ANTAGONY...

Status: 2nd Draft

ANTAGONY...

Status: 2nd Draft

Content Summary


Yes, this entire novel is basically one big book-length prologue to a story that may never actually get totally told. Deal with it. Or not. :)

Author Chapter Note


I could use some help here since I've probably forgotten some major events and personalities and whatnot...

Chapter Content - ver.0

Submitted: February 20, 2019

Comments: 1

In-Line Reviews: 1

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Chapter Content - ver.0

Submitted: February 20, 2019

Comments: 1

In-Line Reviews: 1

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Dearest Gerry,

 

How you holding up, pal? Are the wife and kids doing good and staying out of trouble?

Yeah, well. That's great and nobody gives a care. But you already knew that.

The more important thing, of course (as we get set to embark on our continent-conquering summer adventure tour in support of ANTAGONY) is how we're gonna go about blowing the lids and fucking the socks offa this godforsaken western hemisphere.

Together.

Naturally, it's gonna be up to my ass to bring the noise, tear the roof off the suckers, and burn the motherfucking houses down. Wherever we go. And while I certainly want you to have fun, too; don't forget that it's down to you to handle all the procurement logistics from here on out.

Let's face it, Gerry. Figuring out the financial, environmental, and political loss/cost matrix of this book tour --while figuring out a way to keep me happy, relaxed, and raring-to-go-- is gonna be a full-time feckless fucking job. That means no siestas, hombre. Por favor.

For instance; I'm gonna need copious amounts of drugs, alcohol, sex, stimulating media exposure, and positive reinforcement. Not to mention lavish room, gourmet board, and de rigeuer livery with which to line my mind and body and align my chakras.

Cover my ass and clean up my shit, is what I'm saying, Gerry. You've gotta be ready to facilitate some oddjobs, blowjobs, and underhanded snowjobs, in other words.

As my agent and producer, I would also appreciate it if you showed some homespun humility and extenuating grace in respect to my transcendent savoir faire and illicit but prodigious appetite. Do your bestest to try and set an example of refined and obsequious decorum so that I may humbly follow suit and not get too carried away with my own hard-rock/rock-hard stardom. Set yourself a human-being bar that's just a little bit better than me so that I can eventually best you as a human being who treats the Judge on the Stand and the Wino on the Stoop with the same ambivalent measure of honor and respect they don't deserve.

Only in respect to buying my goddamned book, of course.

In the meantime, you know me, nigga. Therefore; I think you know what I mean. Meaning that I mean whatever the fuck it is I mean to be saying.

Anyway, Gerry-bro, and having said all that... Here's what I've got in mind all of a suddenly. And while I realize this might all be a bit too much, a tad last minute, and terribly late in the gameplan...

How's about we land in Seattle and --work with me here-- open with a screening? Like this:

 

ESTABLISHING SHOT/TITLE SEQUENCE

0:00

 

SEE: Fade in.

To a black-opaque/Smell The Glove-esque album cover void of color and washed in the blackberry jam meringue of crepuscular none more blackness. 

 

0:03

 

HEAR: throughout the entirety of this melodious prelude, mind you 

a song called TIGHTROPE

perfomed by a rock-and-roll band called

the ELECTRIC LIGHT ORCHESTRA

from their album A NEW WORLD RECORD 

Music and lyrics by JEFF LYNNE (1976)

 

0:22

 

HEAR: Percussive Gong

 

0:23

 

SEE: The Big Bang 

A massive storm of kaleidoscopic color, blinding light, and exponential heat that cracks the caliginous vacuum and manifests itself as an expanding panoramic mandala of breathtaking depth and breadth and coruscating beauty that staggers all five senses and renders the spectator stupefied, gobstopped, and near catatonic in light of his own staggering insignificance no matter how high or mighty, limited or insolent, influential or insightful, said spectator's individual purview and prevalence may be.


0:24 -- 1:10

 

SEE: Hubble Stuff

Supercalifragilistic telescopic images of stars and black holes and nebulas and planets and moons and comets and asteroids and supernovas colliding and crashing and smashing the faces of time and space to take landscapable shape amidst a swirling array of fulminated gas and illuminated dust spanning millions of light years of intergalactic expansion. The camera should slowly pan out as the bel canto swells and then --after reaching a cosmic nadir of sonorous pomposity-- swiftly zoom in to focus on the serendipitous formation of Earth's own solar system before coming to a profound conclusion upon our cloudy blue orb itself and the protein-rich prebiotic consommé that, once ignited by lightning, gave life itself the ways and means to flourish and infest and infect and...

 

1:11 -- 1:18

 

SEE: A slow-motion tracking shot from a moonraking astronaut's POV. One that targets our planet in synchronicity with the descending violin étude (and the ascending snare roll) whilst implying the passage of time and the sure but chaotic, stark but dynamic, inexpedient but intelligent, fair but prejudiced, design of Darwinian Evolution. An ever-narrowing perspective beginning with the western hemisphere, the northern hemisphere, North America, the East Coast of America, and finally concluding upon the brackish-backwater inlet of Tampa Bay, Florida.

 

1:19 -- 1:34

 

SEE: Camera Dissolves

to a close-up shot of a single human spermatazoon as it begins its epic and arduous, dog-eat-dog salmon-run from ejaculate insemination to immaculate fertilization.

Note: We've only got about fifteen seconds to encapsulate this infinitesimal seminal process before the next descending/ascending musical bridge cuts to conceptual cognition and lyrical verse so, we're gonna wanna utilize time-lapse photography and high-tech special effects in order to comprehensively convey our intrepid jizzbot's mindless sense of desperation and heroic urgency as he does his bestest to get jiggy with it while the swarming horde of doppleganger huns and usurpers gets thinned around him.

To wit: "He who is not busy being born is busy dying," and so...

SEE: Sixteen-million tiny but tenacious fish-tailed Myrmidons fend each other off or fall upon their swords whilst simultaneously navigating the fallopian womb's anti-ballistic missile system until only our potential paragon is left swimming for the right to party, plant a fig and a flag, and become somebody. Somebody worthy of a beating heart, a basic brain, and a Christian name, that is.

 

1:35 -- 3:06

 

SEE: Still Art and Stock Footage

of humanity's highs and lows over the past thirty years or so. Forgoing filmic depictions of in-utero gestation (because unless there's an extended disco remix of TIGHTROPE that I don't know about, time and rhyme won't let me) the optics will drastically/dramatically culminate/fulminate into a sudden/rapid-fire montage of images depicting major historical/cultural events (triumphs and tragedies, if you will) that have impacted, defined, and guided the path of our protagonist's late 20th to early 21st century life span from his improbable birth to his current solipsistic and stillborn insolvency. So far as it all fits in neatly with the jaunty main musical riff (juxtaposed by the largely cynical lyrical content of the tune) of course.

Think Billy Joel's We Didn't Start The Fire. Not that song, of course, because I've already got a song in mind, but...

Starting with the botched assassination of President Ronald Reagan (in March of 1981) and going on to include, revere, and ridicule all kinds of people, places, and incidents like:

A) The Royal wedding of the Prince and Princess of Wales

B) The attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II

C) The AIDs epidemic

D) E.T., Darth Vader, Indiana Jones

E) Sally Ride/Bill Gates/Steve Jobs

F) Michael Jackson moonwalking/Madonna being a virgin/Prince just being himself

G) Bill Cosby/Michael J. Fox/Magic Johnson/Arnold Schwarzenegger/Joe Montana

H) Bernie Goetz/Ivan Drago/Gaddafi/Gary Coleman

I) Bhopal/Chernoybl/Space Shuttle Challenger/Falkland Islands

J) WE ARE THE WORLD/Freddie Mercury/Band-Aid/Bono

K) Michael Jordan/Diego Maradona/Mike Tyson/Jerry Rice

L) Soviet-Afghan war/Osama bin Laden/Margaret Thatcher/Oliver North

M) Roger Rabbit/The Simpsons/Baywatch

N) Berlin Wall/Tiananmen Square/Nelson Mandela

O) Vinyl records and cassette tapes/CDs and DVDs/Tipper Gore

P) Gulf War/Bush/Gorbachev/Milosevic

Q) Rodney King/Oklahoma City/Dalai Lama

R) Bill and Hillary/Newt Gingrich/Bob Dole

S) Waco/WTC bombing/World Wide Web

U) Seinfeld/Friends/The Matrix/Pulp Fiction

V) NAFTA/TWA 800/Monica Lewinsky

X) Columbine/Y2K bug/Bush v Gore

Y) Letterman, Leno, SNL

Z) September 11th, 2001

Note: All of these images should be interposed/interspersed, by whatever means, with a kind of cartoonish sensibility. A Monty Python-esque irreverence for neo-classical/Greco-Roman idealism. In effect, the overall affect should be equal measures evocative, inspring, terrifying, uplifting, and cataclysmic. Corrupted, naturally, and naturally corrupting our protagonist's perception thru the relative lack of black/gay/female/plebian representation.

Instagrammable revisionist fin-de-siècle grandeur, in other words.

Cultural touchstones and fireworks, in lesser words.

 

3:07 -- 4:14

 

SEE: The Dark Ages of the Bush/Cheney administration, beginning with:

A) The Shock and Awe invasion of Iraq

B) 43rd's Mission Accomplished declamation

C) Beltway Snipers

D) Space Shuttle Columbia

E) Operation Iraqi Freedom

F) Saddam Hussein

G) Same-Sex marriage

H) Facebook

I) Bush re-elected

J) Katrina/Rita/Wilma

K) Troop surge/Virginia Tech massacre

L) Venus and Serena/Kobe and Shaq/Brad and Angelina/Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan

M) Subprime Mortgage Crisis

N) Barack Obama elected president

O) Tea Party/Fox News/Jon Stewart/Stephen Colbert

P) Justin Timberlake/Beyonce/Auto-Tuned pop music/live-action comic book movie people

Q) Fort Hood massacre

R) Royal wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge

S) Osama bin Laden killed

 

4:15 -- 5:06

 

HEAR/SEE: When I closed my eyes (closed my eyes) I was so surprised; somebody had thrown me down a line/footage of Marine Private John Hamler's dramatic helicopter rescue from the war-torn ruination of Northern Iraq.

 

5:07

 

End of Overture

 

And there you have it, Gerry-mander. The new and improved and remastered opening to the ANTAGONY book tour. Are you sprung? Of course, you are. You wanted the best, Gerry, you got the best. The hottest prose practitioner in the world right now at your service. Moving along and getting it on. Like Donkey Kong.

 

***

You know what, though? On second thought and now that you say it? And now that I think about what you're saying as a matter of scientific fact?

You're right. The tune would probably end long before anybody's eyes and ears could ever hope to make hay of it all. So, while it's certainly a nice song and all...

Fuckitall. 

Let's try and forget this whole entire exorbitant/on-the-nose/up-its-own-ass/cock-schlocky onanistic ode to pop-culture exordium ever happened. Okay, Gerry?

Ain't my style, anyway. Nor yours, I presume.

 

***

 

Yeah, except that this IS my style. So you can go fuck yourself, Gerry. Take another shit with your pants still fastened, while you're at it. Like you promised me you'd do. Lo so many years ago.

 

***

No. I'm gonna go ahead and presume and attempt to subsume all and everything I can fucking consume. Including you, Jew. You can either bow out now or assume the position, Gerry. It's all gonna come down to me and be left up to you, anyway.

YOLO and yours truly,

John Hamler

The world's coolest fucking writer of all time, motherfucker.

***

No. I guess I should apologize. You know me, Gerry. I'm just arguing to argue my presumptious genius. You've always conducted yourself a fine and righteous fellow with trustworthy instincts. A mensch without manners. Or hair for that matter. We'll keep it simple, like you say. And stupid. Like you recommend.

See you next Wednesday, sucka. In Seattle. Don't wear the hobnail boots, though. Your people aren't farmers.

Cheers

John Hamler

 

 


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