was more or less facing the group. "So. The sword at my hip was given to me by a dear friend, and my first crush, after his passing. That part is not the secret."

"What a way to start!" Hien remarked, resting his chin on his hands.

"The embarrassing secret... is of the time I confessed my crush to him."

"Ah, young love!" Gosetsu said.

"I had met this man when he began training for knighthood under my mother's tutelage."

"Ah, your mother is a knight?" Hien said, sounding intrigued.

"She is," Lenar replied. "Back in her heyday, she was one of the finest knights of House Fortemps. Due to age and the fact that she now had a small child, however, she had mostly transitioned to training future generations of knights. This young man had been her student for a few years at this point. I was 15, he was 19 at the time. I was absolutely smitten with him, as one tends to be at that age. And I was fully convinced I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him."

"Ha! Oh, the unbridled confidence of youth!" Gosetsu remarked.

"So confident was I that I approached him one day after some knight training he was undergoing. Marched right up to him and said, 'Haurchefant, I am in love with you!'"

Hien's expression was a mix of incredulity and shock. "Just like that?!"

"Just like that."

"I can see it," Erna chimed in with a grin. "Considering what the two of you were like together."

"How did he even respond?" Hien asked, clearly getting invested.

"He soundly rejected me."

The laugh Hien let out was more of a wheeze. He doubled over as if struck in the stomach. Gosetsu chuckled and shook his head. "It was, to put it mildly, quite a blow to my confidence."

"I can imagine!" Gosetsu said.

"But our relationship recovered from that staggering blow, and we remained friends until the day he died. And I could not have asked for a better friend."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Erna quipped.

"Of course you aren't a better friend than he," Lenar said, "you are his equal."

Ah. Erna hid her rapidly reddening face behind her hands. She wasn't expecting him to turn her joke into something so sweet. Gods damn it, Lenar.

"Ha! 'Tis good to see that you have such a close bond," Gosetsu remarked.

"Indeed. Hold fast to your companions, the both of you," Hien said. "Ties like these are difficult to form, which make them all the more precious."

"I know," Lenar said. "I know far too well. And I will never take such bonds for granted ever again."

#The Unending Journey (Drabbles)#Born in Blood (Stormblood)

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disneysnuff · 6 years

Text

Do not read if you do not want it spoiled roof skye swim bye

UGLEE

A Jarryd Robertson film

McBain 83rd co.

0474 810 323

The overture: classical music plays 1 minute

Appears-

“This film is an apology for calling Angela a jew in year 7 and for referring to my mother as a kyke.. Also I looked at Pauls nose weird twice. - For the dead.” YELLOW FONT

the ocean FLOWS in, a red— filtered shade is composed over the water.

Scene 1- int/ext- Day- ‘The Six Nose’

An anti-jewish propaganda circa 1939

Narrator: (in german)The Jew is a plague. These physiognomies immediately refute the liberal theories about the equality of all who bear a human countenance.

four jewish man stand in a room smiling bearded dressed in robe and yamachas.

Narrator: (in german) the beard. the skullcap. and the robes make the jew easily recognisable to any person. should he remove them we risk polluting the purity of our species being that only the sharp-eyed can spot their racial origins. the jew alters their outward appearance, and leave there polish haunts for the rich world. when a jew is around the non-jewish you see him hide, you see him remove the beard and skull cap prepared to infiltrate and destroy western civilization. The jew in kaftan.. Now.. the concealed jew in western european clothes.

the four jewish men stand without beard, skull cap and robes dressed in suits. smiling.

Narrator: as you can see the jew may be able to conceal there heritage an infest our country. An essential trait to spot the Jew is the 6 nose.

a special circular ruler is placed against a Jews nose

Narrator: The shape of the nose is an involuntary revelation of the racial origins of the Jew. The phony dogma that tricked a healthy instinct of a nation. A plague that threatens the health of the aryan people. Richard Wagner, once said: “the jew is the demon behind the corruption of mankind” and these pictures prove it

The jews are shown smiling in the street. talking. some smoking. attending a synagogue.arguing

Narrator: instead jewish morality is in crass contradiction of the aryan concept of ethics, proclaims an unrestrained egoism of every Jew to be divine law. His religion makes cheating and usury a duty. In the fifth book of moses it is stated that “the lord may bless all thy dealings” for the jews doing business is something holy. there youth see only money and do not share the idealism of our german youth.

ADOLF HITLER drives through a parade

our fuhrer once wrote:

“The personification of the devil as the symbol of all evil assumes the living shape of the Jew”

Jews are shown in the street haggling and trading. and a Jew is shown sideways in a near silouette that fades into a silloutte

Narrator- Remember The six nose!

the nose is zoom in upon and an accent charms

-note: roman iconography and nazi flags is spliced throughout along with jewish paraphenallia.-

Scene 2- ext/int day- pond- Gold residence- the family man

A quiet rocky village in the country.

A pond occupied by ducks swimming harmoniously. The sun is going down and the world is laced with golden sunlight.

Bread is thrown into the water by families and kids. People are playing. The Jewish are living. the pond i and stills by a village that is occupied by only The jewish. a family is throwing bread into the water.

Jacobny: broyt (bread) broyt!

the ducks comp up the bread quacking about.

two kids begin skipping rocks. the rocks skip across the water in two pads/plops.

KEBETT: (in yiddish) Do you think you could hit a duck? hahaha

CORDEN: i could sell and feed rocks to this duck!

Corden nods firmly. he throws the rock and hits a duck. the ducks stammer and goes into panic fleeing about flapping the wings squawking about.

Kebett and Corden laugh and keep throwing rocks

Kebett: the ducks fly off north from here. hahaha

they skip more rocks and hit the ducks again causing them to fly off but no more ducks are hit.

kebetts mother lucille wanders towards the pond

Lucille: kebbett!! its dinner time come home

Corden: id do fu-fuck your mother because she cooks so well. Kebbet: “Abi gezunt dos leben ken men zikh ale mol nemen.” stay healthy because you can kill yourself later.

corden: tomorrow youll awake to her squeling “corden fuck me!!”

Kebbet: what did you say to me?

kebbet raises his hand to his chin and flicks his hand off of it with a click of his fingers

Gey strashe di gens (go threaten the geese)

the two boys leave the pond to go home.

you see corden arrive at his house. the house is made of round rocks as is most of the village. corden goes into his house and sneaks past his father who is tossing salad with wooden utensils. The Father HUMBA mixes up the salad. Humba is a good father and doctor. and now lives with his wife and four children.

Humba Gold: Sofia! giyani! Corden!

Humba pops a cork of a glass bottle of purple drink/juice. the four children come from their rooms as Humba pours them all a glass at the setted up dining room table. the children enter and sit at the table quiet. Corden is wearing a red peter pan like hat instead of his yamacah. Humba serves the dinner. the girls enter laughing. Humba silences them.

Humba: Sofia! have extra today. you’ll need to eat, you look very skinny!

Sofia: im trying to papa

Humba: did you catch the butterfly yet my butterfly?

Sofia: no they do not stand still for me

Humba:Because you are not a nice little girl i think

humba grins

sofia: i pray and worship every day yes i am a nice girl. can you help me to catch it papa

Humba: perhaps tomorrow.. but.. you need only to look in the mirror my butterfly

humba reaches out to her and touches her nose.

Humba:hold hands everyone

they hold hands

Humba:BA-RUCH A-TAH A-DO-NOI

ELO-HAI-NU ME-LECH HA-O-LAM

HA-MO-TZI LE-CHEM MIN HA-A-RETZ. (blessed are you, Lord our God, king of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth. )

Humba: we may now eat

the family eat away for a minute or so untill it becomes apparent that Corden is chewing with his mouth open

Corden: Chomp! Chomp!

humba becomes irritated. and bangs he table loudly. BANG.

Humba: Do not eat like an animal Corden!! if you want to eat like a goat! you can piss and shit like a goat, sleep like a goat FUCK LIKE A GOAT!!

Corden: Goat?..!!!

Humba: take that stupid hat off now

corden: Goat???

Humba slaps the hat off his head

Humba: mouth closed

the daughters sit silently eating quietly

Humba: BEHEYME (fool)

Corden: you work me like the goat

Humba: different… You a person!! what would your mother think? oh this boy is no person he pees with his feet!! what is this on your head?

Corden: hat.

Humba: TAKE THAT STUPID HAT OFF NOW

Corden stares at his father now hatless. they continue staring at eachother Corden grabs a handful of the salad with his hands and stuffs it in his mouth

Humbert:BOY!!!

Corden takes off his hat picks up his weapons/cutlery and begins using them.

-END SCENE-

Scene 3- ext/int-day- village street. The arrival of evil

the rocky made village is filled with jews all inside there homes. three SS gestapo vehicles drives upon the outskirts of the village slowly but surely approaching. birds eye. approaching from a few miles from the village two of the vehicles are jeep-like and the third, the car at the front, is a german vehicle of luxury. three gestapo are having a conversation in one of the military style jeeps.

VIKOR: whats the best type of jewish?

SOLO: mhm, a poor jueden.

They laugh.

solo: have good one da

vikor: how many jews does it take to ruin a nation?

solo: ein (one).

solo ashes a ciggarette.

vikor: again with.. whats the best type of jewish?

a nazi untilts his hat and begins speaking.

LUKIN: that is very simple.. one that is not of breath

solo: i prefer a jew that looks like he needs a jacket in winter. and is as still, as an oil painting.

all together: hahaha mudhahaha

lukin: soon they all be

lukin ashes the ciggarette.

nazi flags of the car float in the wind.

the cars are driving along a windy road.

-the second car to the front.-

a german named FANG shines his luger singing

a second named KLAUS is driving whilst behind the wheel, and another nazi gordon sits setting up his photo camera

FANG:

A, B, C, the cat ran in the snow,

And as she went out of it,

She had on white booties,

O jiminy, O jiminy, O jiminy, O gee!

GORDON: stop singing i cant deal with it

fang: (LOUDER)

oh !!A, B, C, the cat ran up high,

She licked her cold paw clean

And also cleaned her booties,

And went no more into the snowwww.

fang. whats wrong ?

gordon: its a melancholic day.

fang: da? holes for all, our last automatic death!

fang plays with his luger shining it faster getting off on it and then aims

fang: chu chu splat splash chu

gordon: system. they have a system now.

fang: makes our job prettier

gordan: our last pop pop. goodbye jew.. heil furher.

they exchange looks

fang:it is the last time we see the naked, idiotic, weak drop.. you get to take more pictures . (in german) and i get to play play

gordon holds his camera to his eye

fang: lets make it the most beautiful massacre ever, okay?

gordan: Käsekuchen” or (cheesecake)!!

gordon takes the picture

gordon: last day..

fang: LAST. day.

the lineup of the car are approaching

-the luxurious first car-

the hood ornament gleams in vivid dominance a swatstika

ss gestapo officer grim is singing and conducting in his car as german classical music plays (voices of spring by erna sack)

Grim: ooo i love this party

conducting madly behind the wheel as they are close to the village. for some time.

he sings along a little.

they arrive at the village.

all cars pull up slowly as gravel crunches

the music gets quieter. the nazis exit there car

the trunk of the car is opened.

the nazis gather together.

shovels rattle

grim:ready gentlemen?!!

they nod.

the nazis begin stir up the houses and banging there shovels on every door of the one road village.

a little boy comes to the door.

gordon takes a picture

gordon: Käsekuchen”

fang: hello little one

banging on doors is heard throughout the road.

an old lady HOREZ hobells to the door

Horez: well. yi yi ! get away?

fang: get out. where taking you on a permanent vacation

banging is heard throughout the road.

gordon:system.

fang corks his luger.

the world goes silent.

jews are marched out of there house one by one.

is about to begin.

GRIM: a symphony of death, is about to begin

as he waves his arms conducting

-narration-

goebells :. In the evening I had a look at the Polish-Yiddish motion picture, The Dybuk. This film is intended to be a Jewish propaganda picture. Its effect, however, is so anti-Semitic that one can only be surprised to note how little the Jews know about themselves and how little they realize what is repulsive to a non-Jewish person and what is not. Looking at this film I realized once again that the Jewish race is the most disgusting one that inhabits the globe, and that we must show them no mercy and no indulgence. This riffraff must be eliminated and destroyed. Otherwise it won't be possible to bring peace to the world.

whilst this narration takes place the jews are forced out of there homes some in a struggle others go willingly the faces of the children and women are in terror and dismay crying, screaming.

the gestapo arrive at Humbas. vikor and solo bang on the door. humba answers the door

humba: who are you?

solo corks an mp40

Grim: Dr gold my i am ss Gestapo Grim. welcome.. i have a surprise for you.. i hereby invite you to a really really big funeral.

the family come to the door.

humba:

corden: *hapuet*

soflet: papa

solo forces the family out.

grim begins waving his arms conducting again

corden refuses but is eventually dragged out to the street

HUMBERT: please dont hurt my family.

corden is thrown for uncompliance with the ss. his hat falls to the ground

grim: uh-uh uh. no. dont do that. you might wreck his face!!!!!

grim continues conducting

the family is worked out to the center of the street to join the rest of there neighbours they stand 23 strong.

grim stands at the center and front of the line in which a small field is behind. by his car smoking, still waving his arms

the village continues to scream. becoming a herd of jew. nazis with automatic guns stand on every side and corner

humba and his family hug, each jew is individually in fear. screaming crying. children the elderly.

a little boy named RAMIYA runs away from the herd.

grim shoots him in the back. he drops

the village screams and gets closer together.

grim: you run!!! you wont get any last words like this worthless kyke got!!!!!!

scene end.

title appears- Ramiya

aunty islez: can i?… this is the first time he hears it, i want it to be from me!

mum of ramiya: nooooo

Ramiyas father: oh if he wants to hear it let him hear it.

mum of ramiya: okay go

the aunty walks over to the crib

aunty of ramiya:(in jewish) i love you! I LOVE YOU!

ramiya: who rama

scene end. black still

the herd is walked further into a field surrounding the village

crying like as they say there goodbyes in frequent terror.

SCENE ENDS

fang: strip

KADER takes of his brown and navy clothes

untill his underpants

Lukin:all the vay jew, naked

he takes off his underwear exposing his penis

a shovel is handed out. the line up is 22 strong.

fang: walk. filth!

he taps him with the gun on the bum.

kader walks to the field and begins digging

a girl named” anne “ walks to the front of the line up. the nazi at the end exposes her breast.

anne quivers in fear

after pulling her shirt open he touches her breat with a gun. she takes the rest of her clothes off breathing heavy tears she is handed a shovel

solo: walk!

two male jews are stripped and given shovels one by one being told so, they are handed shovels.

grim: dig you swine

grim: dig

soflet starts crying in the lineup.

Humba: its going to be okay my butterfly just looking for buried treasure.

humba kisses her holding her hand they walk together

Humba: corden take your sister corden

corden is handed soflet.

soflet: cordy whats papa going to do?

corden:keep us together

humbert looks closely at sofia

=humba: sofia if the bad men takes papa do not be still=

humba forces himself through to the front of the line up breaking formation

vikor: out of formation! i’ll kill you if you move another centimetre jueden!

the guns of the ss click and the father is still. humbert raises his hands

humba:you dont have to do this? -in yiddish-

grim keeps conducting

they stand in silence for one second there eyes balling eachother

grim keeps conducting

humbert : i want to know if you are going to let..

grim stops conducting

grimm: talk

humbert : i want to know if you are going to let any of us live

grim smiles exposing a gold tooth

goebels narration: this is grim our finest killing machine

grim smiles and a gold tooth outline shines

humba: why are you doing this?

grimm: whats the problem? you disagree with nature?

humba: nature? death?

(*perhaps*grim:feral air questionnaire?)

grim: the purity is mere fundamentals. the second most important aspect to nazi Germany. there will be no flowers at your grave.

humba:I beg you. do not do this?

grim: frankly your race is the rape of our country.

humbert doesnt understand.

humbert: water?

humba makes a drinking motion to his lips.

grim: soon we will drink.

humba: adank (thank you).

humba returns to his family.

grim returns to conducting.

rumba hugs his family tight all together

lukin solo stands at the back if the herd.

grim and fang at the front. grim is conducting once again

fang: clothes….. strip!! clothes!!

the ss stand at each corner. amput is at the front of the line

amput:get away from me

fang: strip or die now

amput: hmmmph (sexily)

she takes off her clothes then takes her white grandma forties panties down. fang hands her a shovel

fang: go dig

fang smiles psychotically exposing his teeth closely.

amput walks to the field and begins digging with the other girls help along with the other girl.

japil is now at the front of the line

fang: do you have any silver?

japil:no

fang: strip

he takes of his shirt and he has brass on his belt

fang touches the belt

fang: gold?

japil:no no onn ono

fang: brass?

japil: take. you have?

fang: almost.. pants

japil lowers his pant

fang hands him a shovel

japil: how deep?

fang: china, go

WOLFEE appears a cartoon wolf

a wolf is on a flying carpet dressed in ss uniform blowing bubbles a red flying carpet, a nazi swatstika is the center piece garment of the hood he crashes into a phat yodelling lady dressed in Traditional Bavarian Tracht and bursts into swatstikas that turn into love hearts and bubbles.

the cartoon ends and film burns out

the street is in still terror

japil eyes fang

fang eyes japil

japil: forever in fin

fang:go move

japil stands still. fang points the luger to his head

fang:go now

japil stands still

japil:fuck you and your fuher.

japil spits

the spit lands on fangs face.

japil refuses shaking

japil: El Maleh Rachamim

fang hits him with the pistol japil drops

grim: get up get up

japil: El Maleh Rachamim

fang then grabs him by the hair and lifts him

grim: salute the fuher

japil salutes with a gun to his head

fang: now kiss it

jappil kisses the luger

fang: again twice

japil breaksdown in tears

japil: no no

grim kisses the air

fang kisses the air

gordon laughs and kisses the sky

vikor kisses the air three times

solo kisses the air and laughs manically

lukin kisses five times

fang: now kiss it

japil kisses the luger and begins peeing on the shoes of fang

grim: this is the most attractive you’ve been all day hahaha

the ss all clap

grim: look at him pee

japils piss creates a puddle

grim: swein vermins everybody! cut it off

fang exposes a knife and grabs japils penis and cuts it off

he drops bleeding out. japil lies on the ground surrounded by the living

grim: what was the roaches name?

grim: who OWNS this child!!

a jew named ANNETE in the herd breaks out

annete: japil was his name!

TITLE APPEARS- JAPIL-

scene int day village

a classroom full of teenagers

japil: whats your name girly girl

amput: amput

japil smiels. amput smiles

narration japil: that was the first time i saw the love of my life naked.

amput digs away. the life leaves japils body

i lost my dick and my life.

japil is lieing dead in a pool of blood by the herd.

village street-

amput: what is yours? mr bad haircut

japil: haha japil. i do need a new hair cut miss beautiful

amput: long on top .short on bottom.. like a soldier

japil: yes MAM!

amput giggles and smiles

japil is lieing dead in a pool of blood by the herd.

japil: death was a turn on, even dickless. i got to see my girl naked. regardless i was taken. as i layed in a pool blood i thought of our first kiss.

japil and amput meet

amput: see, i knew it would look good.

she kisses him on the cheek

japil smiles all over his body

amput diggs naked extrenously.

gordon drags japil dickless to the hole leaving his dick in a puddle of urine. his body is placed near the hole

gordon: i like how you dig girly

gordon takes a photo. she looks cold and disgusted

amput: uh fuck you

the herd stand trembling and hugging.

a small girl named gloris is now at the front

grim: naked now

gloris:-ahhhh

she flaps her arms like a duck

she takes her clothes off

fang: walk to that man in the corner sweety pie

dad:you cant have my daughter

grim: uh uh uh

grim waves his finger

fang: she will be gods. naked, Now

he reaches out to choke fang

grim: naughty!

*pop* grim shoots him in the shoulder

dad:GLORIS! meyn lib(in yiddish) my love subtitle

AZIK falls to the floor

fang stomps his head out till blood flys like popping bacon

title GLORIS FATHER appears

gloris dad ties glorises shoes

dad:rabbit stew rabbit hoop under do the two roll like dough and then make whole

the bloody boot is removed from a puddle of slushed brains and skull fang spits on the body

gloris father: and there we go

sweetheart shoe tieing finishes

gloris: love you papa

they kiss

the wife is standing at the dooorway

gloris’ mother: i still remember why i married you

glorris father “i am good at knots too! hahaha

mum: you two going out?

jacobny: yes allday arent we glorpy

the mum smiles

GLORIS MOTHER

*pop* grim shoots him in the shoulder

dad:GLORIS! meyn lib(in yiddish) my love subtitle

the mum is in a cupboard she hears the gunshot from the top floor she jumps out.

mother: oh my

she looks out the window.

mother: JACOBNY!!

TITLE APPEARS -JACOBNY- with an old time cash register sound effect or timer sound effect or bell.

lieing mashed on med unrecognisable

solo: jew jewwww they open fire \ the herd scream

humba: lucille DROP NOW!!

a bullet goes through the window and puts a hole in the glass and lucilles head killing lucille

LUCILLE APPEARS:

lucille is reading gloris a bed time story

lucille:…..

“And it is such a ‘gift to G-o-d’ which I embarrassed today, for which I am so sorry. And now that this ‘gift’ returned and came to me, shall I not shower him with love?”

lucille closes the book

jacobny enters

jacobny: bedtime now.

glorpy: love you father

lucille: night glorp

lucilles kisses her head strongly

the body of lucille drops to the floor

Humberts family is now at the front of the line up

fang: clothes

she strips her body is vulumptulious

he hands a shovel to giyani..

fang: dig

she walks two metres to the hole and digs naked along with the others

LuKIN: PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT, FASTER JEWS

grim lights a ciggarette. humba reaches the front of the line

grim: ahh dr gold

humba: water? you promised water

grim: i promise death

humba: you cannot do this my family is too young

grimm: clothes off now it will rain soon.. you will not leave to see the third reich cleanse the planet of the rodents of such

humba: for it was you. i would show mercy

grim: clooooothes

humba spits on grims face. he wipes it off

grim: do not be so difficult doctor, please.. i think your health may be at risk

he raises a luger to humberts head

humba: i will do gods work and put you in the ground

before i let you treat me and my family like animal….

grim: my apologies doctor gold but you jueden will not live to see our haven

grim puts the gun to his forehead

grim: 3,2,

HUMBA: DO NOT BE STILL MY BUTTERFLY.. RUN

grim: ein

gunshot

HUMBERT appears

hot air ballon proposal, humbert is with his wife in a hot air balloon

humbert: if you say no ill fall.

he pops open the ring box

humbert: will you marry me?

mrs gold: yes my love

humbert gets up and they kiss and then humbert places the ring on her finger

hardcut

back to the horror

corden picks up soflet and runs.

he gets 25 metres in 4 seconds when he is punctured in the head by a bullet fired by vikor. soflet drops and tumbles a little but parrys to her feet quickly

-CORDEN- appers

ext flower field

two boys in a field of white blossom trees as the blossoms fall from the sky. corden is with johla

corden: race me turtle

johla: you are the one who is slow

they run in slow motion through the white blossom trees

they fall down laughing

the two look at eachother

they coontinue looking at each other

johla: i told you i was faster

corden goes in 90

johla goes in ten

they kiss passionately

EXT by the hole

soflet keeps running and looks back

slow motion: soflet: cooooorrrrdy

johla peers out forty five degrees breaking internally forever

MUSIC

GRIM: LITTLE GIRRRRLLL?

vikor keeps shooting

grim: stop. vikor, do the opposite of let her go

she hides behind a tree

grim: fetch, retrieve her

vikor nazi sprints after her

the nazi quickly catches up and soflet is hiding behind a tree

she throws a rock at him it hits his helmet and bounces off

ext jump cut

a cat chases a butterfly playfully playfully catching and then viciously eating.

he smiles like a smug then charges her like a hungry leopard

a man strips and takes a shovel.

the nazis laugh together, they all dig

humbas body is rolled in as the hole gets bigger amput giyani and and now a man are digging the body flops in naked, corden is also rolled in.

vikor piggy backs soflet on his shoulders and walks back to the hole.

grim: nagi nagi nagi no more running kitty

she squirms and squirms

he laughs vile

vikor: drop lot vici vici kitty

vikor holds up soflet and makes kissing faces at her

he strips her and places her on the outskirts of the hole.

ext

the butterfly lands on the white kittys back to which the kitty plays with

stel steps towards fang

stel: do not hurt my sister. please dont hurt my soflet sausage please

fang: if you are lucky you wont be breatheing to watch her perish .

stell pulss fangs gun to her gut and slams the trigger destroying her insides

Grim: the odds were so. and so and so it is, we lose another contestant hahaha

he pulls off stells dress and holds it holey and dripping blood

fang picks up stel and hungs her walking her on his torso and squeezes her cheeks

he squeezes the cheecks and puppets her like a ventriloquist

fang:“ do not hurt my sister” hahaha

grim snickers sneering

he continues dragging her

fang:i love sausage

grim: your so funny

he walks her all the way to the hole

she flops into the now three metre hole row wide and half a shovel deep ragdoll flopping into the grave like a tetris piece

STEL APPEARS

playing with a dradle

stell: I was the first born in my family, my job was to inspire and take care. i died when i saw no posibillity of escape or life. i died when i smelt the germans breath

grim beathes smoke in slow motion. conducting with a ciggarette

stel playing with a dradle

stel: lehiyam

grim:to the hole?! clothes, roach..

you are not the digging type, frail.. disgusting.. you are with god i see.

the lady is praying to a star of david mumbling jewish prayers as she takes off her clothes

grim: to the hole we’ll save the eldest till last

the nazis strip the elderly and have her stand with the children

fang returns

she walks over to the hole shaking with a star of david

a child approaches grim handing grim a flower

grim: you are so polite i love when they dont speak. there almost cuter

veros: pleas let me live. i need yogurt sir! i need biscuits. i need dolly

grim: oh, her voice! she’s cuter than honey pie, yes! where is dolly?

veros: with my heart, but in room.

grim: lets go get dolly?

veros:pardon

grim: dolly! lets go and get her shall we, take my hand!

veros: ump

she takes grims hand

grim: watch these. try not to kill any

fang nods

grim and vera walk quietly and wholesomely. three jewish men are at the front of the line up

fang: strip now

pattering footsteps as grim and vera happily walk to veras house

grim opens the door

grim: oh dolly!

the wooden door creaks

veros: dollyyyyy!

grim: where is your dolly !

veros: come this way take my hand this time!

grim: ok..

they walk into the house and upstairs into her bedroom

veros: heres my heart, its where my invisible friend lives too his names mickey

we’re going to get married hehe

grim: hello dolly

veros: hello dolly!

grim:now darling, sweet, sunshine daisy?

im going to kill dolly and your entire fucking race!!

grim takes out his luger and shoots dolly in the head.

vera screams

the window is opened and he throws the dolly out .

the dolly falls out the window near floaying from its lack of weirght it hits the floor and thee with a plop that sounds like a gatorade bottle on cement.

the girl veros starts crying

veros: why did you do that to dolly? WHY!?

grim: dolly is worth plenty more than you and your kyke moustache.

grim lifts veros by the hair

she squirms and screams he walks her to the window

vera: ah AH AHHH

grim: todaaa

she is thrown out the window hear hair pulled out

she is have way through the air when it pauses.

title appears- Vera

velos: this is how i died in my head.

vera is flapping her arms and soars into the sky after picking up her dolly

she kisses the dolly, and the dolly bullet holes sparkles to perfection. as she happily flys away into the clouds hugging her dolly.

velos: but in reality…..

a still of veros halfway through the air

velos: i only flew two seconds

vera (velos) falls and her head splats on the floor

the door to the house closes and grim struts like disco back to the line up. two more jewish men are now digging at the hole along with 5 others.

GRIM: put bubbles on a shovel and take her to the hole . and uh her dolly too.

birds eye as they shiver by the hole vera and the dolly are thrown into the growing grave one by one vera first followed by her dolly

annette is next in line wideshot right of frame.

ANNETTE apears.

int- room- candle lit

writing in her room a love letter to japil by scrunched up pieces of paper. she puts it in a letter box

japil reads the letter.the letter, yiddish, reads

narration: japil i have a secret. my heart is warm at sight, my hand quivers in silence, my heart beats for thee, my chase to compel you, intercept me at the rocky street my lips have been waiting to meet. love, me (its a secret).

japil runs to the roof and screams

japil: AMBER

Japil smiles and puts the note in his breast pocket

annette along with the golds overhears

humba wakes up

humba: ohp

annette: my heart is ashamed. doooooo

amput: yiptuhhhh!?hahaha

annette punches the mirror and holds it to her throat

annete: discourse of my love. i am not alive.

she puts down the shank and cries

annette: a who who who

grim returns to the formation

grim: ah knower of japil? for breast take attraction, it would please if i fed you…?

does your interest peak? are you eager..

annette: what is that you want?

grim gets down to the puddle of piss and picks up japils severed penis

approaches annette

grim: second meal of the day. i take it?

annette: number one..

annette sucks the dick passionately

grim: on knees..

annette gets down on her knees and sucks the severed cock

grim: the swan performs!

annette: gluh gluh gluh

she throws up vomiting on the severed dick

grim:well done ! fine swan! for that you now get to live an extra 15 minutes, for your victorious lap of celebration.

take this shovel. dig. grim spits

annette: RAAAh ILL KILL YO/UU..

grim trips her

grim: now youve lost the attention of the audience the golden earring and lead trophy will not be in your grasp. im going to dig, LITTLE SCHLAMPE

SUBTITLE APPEARS: little slut

he puts the luger in side her pussy an blows her mind twice she squirms orgasmically the bullets pop out her head

annette: japil

she falls in slow motion

grim: doo doo doo doo

grim: how could a swan fall without wings

violins exume

grim plays with his belt

grim : 2 LITTTTLLLE PIECESSSSSS!!!!….

fang: this is deaths symphony a corpsely arrangement of worthless vermin

grim: uhh. do not interupt.. i was about to break into song

solo: grim fancys her showmanship

grim breaks her neck

?the nazis throw coins annette?

she bounces like a coupe deville ragdoll the nazis sneer and gawk. the line near now 7

scooj is at the front of the line. a father

grim: seven left to face there doom was peggy looping new, my power to the funeral of undesirable.!

annette is dragged away in the backround

nazi:hurrah

the nazi heil hitler

solo: HURRAH!!!

vikor moves in from the back of the line PASSING SCOOJ A SHOVEL

grim: OK

vikor: dig

scooj walks to the body filled hole

an old man A young lady with a small boy and another young man are at the front of the line

grim: ok little vones..

grim:take off your apparel and take in the trees the birds cheeping andthe wind that talks for soon you will be very very grave..

they strip the old lady and the little boy

maree: you do not know what you are doing? eternal damnation will be your fray, devil.

the devil has you by the soul and swallows you whole.

they all walk to the hole where 10 stand naked surrounded by nazis

they are lined up in a row by the 3 metre wide and one metre and a half deep mass grave

gunther starts crying

maree: think of pretty girls and stand with god gunther laughter is the best medicine, laugh at them!

gunther has a gun to his head

gunther laughs at the nazis

vikor: his laugh is so cute

solo: cheesecake

solo takes a picture of the little boy

grim: i like him..

kill him now

gunther: laughters is fond of my remembers ha hahaha

he begins to cry

*pop*

the boy IS SHOT IN the forehead he falls into the grave as the blood pours like a garden hose without a nozzle

GUNTHER (appears) in a synagogue

rabbi: keep these words inside your head gunther

Gunther looks the rabbi hits him with the book

rabbi:no matter how gloomy things seem, everything can turn around, talking to god can turn things around.

amput narration: the blue eyed man looked like a jungle man i spoke to him

amput: feeling good?

grim: not just yet

amput: on with you ! spits. where is your god?

grim: goodbye foul breathed kyke tata

amput:talatata monkey

*pop*

she falls like christ

AMBER appears

amput: suck your mother!

lights a ciggarette and blows a spit bubble.

amput brushes her hair three times in the mirror prepared for bed

amputs body is dragged to the whole she flops in indecently and flumpy.

a jew stands naked jumpin about

desdett: hows it going?

grim: what do you mean, it?

desdett: i could go on and on about. it. im in my birthday suit and im about to find out.

solo: gut weiter nackt sein (good, continue being naked.)

grim: any last words smart mouth?

desdett: knock knock

grim: your not there

grim drags him by the hair AS HE SQUELS fang holds the few alive at gun point like a super spy comically. desdett is now at the grave and holds him at the cusp of the dirt

desdett: ahh ahh ahh (squel)

grim: I DO NOT FANCY FORTUNE TELLING although

grim: death rules here, death rules the land

whilst he conducts some more

grim has his foot on his head.

he shoots the naked dessert

DESDET appears

desert is jumping on his bed singing

desdet: two little monkeys jumping on the bed the little one fell off and bumped his head

-back to the horror-

Grim : step right up

giyanyi is at the front of the line and is quick stripped

giyani is shot in the face falling flopping into the mass grave

-giyani appears

giyani in youth covering her face in lipstick circullly

and smiling childishly

giyani: i am now beautiful

she runs into the living room and the fmily laugh

stel: what have you done to your face?

they laugh

polonaise no.4 plays

9 more are shot and fall one by one

there last words in silent shot portralisticly higher res then the rest like a heat camera but less black. over a minute

grim: old jueden. you are the last.. old saggy vitch

marlot: UGLEEE!!!

*bang*

UGLEE appears. subtitled:(of god)

the sound of the body drops. in black.

grim: lets get out of here

intermission appears ray anthony room 43 plays out

soft fade MEANWHILE IN JAPAN appears announced by american.

6 sumos sit on a caroseul eating apples the apples are red and one is dropped falling to pieces.

54 minutes later appears -

polonaise no.2p plays

the naked corpses lie like a plate of jelly and the music gets louder. they hobble and wobble like meat, skin rubs

red

humba emerges

-the creshendo-

gasping for air

he picks up the sticks biting down on the stick he uses the second to pull out a bullet shard lodged in his cheek.

“butterfly” he shakes in terror especially his legs

“annneta”

he shakes annetes body she doesnt have any life

humbert: please

blood spills from his head

the village is still wakefully it rains

a town destroyed

humba:the street runs with my blood.

HUMBERT appears

hava nagila plays

he walks awkwardly back to his home to get a coat

and some pants

end scene

a tear rolls down humbas face as he breaks his house and he grabs a pair of scissors

the havas become humba as the choir returns in a disney fashion.

ACT 3 appears

“the monster custom, who all sense doth eat of habits devil, is angel yet in this, that to the use of actions fair and good, he likewise gives a frock or livery that aptly is put on”

appears-

scene int grims home.

grim: last day today

grims wife: i dont not want to have sex with you reak of *beep*

and your eyes smile of death

grim:no?!

grim rapes his wife he takes her as she comes

grims wife : uhh

fade to black

grim redos his belt buckle

grim: hitlers showcasing the german athlete before we introduce the final solution, fine athletes..

grims wife: hmm

grim: i do the death circus gladly and the fuher expects me to admire this jarra’s ability to run quickly quickly quickly. un

grims wife: i want you to race him? show this jarra

grim:i feel so useless darling

grim: the death circus continues da

grim: more of use i figure, fuhers all in a fuss cause he drinks almond milk da

grim: we will race him with the jueden and the winner will live to tell of the triumph

grims wife: dont count these frighty able out da

scene end

scene ext/int brothel dusk

humba finds his horse in a field. he slowly appraches him and places a saddle on her back.

scene ext/ day running track

mengele: good morning to you all. today we pit the ability of our fine german against the dead

trumpets sound

cameras are rolling.

mengele:the first of many tests. welcome jarra!!

the crowd hurrahs

jarra takes to the starting line

mengele: and the jews

three jews walk to the starting line

mengele: on your marks!

the runners ready for a sprint

a gun is fired as a starting of the race and one of the jews drops after being hit by the bullet

jarra runs taking an early lead making ten paces ahead of the jews that follow suit

the swatstikas wave in the wind

jarra wins

mengele: a fine experiment!

the trumpets ring

the nazia file out of the stadium

two jews are placed up against the wall and shot at the same time their brains splatter the wall.

the trumpets echo with the gun shots an empty stadium

…

jarra flakes appears in cartoon

a cereal commercial

voice over: hey kids do you want to be big strong and fast? then you need jarra flakes

jarra: everyday i strive for perfection

(crunch)

…

grim approaches jarra who is still at the stadium dusting off his shoes

grim: hey i want to race you? my wife she wants me to race you

jarra: hmph

grim: please

jarra: ya

grim marks a starting line with his foot creasing the dirt

grim: this the de start.. to that pole

they run symphonically

…

grim looses by a nose

grim pulls out his gun and plugs jarra in the knee

jarra: coward. i won.

jarra flakes appears comically

grim: i drink jew blood

grim shoots him in the other knee

and then the head quickly

…

grim picks up the body

grim:believe it. you are very dead. very fast.

the body is lumping around feet dragging

grim:so it is so

lump

grim: ..you are no more

lump. grim enters the change rooms dragging the dead body

grim:so fast you were early for your own funeral

lump. drop

grim: artherrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr hhahahani

…

ext/int afternoon dusk

humba stalks the road on his horse through a street florished with nazi propaganda he dismounts the horse by a neon lit brothel. he walks in with a nod the girl working the brothel perks up

nancy: hello

humba walks straight past.

nancy: oh

you can hear nazis fucking an orgasmic lust of paid flesh.

a german is in the toilet whistling “ the way you make me feel”

humba walks in wand kicks open the cubicle the nazi pulls out a luger and is stabbed in the chest with a pair of scissors then slicing his throat in the chaos the toilet roll spills on the floor

…

humba exits the toilet now dressed as gestapo

humba:va

the man sits dead on the toilet covered in blood

…

“THE DEATH CIRCUS” appears

a train passes a live classical band full of chellos and violins is at the gate

grim: i formally welcome you! to the death circus !

the band intensifies

a tattoo gun rings

grim: this is how we count you

three jews wrists are marked with numbers

the jews stand naked and lifeless

3 tattoos are done

the number reads

2476.759

and the second

1865.7999

grim: haircuts!

one jews head is shaved

the jews stand lifelessly but now bald and thinner

grim: heres where you eat!

the food slops from the laddle of the kitchen hand

twenty jews stand lifelessy

grim smells the gruel paste of food

grim: yum yum

…

grim: heres where you sleep!

jews stand naked priceless

quick cut to the jews lay in the hard wooden bunks

grim: no standing on the roof, okay? if you get on the roof the only way to get you down will to be to shoot you down

…

grim:and thhis, this, is where you clean

hundred jews in the shower vomiting there last breath as the chemical seeps in the shower dining together

sclub 7 plays- bring it all back begins playing

gold is ripped out of the jews mouths 1 by 1

some have three gold teeth

14 floppy dead

the nazis dance in formation as theatrical as thriller but like puppet masters

and birds. a small musical number as teeth are pulled out in a gory display montage

…

a german circus takes place outside the walls of the camp

goebells watches smoking a cigarette and clapping at the wonderful quirk of circus

the clowns take photos

and a bear is in a car

grim enters the high room in which goebells sits a high viewing point

goebells: uhh grim

grim: i mine blinded by light they will not see

goebells: thats not going in the new picture

goebells: the word of your brutality is outstandingly unpopular

grim: are they calling me, the gollum?

goebells racks a line of coke

goebells: no there calling you the….

goebells whispers in grims ear (inaudible)

grim:??

goebells: your supposed to have a line?

grim: WHAT! goodbye

grim exits

goebells continues watching the circus

grim leaves

goebells: hitler faggot pshh

goebells associate: what of grim

goebells: he thinks he is a supreme killer i know

associate: hmm

goebells: “i know but look at him clutch the teet”

scene ext/int beach

australias sunsets as a ship breaches the horizon

an aboriginal drops a spear

100 years later appears

aussie kids smokes a homemade bong

i skrag were the fucks me weetbix

fucking oven ya lost it

oh fuck me with your weetbix

mum: tyler

tyler: yeah ?!!

mum: whens fatal attraction on?

tyler: aw shove a weetbix up ya cunt !!

mum: ya oven fucking lost it

scene end

scene ext/int desth camp

the speaker adresses the camp

mengele: appointment for torish haim

torish: donpupalay

family hug

torish enters a grey drab room

mengele: good day

torish shakes

mengele: were going to see if you have a spine. lie down here for me (in german)

grim is sitting in his office bored chewing bubblegum like a pregnant man with his hands on his belly

he hears screams from the next room

grim: do do do do

*chomp chomp*

he blows a bubble

pi- monkeys fucking by the twos for pi seconds

grim: youll fly when the world convinces you too

ext- dusk-

humba shines a luger on his horse. entering the death camp met with salutes from two officers

humba humba screams the choir

alma-santa sangre plays

naked jews are lined up for the shower shaking in cold

humba walks pass not batting an eye

the choir sings to drums

humba dismounts the horse at the office

the music stops

he enters the building trenchcoat flapping in the wind

humba knocks on the door that reads grim.

grim answers

accent

grim: I..

HUMBA lunges at him puting a pistol in his mouth

grim gets on his knees

grim: dr gold pleased to see you what a surprise

humba: my life

grim: uhh

humba: are you my corden?

grim: (pistol in mouth) no

humba: my neighbour .. lucille

grim: put the gun down i dont want to have to kill all these people again

humba: my butterfly?? are you my butterfly? ARE YOU

ooo ooo my butterfly

grim: you will fall. you will die. and they will all be like your butterfly

humba: my butterfly? maybe line humba: im not here to save my people i cannot be saved

grim: my name is grim hölle leben Nimm mich jetzt g i am forever grateful

grim smiles and takes his hat

grim blows a big bubble with his bubblegum till it pops

-grim- appears

grim appears- 2 ii loved music, erna sack in particular i’d never heard such a woman sing, such a voice, i imagined her killing power to be on par with my own

grim imagines erna sack singing to a audience of sorts and there heads explode one by one in slow motion to the height of her opera vocals its a real performance bar similar to a comedy club, red curtains circle tables in seats of two

humba fires one bullet

grim is hit once blowing his skull out and the second bullet

mengle looks up hearing the shots midway through cutting out a spine

mengele: oop

mengele walks out with a bonesaw in hand and is shot in the shoulder stapling him to the floor by humba.

pow.

humba walks slowly out

the boy screams in visceral terror

humba exits the building hiding from two nazis at the staircase

…

humba tips his hat

humba mounts the horse and exits the death camp slowly

nazis look on in confusion

MONTAGE:

one loaf of bread

kid in class recites : 6 million, NOW, aw get them extinct, you stink jueden, The war is worth nothing, we have nothing?, we have love (in yiddish). what did the stars say

act iv- turnover

int boardroom

goebells is in a meeting

GOEBELLS: i have the perfect idea for the new picture.. were going to make a spectacle of this Humbert the killer of our Grim

as his appropiates i wish you to star in it. find the reichs pest wherever he hide. were going to catch that little devil.

fang solo and gordon stand.

GOEBELLS: COSTUMES!!!

salsa music plays

goebells queerly runs through his studio costume department flying like a bird. playing with the coat hangers

gaffer: mark scene 7 take one

Goebells: action

the three stand in uniform and enter the car

- death squad- or -terror squad- appears to a jazz tune

solo sits at a chair smoking a cigarette

fang: my name is private fang: and i am here to do gods and the fuhrers work

i like reading and making love.

gordon: i take photos. my name is gordon. im here to cure the the german people from undesirables.

two flags fly a german and a nazi party flag

solo: My name is solo. im a gestapo i kill vermin!

solo shoots a disabled jew

narration goebells: a devil is among us.. a vile jueden determined on espionage and economic turmulence and death of the german people.. we will struck him out!!!

iconography of the nazi party.

fang: we are sharks..

solo: and we will catch ze fish swimming in our destitude.

goebells: schneiden! okay solo can you come here? can you just say “i will kill every jew, every last jew”

solo nods

goebells: rolling!

solo: i will kill every jew, every jew.

goebells: now fang say this with more att-ti-tude than solo

goebells

goebells: fang, every jew will die by my hand, or die by the hand of my species

fang: every jew will die by my hand, or by the hand of my supreme race

goebells: perfect

goebells: rolling!

gordon: there will be no smiles till every jew has parished.

goebells: good schneiden! love what you did with it gordon beautiful. now we tulgen to the seen of the crime

a swatstika appears a nazi

narration goebells: anywhere the deficient breathing jueden still lurks some hide under floor boards.

jews are marched out from underneath floorboards and herded up from houses.

goebelss: others.. in wardrobes. they could be in your home? in your backyard??. at your dinner table????!

a swatstika flag flys in the wind.

narrator: they will meet DEATH

-death squad- appears

jazz trumpets horn out.

scene-ext/int-day

humba rides his horse by the horizon untill they find a lake

the horse stops to drink he gets off and cleans blood from his hands.

for sometime

looking at himself seeing the monster in himself

the water ripples and a red filter is placed over the water fading in over one second

the water waves place upon the shore in echoing with the crys of the dead neighbourhood

“shlikenshaaa”

“Ugleee”

“mahunsha”

humba trembles

-the death squad-

appears again

goebells: MAKE UP people MAKE UP. i want you killers to look like true german sex cuisine, okay lighting.

this is when we kill the scoundrel; lets find the jew, put another hole in his head.

solo:this man killed germans

fang:one jew is to many jew

gordon: i will have no remorse for a jew corpse

goebells: yes, i like that one alot

scene end

humba is loading his luger in nazi uniform by the lake

he counts on his fingers ,

humbert: eyns

humbert:tsvey

humbert: dray

humbert: fir

humbert: finf

humbert mounts the horse and rides into the landscape

they track humba in a landscape montage

as humba rides quietly

-gordon solo fang killed off possible bygun fire luger

pop pop pop

they drop a ?bullet pops goebells camera?

humba fires one moe to find an empty clip

a shot of gordons camera

gordan: appears: first camera flash and first photo, world war 1 is over newspaper

a shot of solos nazi arm band and name reading Q.Solo

solo: with nana “your my man of the house” “

Fangs dead face shot

fang:eating an apple while seeing his first girl naked ala once upon a time in amez

birds eye and close up of eye then nazi arm and then distorted face

the trigger goes click

goebells prances

goebels: oh….

humba: How did our eyes get so red?

goebells: i think the present owner.. cant count.. silly silly jew

humba: i am the holy

humba reloads the luger

goebelss: you are the dead. goose egg.

humba pushes goebells

humba: walk

goebells: uhh! i am supreme to these, hitler faggots pshh

humba: WALK!

GOEBELLS hands are raised

GOEBELLS: “nigger rape jew” “fuckin spit on you” !

goebells spits at humba

they march over the hills

(goebells is in fur coat)

goebells: all you prayer given slugs ever wanted

goebells falls over from a push

goebells gets to his feet

goebells: i am the man of the century.

humbert: hent royf

subititle: Hands up

GOEBELLS raisies his hands

HUmba:goodbye.

goebells: Kill away… kill me like the good abortion you are…

humba: it is i who deliver you to the devil. (yiddish)i am the angel of death.

GOEBELLS : i am the man of the century! fuck you and your jew mouth.

pop

ARHHHHHHHHHHH

goebells is shot and falls to the floor his blood translates with the lake

Goebells appears:

narration-

History may claim there ‘is” a solution in which we only killed forty maybe 50 but the pretty pictures speak not only a thousand years for all that of a thousands years of the third reich.

goebells: goebells plays with a toy car by a chess game his father sets up chess game. the wheels spin. german): the apple does not fall far from the tree, it is our legacy.. our wit our charm in victory and our legacy my son, sit, play with me.

goebells how do you play

blood drowns the chessboard. frame locked on the chessboard

a bird flys through the window and smashes a framed picture of a young goebells

a german family is eating dinner three girls and a man

knock knock

the father gets the girl to open the door

crate: get.. door!

a girl answers the door

girl: heil hitler

crate: come in sit down

humba enters still dressed as a nazi, the girl sits back down

the father is eating with his mouth open

crate: heil hitler

humba: heil hitler

crate: oh, pull up a chair, have a plate

the family eat there steaks

the man chews

the daughter chops her steak

another daughter burps

the man chews

THE MAN CHEWS

humba looks blankly disgusted and out of reason

THE MAN CHEWS

crate: where are you from

humba: listal

THE MAN CHEWS

crate: lovely place

humba: da

crate: what brought you here

the daughters chew

a daughter cuts the steak

THE MAN CHEWS

crate: say something

the man chews mouth full and open

crate: what brings you here

THE MAN CHEWS

humba: funeral

THE MAN CHEWS

the man chews

humba bows in disgust

THE MAN CHEWS

flashbacks appear screams of the flashbacks

crate: ahhh terrible news. not like our good germans killing them softly, gods work. the MAN CHEWS

the man chews

the man slices his steak

the man chews

THE MAN CHEWS

the man chews

THE MAN CHEWS

humbas eye drops one tear

the man chews

THE MAN CHEWS

a car drives past exposing humbas nose

synths charm and the candles from hannukah appear ala exorcist when the demon face appears

crate: jewish!?!!

humba pulls out his luger and pops the father in the centre of his head

the girls pull out of there seats

silence

Humba puts the gun in his mouth

Humba: Life. A groyser tzuleyger

he blows his brains out, his head smacks the empty plate on the table below him breaking it. `

UGLEE appears

YELLOW SUBTITLED: of god

the girls scream as there chairs pullout

…

humba is at a hospital bed his wife is giving birth. a baby is born the mother lives..

humba: this is the happiest day of my life

humba pokes his babies nose

she is crying then he touches her nose and she stops crying

baby:ooo

humba: “butterfly”.

los lobos-we belong together plays

fin

notes:

-rewrite how humba finds where the camp is

rewrite-

escape of jews- maybe did a runner* conversation conversation conversation escape naked

thank you: Rebecca, Nagi and Emily ,

0 notes