One and One story

11

Inhaling, and, “Aum…”

Exhaling, and, “Shi-va-ya Va-shi…”

Inhaling, and, “Aum…”

Eugene was sitting still on his bed, lets wrapped up in the traditional lotus position. I was waiting around at his apartment for him to finish, he said he had to meditate before we could start brainstorming on the story. It was twenty minutes later and he was still going. Very bored, wishing he did this before I came over, I wandered to his living room where the computer was. As I transferred from the incense scent of his bedroom to the foul odor of the further outward living quarters, I couldn’t help but note how fucking gross the place was.

The apartment was filthy, I had to tip toe around to not step on all the books and clothes piled on the floor. All sorts of comicbooks and dvds and underground press occult texts. Every table and shelf was picked with empty glass beer bottles or zines, and the smell of rotting food from the sink was horrible. Poor Eugene, he really needed a woman to take care of him.

I sat in front of the computer and logged on to MeSpace. I had been spending an inordinate amount of time building up my page. Eugene, so helpful and encouraging, took dozens of digital pictures of me to upload. We even went to Kinko’s and scanned my last remaining headshot.

The site was more addicting than I thought it would be, I could spend quite a few hours wasting time on the message forums typing about nonsense and commenting on people’s blogs, and before I would know it hours would pass.

I was still building up my page. Under ‘networking’, I typed ‘actor-producer-director.’ And getting quick lessons in html code, I brightened up the background and added music. I listed all the music I could think of, and under ‘movies’ I had about fifty, as with books and television and general interest. Just so Eugene, or rather ‘--**Gene-pool 2012!**--’, wasn’t my only friend, I was adding as many rock band pages and meaningless acquaintances as I could find.

When my page was near-complete I found Lena’s on there and added her as a ‘friend.’ It was such an incredible and creepy process at once, this MeSpace phenomenon. Lena gave out so many details about herself for total public consumption. I understood why people wanted to get a girls’ webpage these days before going out. I could learn all about her music and film tastes, her height, her single status. She even wrote a few blogs, complaining about high school and arguments with her parents. It was great to be able to read all this, so surprising, such a plethora of free information. Guess I was getting used to the times after all.

Lena’s page said she was 18, but I suspected it was a lie. I didn’t really want to know for sure, I had a vague idea she was in high school but I wasn’t going to specifically ask what grade. I preferred ignorance. One my own page I lied and said I was two years younger, at 27.

I felt a bit lame for doing all this work for the sake of online networking. But I did it anyways.

Typed up my email and password to find a bright red ‘New Messages’, the homepage declared. I read.

SUBJECT: RE: whats up?

FROM: LENA-CHAN

I clicked.

Fenton,

so how’s the production going? Any genius works of theater in action? Stop keeping it such a topsecret! I’m so curious, you have to let me in on this when you’re done. We're reading the Crucible in english class right now, its kind of boring, but I decided to go see it on thursday night at school. you know how it is, i always mean to see more plays but i never get around to it. I’ve decided to be more sophisticatedd! Hehe, your a good influence

seen any good movies lately? I really want to see the new Miles Samson one, where hes a oceanographer. Dat shit looks funny. What are your days off?

later

-Lena

Very nice. I replied.

SUBJECT: RE: RE: whats up?

FROM: FENTON

Ha, glad to be a good influence. You’re wrong though kid, I’m a horrible influence. But everybody should see more live theater I’d encourage that.

Me and Eugene have been getting a ton of work done. I’d estimate that in just a few months preproduction will be finished and we’ll be up and running. But showbizness always takes longer than planned, so you never know. I’m actually at Eugene’s right now and we’re writing so much. Its very exciting, I’m loving the creative energy over here.

I’ve decided to stay in Cincinnati for a few more months longer than planned. LA can wait, it’ll still be there whenever I return. I’ll definitely keep you updated on the as-yet-unnamed-show. Pretty soon we’re going to be casting ya know...

We should see that movie sometime.

-Fenton

I hoped I was saying the right things. It’s hard to interpret subtleties of conversation with just typing online, a new tricky communication I was not used to. Clicked on the send button, too late to worry about it now, the message sent off into the ether. Logged off and turned off the computer, and checked back with Eugene, back to the incense clouded domain.

“Aum…”

Jesus. “Come on man!” I interrupted, “we need to get some work done!”

He breathed in slowly and exhaled slower. “Please don’t interrupt. I am almost completed.”

I sighed and relegated back to the living room. Eugene soon came out. Finally. “I wish you would show some respect my ways.”

“I wish you would do that faster. I’ve been here 45 minutes and we haven’t done anything. You’re the one who wants me to write this damn play for you so much.”

“And you’re the one who’s too lazy to write it yourself. If I’m going to co-write this bitch I need to be in top creative form. Don’t you understand that the Vishuddha chackra must be aligned? It’s the chackra of communication and expression, and of the god Hermes. This is important work, I need to be in top astral form.”

“Whatever man.”

“And of the sacred mantra Aum! Every vowel contained herein, all language, ah-uh-mmm, the curvature of the mouth. Consonants are only the interruptions of that perfect form. It is of the utmost importance to the art of speech that I perform this feat.”

“Couldn’t you do this meditation shit before I got here?”

“Yeah, that’s my bad. I shouldn’t have slept in so late. Thanks for waking me.” When I got to Eugene’s place he was asleep. At 3 in the afternoon. And I was the one working nights.

Eugene yawned and started making himself coffee. The coffee machine and counter was stained with so many different shades of brown it was rather expressionistic. “Want some coffee?” he asked.

“No thanks.”

We edged towards the Mac and Eugene opened a Word file. Titled it Super Genius Play 1, typed up ‘brainstorming’, and bit his lower lip.

“Well? Let’s go.”

We stared at the blank Word document.

“Any ideas?” I asked.

“I thought you had the ideas,” he answered.

“Not really.” Stared at the screen for a time. I thought and thought, and stared and stared, but the blank screen didn’t help. My eyes drifted to the ceiling and I thought about character. They say write what you know. “Um… who is the main protagonist going to be? The star, the star… I was thinking maybe a struggling writer?”

“A struggling writer? That’s the lamest idea for a protagonist ever. Writers always write about writers, how many times has that been done before?”

“Yeah I guess you’re right.”

“Maybe the star should be in some kind of show business. Hmmm,” Eugene thought.

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s make, like a comment about the media.”

“Sure.”
We sat in silence for ten more minutes as the coffee smell enveloped the room, rather pleasantly replacing the rotting wet food smell. The silence grew louder.

“Maybe he can be a struggling writer after all,” Eugene finally said.

“Okay,” I agreed. Fine, let’s just get this over with. At least have something to work with.

Eugene typed up Protagonist: struggling writer. Commentary on media culture.

“This has to take place in Los Angeles, right?” I added.
“Sure. You’re the expert on continuity though, I’ve never been there.”

“Yeah, let’s say this takes place in Silverlake or something.”

‘Setting: Silverlake in LA’ he typed.

“Yep…” We stared at the computer screen for a few more minutes. “Okay,” I said, “a character needs a motivation. He needs motivation, a goal. And the antagonist needs to be an obstacle to that goal. That equals plot. It’s pretty simple when you break it down.”

“Wait,” Eugene confused, “we need a plot?”
“Duh.”
“Oh. I thought this might be more artsy experimental.”

“Everything needs a plot. Some kind of foundation structure, and you can get experimental later. But let’s focus: so what’s this guy’s motivation?”

“Uh… he’s trying to write a play?”

“We’re just getting more and more original as we move on. Why not just make this an all-out autobiographical piece, a one-man show starring me?”

“Yeah?!” Eugene excited, not aware of the sarcasm.

“Eugene, one-man shows are the most terrible things in the world to watch. Even my ego isn’t so bad that I would make the audience suffer through one of those. If we’re going to do this let’s do this right. A real cast, real characters, real plot. Motivation plus obstacle, characters change in the end, a climax, a resolution, and goddamn entertain people.”
“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm,” I replied.

“What if this was a structured story and everything, but what if it was self-referential. Like Robert Anton Wilson meta-fiction, and Kaufman, and Morrison?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s writing a play, he’s a struggling writer, but we make a big joke out of that cliché. Do you know what I mean? We acknowledge and mock the cliché of writers writing about writers. So we write about the process, we have a character who is writing a play about being a struggling writer and dealing with the inner conflict of being clichéd. That makes it interesting, a new take.”

“I think I might see what you’re getting at.”

“He writes about us.”

“Us? Huh?” I was thrown off. “Now I’m lost.”
“This guy is writing a story about two characters named Fenton and Eugene, and they’re writing about him. An infinite feedback loop of self-referentiallism. Meta-fiction.”

“So we are going to write about a character who is a writer. And he is going to write about us writing about him. This seems kind of confusing to the audience. It’s confusing to me.”

“It’s simple. It’s brilliant.” Eugene typed self-referential meta-fiction. Protagonist dude writes about us. “Ah-ha! We’re channeling Artaud you see, a new virtual reality experience of this age.” He saved the file. “What a productive day.”

“Yeah. I need time to think about this, sort it all out. Want to call it a night?” I said.

“We’ve barely started!” Eugene yelled. “There’s a lot more we could do. What’s this guy’s name anyways?”

“I don’t know. What sounds like a writer’s name?”

“Should he be half-Asian or something?”

“No, that’s too obvious referencing to me,” I said. “I guess he could be some kind of ethnic.”

“But not too ethnic.”

“Ethnic enough. Like, I guess I could write about people having inner conflict issues with assimilation and whatnot. Being white but not quite totally white. Having a foreign Mom. European last name.”

“All white people have European last names. You’d know that if you were white. Asshole.”

“Well, like a Germanic last name. And a nerdy first name. We can all relate to that.”

“Fuck you Fenton.”

“Fuck you Eugene. See?”

“Fine, nerdy first name. What sounds like a dork’s name? Ronald, Robert, Raymond, Reginald, Regis.”

“Why beginning with R?” I asked.

“Why not? Howsabout Roy? I like that.” Eugene typed in ‘Roy.’
“Roy with an ethnic last name. Hmm.”

“Yeah! Let’s make him a Jew.”

“A Jew? In the entertainment industry, in Hollywood. That’s so cliché.”

“So. Its cliché because its true isn’t it? That’s the whole point of this work. Let’s make this dude Jewish.”

“Okay, a Jew with a foreign Mom. Eastern European or something. But he has to have inner conflict issues with being a Jew. It’s more interesting that way. He should be ashamed of how Jewish Hollywood is, or something like that.”

“Sure, sure. And we can use this as a pull to quote Qabbalah.” Eugene typed in Star is a Jew. Immigrant Mom. Quotes Qabbalah.

“Right on. Whatever you want, that’s your expertise. Say, we need a title too.”

“A title. But what the hell is this about?”

“It’s about Hollywood and the art process and, uh, ‘meta-fiction’ or whatever you called it.”

“Title, title, title. What’s he writing? What should the title of his work be? His work that is about us…”

“Is he writing a play?” I wondered.

“Nah. Maybe he’s writing a novel.”

“He’s in Hollywood though. Shouldn’t he be writing movie screenplays?”
“Whatever. He wants to be different that all the Hollywood assholes around him right? So Roy here with the ethnic Mom is trying to be unique by writing a novel. So what’s the title of it?”

“Something funny,” I thought out loud, “something mocking, something self-deprecating. Something about… losers.”

“Losers…” Eugene pondered. “Loser boy, loserdom, loser fun, loserville, L for losers, hmm…” He typed writing novel: Loser Parade.

“That works,” I said.

“It does work. Man, this is turning out all right.” Eugene stretched out his arms and leaned back on the metal folding chair. “I’m exhausted. This writing shit is hard. Want to wrap it up?”

I looked at the computer screen. There were about three lines worth of notes. “Yeah, we got a lot done today. Awesome start.”