Dan Hoy

 



Being Drunk Helps

 

At the party I got stuck in the corner with the dorks.

I tried speaking some hybrid of canceled TV and the new next thing

without coming off like a syndicated columnist.

This initiated a spirited game of grabass.

We showed "those motherfuckers" (and our dead parents) what's up.

Not that I didn't envy the absent geeks and their tediously subversive gadgets

after I ran out of booze.

The dorks were appropriating lampshades. Soon we'll have coats

made of a thousand tiny cameras

so you can be reflective and invisible and just go home.



 

Shot Reverse Shot

 

I'm under orders to make the homoerotic overtones

undertones and blunt the pointed political commentary,

but I share the sentiment but not the didacticism

so no problem. Also the use of slow motion to convey

intensity or eminent doom or immanent dirty sex.

After twelve-hour workdays I keep working on the parallel

universe version of the movie assembled out of outtakes

instead of sleeping. For example the boardwalk scene

when Matthew McConaughey smiles in a shot reverse shot

opposite Paul Walker. Midway through take 22 his eyes

lose focus in a grimace for half a second. Walker acts

as control variable and holds it steady every take.

The stoic consistency and half-clad melancholy of filming

on location in the Bahamas. The exact same dispersion of scenes

and running time as the theatrical release, which is scheduled

to hit 3000 screens on July 4th, thirty of which screens

will reflect the parallel universe version to an audience

increasingly uneasy in first their seats, then their skins.

I haven't yet gotten to the extended sequence set aboard

the International Space Station, also filmed on location

as part of the most integrated Hollywood/NASA shoot

since 2001 (the movie not the year), the crew given

an impromptu crash course on satellite triangulation and

the militarization of space and the very real danger

of high velocity space debris in geosynchronous orbit.

In my professional opinion the end result will be a grand

rom-com space opera the likes of which moviegoers

have never ever seen before and never will again, thanks

to the temporal and monetary delays and extensions lavished

on Thomas Thomas' already overbloated fuck you

to Time and Money, and Space. Having a P.U. version

is pure T.T. and the nail on the end of his middle finger.

I seized the opportunity to follow up on my interest

in the effects of sleep deprivation as it relates to measuring

the errancy of the excess of state power, in this case

picking the take which most deviates from the tone of its

corresponding take in the source text, which as I mentioned

is being assembled more or less simultaneously. Thomas

took notes on Jessica Alba's performance but otherwise

left the scope and requirements of the parallel universe

in my hands. He also said to go ahead and follow

the studio directives of a more palatable subversion

since all the transgression was just smoke and mirrors

inserted into the in-progress product to keep them feeling

diligent and off the scent. Based on the takes available

and my editorial history I'm guessing the "remaindered

version" (as Thomas calls it) will be equal parts arousal

and revulsion, mixed with scatological puerility and clinical

indifference and unadulterated nostalgia-free jouissance

subtracted from childhood. Or at least that's what I'm hoping

since American Junior High School is my default setting

when I'm exhausted and ill-feeling and interacting with a finite

amount of mannerisms. I'm going for a kind of intuitive,

hallucinatory, somnambulistic precision. A waking version

of lucid dreaming culled from my days as an armchair

oneironaut and protoscientist and figure-ground cartographer.

Thomas calls me an artfag poser since he subsists on iron

infusion therapy nightly out of necessity but my interest

predates his symptoms (cause unknown). Thomas also thinks

technovampires are a metaphor for pretty much everything

and is in preproduction with the aforementioned Alba

on his dystopian epic of blood, the occult, and digital avatars.

Meanwhile I navigate the multiplicity of McConaughey's

bronzed chest and Walker's monoemotive gaze as if my life

and the entire set of known unknown universes depends on it.

With an understanding that none of this would even be possible

without the integrated advancements in non-linear editing

hardware and software, like my Avid at home. Or possible,

but not something really that any of us would have thought.


 


Because You're a Former Child Actor

 

I asked you to be my furniture in so many words.

Locally it makes sense, you saying how special I am after the movie

on the way to the club, but it feels weird

without the soundtrack as a general frame.

They always tell people the VIP room is unavailable

as if the numbers in my phone don't add up to a coherent whole

or that that’s ever stopped us before.

I know you know that me and my hot friends get in for free.

But I like you because your face is bloated and saggy but unironic,

like that retro t-shirt and whatever year this is.