'Fry' NYILFF2010

NYILFF2010 FRY

FRY

ROBERT LATORRE

05-22-2010

INT NIGHT.  LOBBY.

DECO grabs ENVELOPE from the CONCIERGE, counts the CASH inside, and walks through the REVOLVING DOORS.

______

EXT NIGHT.  STREET.

Almost immediately upon exiting a THIEF starts following DECO.  SHE gives no indication of noticing.  

DECO rolls and lights up a JOINT.

Deco VO:

LO PEOR QUE PUEDEN DECIR DE MI ES QUE SOY FUMONA Y PUTA.

Y DE PUTA, NO HAY EVIDENCIA.  PURO CUENTO.

The THIEF makes a run at DECO, but in one quick move SHE sidesteps HIM and trips HIM.   DECO pins the THIEF to the ground with her BOOT.  SHE produces a LARGE TASER GUN from her BAG and shoots it into the THIEF's back.

Deco [humming]:

LA VIDA TE DA SORPRESAS...

DECO waves the TASER GUN around as if it was a lit torch.  Other FIGURES retreat into shadows.

 Deco [humming]:

SORPRESAS TE DA LA VIDA, CAMARÁ.

DECO keeps walking and whistling and disappears into the night.

_____

INT DUSK.  METRO.

INTERTITLE:  "THIRTY CYCLES LATER"  

WAGA stands among other BROTHERS wearing similar WHITE UNIFORMS.   SHE alone wears a WHITE BACKPACK, enormous HEADPHONES and a handmade PATCH on her chest that reads "THE ART OF CONVERSATION IS DEAD"

WAGA looks straight ahead, without blinking.  Her left eye is bruised.

Deco VO:

AS I WAS SAYING, LO UNICO QUE PUEDEN DECIR DE MI ES QUE SOY FUMONA Y PUTA.

Y DE PUTA NO HAY EVIDENCIA.  PURO CUENTO.

_____

EXT NIGHT.  RECRUITMENT MIXER.  An unsanctioned party at an abandoned BASKETBALL COURT. 

DECO is onstage, nearing the end of her act.

Deco:

LA GENTE EN ESTA COLONIA VIVEN ATERRORIZADOS DEL QUE-DIRAN!  AY PERO SI ME VEN HACIENDO ESO... AY QUE DESPUES SE ENTERA FULANA...

MAAAAN!  

WAGA is in the audience.  She has changed out of her UNIFORM and is now wearing colorful handmade CLOTHING.  SHE still wears a patch that reads "THE ART OF CONVERSATION IS DEAD."  

WAGA laughs.

Deco:

LO UNICO QUE MATA EL QUE-DIRAN ES DECIRLO.  DECIRLO A TODA BOCA: 'HOY ME COMI TRES RABOS Y CUARENTA MOTAS... Y QUE?'

The AUDIENCE -most of them wearing similarly colorful handmade CLOTHES, a few still wearing their WHITE UNIFORMS- explodes in laughter and applause.

___

EXT NIGHT .  RECRUITMENT MIXER.

WAGA hovers BACKSTAGE, holding a RED BOOK, visibly worn and used.  DECO appears with a  BODYGUARD.  SHE stands aside while the BODYGUARD takes the BOOK from WAGA and examines it.  

The BODYGUARD brings the BOOK to DECO.  SHE looks closely at it, then opens it and shakes it -all sorts of NOTES and POST-ITS fall out.

DECO takes the BOOK back to WAGA.

Deco:

WHO GAVE YOU THIS?

Waga:

WILL YOU SIGN IT?

Deco:

WHO GAVE IT TO YOU?

Waga:

MY GUIDE.

Deco:

IT'S REALLY YOURS?

Waga:

YES, MA'AM.

Deco:

COME WITH ME.

_____

EXT NIGHT.  RECRUITMENT MIXER.

GUARDS surround the abandoned BASKETBALL COURT and break-up the party.  There's a lot of screaming, a lot of running and shoving.  Some beat-downs.  A couple of GUARDS use TASER GUNS on the KIDS.

A lucky few escape into the BUSHES.

The GUARDS then start shaking down the KIDS for CASH, WATCHES, various TECHNO-GADGETS, and even their SNEAKERS, before filing them off into TRUCKS.

________

Emergency LOGO for TRASHBEACH TELEVISION.

Announcer over PHOTOGRAPHS and TEXT.  The PHOTOGRAPHS show WAGA in STREET CLOTHES with long brown HAIR.

Announcer:

EL SIGUIENTE ES UN SERVICIO SOCIAL DE CANAL TRECE.

LA NIÑA JOSEFINA DEL RIO HA SIDO REPORTADA PERDIDA POR SUS PADRES MARTIN DEL RIO Y NEREYDA GONZALEZ DEL RIO.

LA NIÑA FUE VISTA POR ULTIMA VEZ EN LOS PREDIOS DEL JARDIN DE PAZ.  

VESTIA UNA BLUSA AMARILLA Y UNA FALDA AZUL.

LA NIÑA ES DIABETICA, Y SUS PADRES RUEGAN A QUIEN LA ENCUENTRE QUE POR FAVOR LLAME AL CINCO-CERO-TRES-VEINTICINCO-TREINTA

___________________

EXT DAY.  GHOST TOWN.

INTERTITLE:  "TWO CYCLES LATER"

DECO and WAGA walk up some stairs, the OCEAN behind them.  Their CLOTHES are worn and faded.  They've been on the run for some time.   

Deco:

THERE'S TWO TYPE OF TRIBES IN THIS COLONY: THERE'S THE PEOPLE WHO SHOW YOU THE OCEAN, AND THE PEOPLE WHO DON'T.

YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING, THE OCEAN'S RIGHT THERE, EVERYWHERE.  AND STILL SOME NERDS BROADCAST LIKE THIS:

SHE gestures away from the water.

Deco:

IT MAKES ME WANNA GRAB THEM BY THEIR POPPED COLLARS AND SHAKE THE GÜIDO OUT OF THEM.     

YOU KNOW WHAT BAD TASTE IS?  BAD TASTE IS ABSENCE OF EMPATHY.

BAD TASTE IS LACK OF CARING: JUST NOT CARING ENOUGH TO LOOK AROUND YOU AND RECOGNIZE THE BEST POSSIBLE SCENARIO AND GO WITH THAT ONE.

GOOD TASTE, ON THE OTHER HAND -GOOD TASTE IS ABOUT APPRECIATING SOMETHING EXQUISITE IN A MANNER INACCESSIBLE TO MERE MORTALS.

IT'S ABOUT SEEING THE AURAS, THE INVISIBLE RHYTMHS, THE HIDDEN CONTRASTS AND DIMENSIONS -

DECO pauses, SHE LOOKS AROUND

Deco:

SOMEONE'S FOLLOWING US.

  

_________

EXT DAY.  GHOST TOWN.  Empty streets and shuttered homes.  DECO and WAGA approach from the left while a GANG OF MEN approach from the right.  They meet in front of an OLD CHURCH.

DECO addresses the GANG's leader.  HE's dressed in all black.

Deco:

YOU JUST CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF MY BITCHSLAPPING, DO YOU, DANGER?

Danger:

I JUST WANT THE FRY, THAT'S ALL.

Deco:

AND YOU THINK I'LL JUST HAND HER OVER JUST LIKE THAT?  WHAT ABOUT MY REWARD?

Danger:

I'M SURE WE CAN WORK SOMETHING OUT.  DO YOU STILL HAVE THE BOOK?

Deco:

MAYBE.  MAYBE I BURNED IT.

DANGER laughs.  

Danger:

YOU'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO LIE FOR SHIT.

DANGER motions to his MEN.  WAGA hides behind DECO.

Deco:

COME AND GET IT!

The MEN rush DECO.  SHE meets the first MAN with a fist to the nose.  HE goes down.  Two MEN grab her from behind and hold her arms, but DECO head-butts one and scissor-kicks the other.  THEY too go down.

DANGER takes out a HUGE KNIFE with his right hand and advances towards DECO.  DECO unzips her HOODY and unholters her TASER GUN. SHE aims at DANGER.

Deco (to WAGA):

WHEN I TELL YOU, RUN.

DECO and DANGER circle each other.  DANGER pulls out an even BIGGER KNIFE with his other hand.

Deco:

RUN!

_________

EXT DAWN.  BEACH.  DECO and WAGA arrive at a small INLET, where they find a hidden TRANSPARENT INFLATABLE RAFT.  THEY hug goodbye, and DECO helps WAGA into the RAFT.

But the GIRL has a change of heart.   She starts climbing out of the RAFT as waves crash against the sides, threatening to topple it.

DECO struggles to keep WAGA in the RAFT.  SHE tells the GIRL something we cannot hear.

WAGA stops struggling.  SHE curls up on the floor of the RAFT.  DECO sends her away, over the waves.

DECO returns to the beach and finds the RED BOOK washed up ashore.

SHE signs it, drops it without opening it, and walks away drying her TASER GUN.

_________

EXT DAWN.  OCEAN.  WAGA lays on the floor of the RAFT as it starts filling up with WATER.  SHE kicks her legs, as if in a dream, but otherwise goes quietly under.

Deco VO:

THERE COMES A TIME IN EVERYONE'S LIFE WHERE YOU WANT TO ONLY BE SURROUNDED BY WHAT YOU LOVE.

IT MIGHT NOT BE MANY THINGS, OR MANY PEOPLE, BUT ANYTHING ELSE JUST GETS IN THE WAY.

THE THING IS, IT'S UP TO YOU TO SORT IT OUT.

WHATEVER GOES IS TRASH.

WHATEVER STAYS IS HOME.

WAGA passes through the RAFT, comes out under it and swims away into the OCEAN as a small FISH.

-END-

1006 The Art Of Conversation Is Dead

   

EXT DAY. FRATERNITY HOUSE.  Beautiful sunny day.

GUIDE leads WAGA, a thin, delicate-looking girl with short bleached hair, up the stairs.  We join them mid-tour.

Guide:

AFTER THE WAR, THE ONLY PEOPLE LEFT WITH ANY TRUE KNOWLEDGE OF THE PAST WERE FAGS.

THEY COULD TALK FOR HOURS AND HOURS OF THE PAINTINGS THEY'D SEEN, AND THE BALLETS THEY HAD ENJOYED, AND ALL SORTS OF WONDERS THAT HAVE SINCE VANISHED.  

OF COURSE, EVERY WORD HAS BEEN RECORDED AND DOCUMENTED FOR POSTERITY.

WE'LL NEVER LET THIS SHIT HAPPEN TO US AGAIN.

_____

INT DAY. FRATERNITY HOUSE.  A long white corridor, full of windows and light.  WAGA drags along a WHITE DUFFLE BAG.

Guide:

TRASHBEACH IS NOW THE CULTURAL INSTITUTION OF THE NEW COUNTRY -I'D SAY THE WORLD.

UNFORTUNATELY -AND VERY MUCH AGAINST OUR WISHES- THE COLONY HAS ALSO BECOME THE PRIME PARTY SPOT ON EARTH.

EVERYONE COMES TO GET "TRASHED IN TRASHBEASH."  

IT'S A GODDAMN RITE OF PASSAGE.

______

INT DAY.  FRATERNITY BARRACKS.  A large communal room with empty bunk beds.  It is lived-in, but clean and orderly.

The door opens, revealing GUIDE and WAGA standing  in the frame.

Guide:

THIS IS YOU.  YOUR NEW BROTHERS WILL BE BACK AFTER SNACK TIME.

GUIDE hugs WAGA, startling HER.

Guide:

I'M SO WATERWORKS FOR THESE THINGS.

GUIDE walks away, wiping his tears.  WAGA is left alone in the doorway.

Guide:

ALMOST FORGOT!  I GET SO BIRD-BRAIN SOMETIMES!

GUIDE hands WAGA a SMALL RED BOOK.

Guide:

G' LUCK!

GUIDE pats WAGA on the back, and pushes HER over the threshold.  

The door is closed.

___________



INT DAY.  FRATERNITY BARRACKS.

Finally alone, WAGA takes quick survey of her new home.  She drags the DUFFEL BAG to a corner.

WAGA ends up at the desk, studying the RED BOOK for the first time.

Gold-lettered title reads "LAS TREINTITRES ILUMINACIONES DE AWE"

WAGA cracks open the BOOK, and reads aloud:

Waga:

BENDITO SEA AWE SOBRE TODAS LAS COSAS!

AWE ES PAZ.

BENDITO!

AWE ES LUZ!

BENDITO!

WAGA turns the page.

Waga:

AWE ES...

WAGA notices a tiny DRAWING near the corner of the page.  She turns the page and finds more DRAWINGS.

WAGA turns the page one more time and reads these words aloud:

Waga:

THERE ARE TWO TYPES OF PEOPLE IN THIS COLONY: THOSE WHO CAN PASS, AND THOSE WHO CAN'T.

 

DESAWEBATOL IS THE ONE PATH TO GETTING YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS.

ASSUME THE FOLLOWING PRINCIPLES AND YOU SHALL PASS.  

AND IF YOU PASS YOU WILL SURVIVE.

WAGA closes the RED BOOK, and the title on the cover now seems vandalized in the same gold lettering.  It now reads: "LAS TREINTITRES ILUMINACIONES DEL DESAWEBATOL"

WAGA closes her eyes, hugs the BOOK to her chest and whispers.

Waga:

SI EXISTES!

____



DISSOLVE TO: MONTAGE  

INT DAY.  CONTROL ROOM.  Several SCREENS reveal a variety of PEOPLE going about their lives: riding in elevators, walking on the street.  THEY wear identical WHITE UNIFORMS.  

Deco VO:

THE WEB SAYS THAT THE PROPHET BECAME ENLIGHTENED AFTER MORE THAN A MONTH NEAR-DEATH.

THE WEB SAYS THE PROPHET WENT BEYOND NEAR.

THE WEB SAYS THE PROPHET SPENT SEVEN MINUTES OVER AND THEN RETURNED WITH THE MOST GLORIOUS VISIONS.

DECO stands in front of the SCREENS speaking into a MICROPHONE.  A few TECHNICIANS move around the room, twisting KNOBS and pressing blinking BUTTONS.

Deco:

AND THAT'S WHAT MAKES AWE AWESOME!

WE LEARN BECAUSE WE CARE!

_________

INT DAY.  STAIRWAY.

DECO exits CONTROL ROOM through a series of BACKDOORS and STAIRWAYS that ultimately lead to a ROOFTOP.

_____



EXT SUNSET.  ROOFTOP.

DECO paces around.  She expertly rolls a JOINT and lights it.  She places an ENCRYPTED CALL.

Deco:

MY ADVICE: AND YOU CAN START DOING THIS IMMEDIATELY: DO ONLY THINGS YOU ENJOY -IF YOU DON'T HAVE THE TIME TO DO THE THINGS YOU ENJOY, THEN MAKE TIME.

THAT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT PRIORITY NOW: DO WHAT YOU ENJOY TO DO.

SPEND TIME WITH PEOPLE YOU ENJOY.

REPEAT.  RINSE.  FEEL BETTER.

I LOVE YOU.

PS: TELL TODOR TO GIVE ME MY FUCKING MONEY!

DECO looks out over the island one last time, throws out the JOINT and heads back inside.

_____

INT NIGHT.  LOBBY.

DECO grabs ENVELOPE from the CONCIERGE, counts the CASH inside, and walks through the REVOLVING DOORS.

______

EXT NIGHT.  STREET.

Almost immediately upon exiting a THIEF starts following DECO.  SHE gives no indication of noticing.  

DECO rolls and lights up another JOINT.

Deco VO:

LO PEOR QUE PUEDEN DECIR DE MI ES QUE SOY FUMONA Y PUTA.

Y DE PUTA, NO HAY EVIDENCIA.  PURO CUENTO.

The THIEF makes a run at DECO, but in one quick move SHE sidesteps HIM and trips HIM.   DECO pins the THIEF to the ground with her BOOT.  SHE produces a LARGE TASER GUN from her BAG and shoots it into the THIEF's back.

Deco [humming]:

LA VIDA TE DA SORPRESAS...

DECO waves the TASER GUN around as if it was a lit torch.  Other FIGURES retreat into shadows.

 Deco [humming]:

SORPRESAS TE DA LA VIDA, CAMARÁ.

DECO keeps walking and whistling and disappears into the night.

_____

INT DUSK.  METRO.

INTERTITLE:  "THIRTY CYCLES LATER"  

WAGA stands among other BROTHERS wearing similar WHITE UNIFORMS.   SHE alone wears a WHITE BACKPACK, enormous HEADPHONES and a handmade PATCH on her chest that reads "THE ART OF CONVERSATION IS DEAD"

WAGA looks straight ahead, without blinking.

Deco VO:

AS I WAS SAYING, LO UNICO QUE PUEDEN DECIR DE MI ES QUE SOY FUMONA Y PUTA.

Y DE PUTA NO HAY EVIDENCIA.  PURO CUENTO.

_____

EXT NIGHT.  RECRUITMENT MIXER.  An unsanctioned party at an abandoned BASKETBALL COURT. 

DECO is onstage, nearing the end of her act.

Deco:

LA GENTE EN ESTA COLONIA VIVEN ATERRORIZADOS DEL QUE-DIRAN!  AY PERO SI ME VEN HACIENDO ESO... AY QUE DESPUES SE ENTERA FULANA...

MAAAAN!  

WAGA is in the audience.  She has changed out of her UNIFORM and is now wearing colorful handmade CLOTHING.  SHE still wears a patch that reads "THE ART OF CONVERSATION IS DEAD."  

WAGA laughs.

Deco:

LO UNICO QUE MATA EL QUE DIRAN ES DECIRLO.  DECIRLO A TODA BOCA: 'HOY ME COMI TRES RABOS Y CUARENTA MOTAS... Y QUE?'

The AUDIENCE -most of them wearing similarly colorful handmade CLOTHES, a few still wearing their WHITE UNIFORMS- explodes in laughter and applause.

___

EXT NIGHT .  RECRUITMENT MIXER.

WAGA hovers BACKSTAGE, holding the RED BOOK, which is now visibly worn and used.  DECO appears with a  BODYGUARD.  SHE stands aside while the BODYGUARD takes the BOOK from WAGA and examines it.  

The BODYGUARD brings the BOOK to DECO.  SHE looks closely at it, then opens it and shakes it -all sorts of NOTES and POST-ITS fall out.

DECO takes the BOOK back to WAGA.

Deco:

WHO GAVE YOU THIS?

Waga:

WILL YOU SIGN IT?

Deco:

WHO GAVE IT TO YOU?

Waga:

MY GUIDE.

Deco:

IT'S REALLY YOURS?

Waga:

YES, MA'AM.

Deco:

COME WITH ME.

_____

EXT NIGHT.  TALENT CAMP.  A clearing filled with CRATES and CABLES and a few MONITORS.

Midst of a CONFERENCE CALL.

JewBan:

LET ME SEE HER.

Deco:  

IF YOU SEE HER, THEN YOU'LL...

JewBan:

LEMME SEE THE FUCKING KID.  YOU SAY SHE'S FOR REAL, RIGHT?

THEN LEMME SEE THE FUCKING KID.

DECO brings WAGA into range.

JewBan:

IS THIS YOUR BOOK, MISS?

Waga:

YES, SIR.

JewBan:

AND YOU HAD IT THE WHOLE TIME, AND NOBODY MESSED WITH IT?

Waga:

NO SIR.

JewBan:

HAVE YOU MESSED WITH IT?

Waga:

NO SIR.

JewBan:

HOLY MOTHER FUCKERS!

Deco:

WHAT?

JewBan:

NOS JODIERON.

_____

EXT NIGHT.  RECRUITMENT MIXER.

GUARDS surround the abandoned BASKETBALL COURT and break-up the party.  There's a lot of screaming, a lot of running and shoving.  Some beat-downs.  A couple of GUARDS use TASER GUNS on the KIDS.

A lucky few escape into the BUSHES.

The GUARDS then start shaking down the KIDS for CASH, WATCHES, various TECHNO-GADGETS, and even their SNEAKERS, before filing them off into TRUCKS.

________

Announcer over PHOTOGRAPHS and TEXT.  The photographs show WAGA in STREET CLOTHES with long brown HAIR.

Announcer:

EL SIGUIENTE ES UN SERVICIO SOCIAL DE CANAL TRECE.

LA NIÑA JOSEFINA DEL RIO HA SIDO REPORTADA PERDIDA POR SUS PADRES MARTIN DEL RIO Y NEREYDA GONZALEZ DEL RIO.

LA NIÑA FUE VISTA POR ULTIMA VEZ EN LOS PREDIOS DEL JARDIN DE PAZ.  

VESTIA UNA BLUSA AMARILLA Y UNA FALDA AZUL.

LA NIÑA ES DIABETICA, Y SUS PADRES RUEGAN A QUIEN LA ENCUENTRE QUE POR FAVOR LLAME AL CINCO-CERO-TRES-VEINTICINO-TREINTA

___________________



EXT NIGHT.  BUSHES.

DECO powerwalks, dragging WAGA along.

DECO is in the middle of another CONFERENCE CALL.   She's terrified.

Deco:

THE ABSOLUTE WORST THING ABOUT TOURIST-TRASH IS THAT ALL YOUR FANTASIES END THE SAME WAY: OFFSPRING

YOU CAN GRAB THE BADDEST MOTHERFUCKER OUT THERE AND OFFER HIM AND HEIR OR, JAH FORBID, ONE CUTE DADDY'S GIRL, AND THAT'S IT, GAME OVER.  STICK A FORK IN YOU DANGER, YOU'RE DONE!

YOUR DAYS OF RULING THE ROOST ARE BEHIND YOU.

NOW YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO LOSE IF YOU GO INSIDE, AND THAT IMPAIRS YOUR JUDGMENT.  

I TALKED TO THE OTHERS AND WE ALL AGREE: IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO GO.

MAYBE YOU CAN PUT OUT A CHRISTMAS ALBUM OR SOMETHING.

PEACE OUT.

  

________

EXT DAY.  GHOST TOWN.

INTERTITLE:  "TWO CYCLES LATER"

DECO and WAGA walk up some stairs, the OCEAN behind them.  Their CLOTHES are worn and faded.  They've been on the run for some time.   

Deco:

THERE'S TWO TYPE OF TRIBES IN THIS COLONY: THERE'S THE PEOPLE WHO SHOW YOU THE OCEAN, AND THE PEOPLE WHO DON'T.

YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING, THE OCEAN'S RIGHT THERE, EVERYWHERE.  AND STILL SOME NERDS BROADCAST LIKE THIS:

SHE gestures away from the water.

Deco:

IT MAKES ME WANNA GRAB THEM BY THEIR POPPED COLLARS AND SHAKE THE GÜIDO OUT OF THEM.     

YOU KNOW WHAT BAD TASTE IS?  BAD TASTE IS ABSENCE OF EMPATHY.

BAD TASTE IS LACK OF CARING: JUST NOT CARING ENOUGH TO LOOK AROUND YOU AND RECOGNIZE THE BEST POSSIBLE SCENARIO AND GO WITH THAT ONE.

GOOD TASTE, ON THE OTHER HAND -GOOD TASTE IS ABOUT APPRECIATING SOMETHING EXQUISITE IN A MANNER INACCESSIBLE TO MERE MORTALS.

IT'S ABOUT SEEING THE AURAS, THE INVISIBLE RHYTMHS, THE HIDDEN CONTRASTS AND DIMENSIONS -

DECO pauses, SHE LOOKS AROUND

Deco:

SOMEONE'S FOLLOWING US.

  

_________

EXT DAY.  GHOST TOWN.  Empty streets and shuttered homes.  DECO and WAGA approach from the left while a GANG OF MEN approach from the right.  They meet in front of an OLD CHURCH.

DECO addresses the GANG's leader.  HE's dressed in all black.

Deco:

YOU JUST CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF MY BITCHSLAPPING, DO YOU, DANGER?

Danger:

I JUST WANT THE GIRL, THAT'S ALL.

Deco:

AND YOU THINK I'LL JUST HAND HER OVER JUST LIKE THAT?  WHAT ABOUT MY REWARD?

Danger:

I'M SURE WE CAN WORK SOMETHING OUT.  DO YOU STILL HAVE THE BOOK?

Deco:

MAYBE.  MAYBE I BURNED IT.

DANGER laughs.  

Danger:

YOU'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO LIE FOR SHIT.

DANGER motions to his MEN.  WAGA hides behind DECO.

Deco:

COME AND GET IT!

The MEN rush DECO.  SHE meets the first MAN with a fist to the nose.  HE goes down.  Two MEN grab her from behind and hold her arms, but DECO head-butts one and scissor-kicks the other.  THEY too go down.

DANGER takes out a HUGE KNIFE with his right hand and advances towards DECO.

Deco (to WAGA):

WHEN I TELL YOU, RUN.

DECO and DANGER circle each other.  DANGER pulls out an even BIGGER KNIFE with his other hand.

Deco:

RUN!

____________



MONTAGE:  DECO and WAGA escape.

_________

EXT DAWN.  BEACH.  DECO and WAGA arrive at a small INLET, where they find a hidden INFLATABLE RAFT.  THEY hug goodbye, and DECO helps WAGA into the RAFT.

But the GIRL has a change of heart.   She starts climbing out of the RAFT as waves crash against the sides, threatening to topple it.

DECO struggles to keep WAGA in the RAFT.  SHE tells the GIRL something we cannot hear.

WAGA stops struggling.  SHE curls up on the floor of the RAFT.  DECO sends her away, over the waves.

DECO returns to the beach and finds the RED BOOK washed up ashore.

SHE signs it, stashes it, and walks away without opening it.

_________

EXT DAWN.  OCEAN.  WAGA lays on the floor of the raft as it starts filling up with WATER.  SHE kicks her legs, as if in a dream, but otherwise goes quietly under.

Deco VO:

THERE COMES A TIME IN EVERYONE'S LIFE WHERE YOU WANT TO ONLY BE SURROUNDED BY WHAT YOU LOVE.

IT MIGHT NOT BE MANY THINGS, OR MANY PEOPLE, BUT ANYTHING ELSE JUST GETS IN THE WAY.

THE THING IS, IT'S UP TO YOU TO SORT IT OUT.

WHATEVER GOES IS TRASH.

WHATEVER STAYS IS HOME.

WAGA passes through the RAFT, comes out under it and swims away into the OCEAN as a small FISH.

-END-

1005 The Art Of Conversation Is Dead

   

EXT DAY. FRATERNITY HOUSE.  Beautiful sunny day.

GUIDE leads WAGA, a thin, delicate-looking girl with short bleached hair, up the stairs.  We join them mid-tour.

Guide:

AFTER THE WAR, THE ONLY PEOPLE LEFT WITH ANY TRUE KNOWLEDGE OF THE PAST WERE FAGS.

THEY COULD TALK FOR HOURS AND HOURS OF THE PAINTINGS THEY'D SEEN, AND THE BALLETS THEY HAD ENJOYED, AND ALL SORTS OF WONDERS THAT HAVE SINCE VANISHED.  

OF COURSE, EVERY WORD HAS BEEN RECORDED AND DOCUMENTED FOR POSTERITY.

WE'LL NEVER LET THIS SHIT HAPPEN TO US AGAIN.

_____

INT DAY. FRATERNITY HOUSE.  A long white corridor, full of windows and light.  WAGA drags along a WHITE DUFFLE BAG.

Guide:

TRASHBEACH IS NOW THE CULTURAL INSTITUTION OF THE NEW COUNTRY -I'D SAY THE WORLD.

UNFORTUNATELY -AND VERY MUCH AGAINST OUR WISHES- THE COLONY HAS ALSO BECOME THE PRIME PARTY SPOT ON EARTH.

EVERYONE COMES TO GET "TRASHED IN TRASHBEASH."  

IT'S A GODDAMN RITE OF PASSAGE.

______

INT DAY.  FRATERNITY BARRACKS.  A large communal room with empty bunk beds.  It is lived-in, but clean and orderly.

The door opens, revealing GUIDE and WAGA standing  in the frame.

Guide:

THIS IS YOU.  YOUR NEW BROTHERS WILL BE BACK AFTER SNACK TIME.

GUIDE hugs WAGA, startling HER.

Guide:

I'M SO WATERWORKS FOR THESE THINGS.

GUIDE walks away, wiping his tears.  WAGA is left alone in the doorway.

Guide:

ALMOST FORGOT!  I GET SO BIRD-BRAIN SOMETIMES!

GUIDE hands WAGA a SMALL RED BOOK.

Guide:

G' LUCK!

GUIDE pats WAGA on the back, and pushes HER over the threshold.  

The door is closed.

___________



INT DAY.  FRATERNITY BARRACKS.

Finally alone, WAGA takes quick survey of her new home.  She drags the DUFFEL BAG to a corner.

WAGA ends up at the desk, studying the RED BOOK for the first time.

Gold-lettered title reads "LAS TREINTITRES ILUMINACIONES DE AWE"

WAGA cracks open the BOOK, and reads aloud:

Waga:

BENDITO SEA AWE SOBRE TODAS LAS COSAS!

AWE ES PAZ.

BENDITO!

AWE ES LUZ!

BENDITO!

WAGA turns the page.

Waga:

AWE ES...

WAGA notices a tiny DRAWING near the corner of the page.  She turns the page and finds more DRAWINGS.

WAGA turns the page one more time and reads these words aloud:

Waga:

THERE ARE TWO TYPES OF PEOPLE IN THIS COLONY: THOSE WHO CAN PASS, AND THOSE WHO CAN'T.

 

DESAWEBATOL IS THE ONE PATH TO GETTING YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS.

ASSUME THE FOLLOWING PRINCIPLES AND YOU SHALL PASS.  

AND IF YOU PASS YOU WILL SURVIVE.

WAGA closes the RED BOOK, and the title on the cover now seems vandalized in the same gold lettering.  It now reads: "LAS TREINTITRES ILUMINACIONES DEL DESAWEBATOL"

WAGA closes her eyes, hugs the BOOK to her chest and whispers.

Waga:

SI EXISTES!

____



DISSOLVE TO: MONTAGE  

INT DAY.  CONTROL ROOM.  Several SCREENS reveal a variety of PEOPLE going about their lives: riding in elevators, walking on the street.  THEY wear identical WHITE UNIFORMS.  

Deco VO:

THE WEB SAYS THAT THE PROPHET BECAME ENLIGHTENED AFTER MORE THAN A MONTH NEAR-DEATH.

THE WEB SAYS THE PROPHET WENT BEYOND NEAR.

THE WEB SAYS THE PROPHET SPENT SEVEN MINUTES OVER AND THEN RETURNED WITH THE MOST GLORIOUS VISIONS.

DECO stands in front of the SCREENS speaking into a MICROPHONE.  A few TECHNICIANS move around the room, twisting KNOBS and pressing blinking BUTTONS.

Deco:

AND THAT'S WHAT MAKES AWE AWESOME!

WE LEARN BECAUSE WE CARE!

_________

INT DAY.  STAIRWAY.

DECO exits CONTROL ROOM through a series of BACKDOORS and STAIRWAYS that ultimately lead to a ROOFTOP.

_____



EXT SUNSET.  ROOFTOP.

DECO paces around.  She expertly rolls a JOINT and lights it.  She places an ENCRYPTED CALL.

Deco:

MY ADVICE: AND YOU CAN START DOING THIS IMMEDIATELY: DO ONLY THINGS YOU ENJOY -IF YOU DON'T HAVE THE TIME TO DO THE THINGS YOU ENJOY, THEN MAKE TIME.

THAT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT PRIORITY NOW: DO WHAT YOU ENJOY TO DO.

SPEND TIME WITH PEOPLE YOU ENJOY.

REPEAT.  RINSE.  FEEL BETTER.

I LOVE YOU.

PS: TELL TODOR TO GIVE ME MY FUCKING MONEY!

DECO looks out over the island one last time, throws out the JOINT and heads back inside.

_____

INT NIGHT.  LOBBY.

DECO grabs ENVELOPE from the CONCIERGE, counts the CASH inside, and walks through the REVOLVING DOORS.

______

EXT NIGHT.  STREET.

Almost immediately upon exiting a THIEF starts following DECO.  SHE gives no indication of noticing.  

DECO rolls and lights up another JOINT.

Deco VO:

LO PEOR QUE PUEDEN DECIR DE MI ES QUE SOY FUMONA Y PUTA.

Y DE PUTA, NO HAY EVIDENCIA.  PURO CUENTO.

The THIEF makes a run at DECO, but in one quick move SHE sidesteps HIM and trips HIM.   DECO pins the THIEF to the ground with her BOOT.  SHE produces a LARGE TASER GUN from her BAG and shoots it into the THIEF's back.

Deco [humming]:

LA VIDA TE DA SORPRESAS...

DECO waves the TASER GUN around as if it was a lit torch.  Other FIGURES retreat into shadows.

 Deco [humming]:

SORPRESAS TE DA LA VIDA, CAMARÁ.

DECO keeps walking and whistling and disappears into the night.

_____

INT DUSK.  METRO.

INTERTITLE:  "THIRTY CYCLES LATER"  

WAGA stands among other BROTHERS wearing similar WHITE UNIFORMS.   SHE alone wears a WHITE BACKPACK, enormous HEADPHONES and a handmade PATCH on her chest that reads "THE ART OF CONVERSATION IS DEAD"

WAGA looks straight ahead, without blinking.

Deco VO:

AS I WAS SAYING, LO UNICO QUE PUEDEN DECIR DE MI ES QUE SOY FUMONA Y PUTA.

Y DE PUTA NO HAY EVIDENCIA.  PURO CUENTO.

_____

EXT NIGHT.  RECRUITMENT MIXER.  An unsanctioned party at an abandoned BASKETBALL COURT. 

DECO is onstage, nearing the end of her act.

Deco:

LA GENTE EN ESTA COLONIA VIVEN ATERRORIZADOS DEL QUE-DIRAN!  AY PERO SI ME VEN HACIENDO ESO... AY QUE DESPUES SE ENTERA FULANA...

MAAAAN!  

WAGA is in the audience.  She has changed out of her UNIFORM and is now wearing colorful handmade CLOTHING.  SHE still wears a patch that reads "THE ART OF CONVERSATION IS DEAD."  

WAGA laughs.

Deco:

LO UNICO QUE MATA EL QUE DIRAN ES DECIRLO.  DECIRLO A TODA BOCA: 'HOY ME COMI TRES RABOS Y CUARENTA MOTAS... Y QUE?'

The AUDIENCE -most of them wearing similarly colorful handmade CLOTHES, a few still wearing their WHITE UNIFORMS- explodes in laughter and applause.

___

EXT NIGHT .  RECRUITMENT MIXER.

WAGA hovers BACKSTAGE, holding the RED BOOK, which is now visibly worn and used.  DECO appears with a  BODYGUARD.  SHE stands aside while the BODYGUARD takes the BOOK from WAGA and examines it.  

The BODYGUARD brings the BOOK to DECO.  SHE looks closely at it, then opens it and shakes it -all sorts of NOTES and POST-ITS fall out.

DECO takes the BOOK back to WAGA.

Deco:

WHO GAVE YOU THIS?

Waga:

WILL YOU SIGN IT?

Deco:

WHO GAVE IT TO YOU?

Waga:

MY GUIDE.

Deco:

IT'S REALLY YOURS?

Waga:

YES, MA'AM.

Deco:

COME WITH ME.

_____

EXT NIGHT.  TALENT CAMP.  A clearing filled with CRATES and CABLES and a few MONITORS.

Midst of a CONFERENCE CALL.

JewBan:

LET ME SEE HER.

Deco:  

IF YOU SEE HER, THEN YOU'LL...

JewBan:

LEMME SEE THE FUCKING KID.  YOU SAY SHE'S FOR REAL, RIGHT?

THEN LEMME SEE THE FUCKING KID.

DECO brings WAGA into range.

JewBan:

IS THIS YOUR BOOK, MISS?

Waga:

YES, SIR.

JewBan:

AND YOU HAD IT THE WHOLE TIME, AND NOBODY MESSED WITH IT?

Waga:

NO SIR.

JewBan:

HAVE YOU MESSED WITH IT?

Waga:

NO SIR.

JewBan:

HOLY MOTHER FUCKERS!

Deco:

WHAT?

JewBan:

NOS JODIERON.

_____

EXT NIGHT.  RECRUITMENT MIXER.

GUARDS surround the abandoned BASKETBALL COURT and break-up the party.  There's a lot of screaming, a lot of running and shoving.  Some beat-downs.  A couple of GUARDS use TASER GUNS on the KIDS.

A lucky few escape into the BUSHES.

The GUARDS then start shaking down the KIDS for CASH, WATCHES, various TECHNO-GADGETS, and even their SNEAKERS, before filing them off into TRUCKS.

________

Announcer over PHOTOGRAPHS and TEXT.  The photographs show WAGA in STREET CLOTHES.

Announcer:

EL SIGUIENTE ES UN SERVICIO SOCIAL DE CANAL TRECE.

LA NIÑA JOSEFINA DEL RIO HA SIDO REPORTADA PERDIDA POR SUS PADRES MARTIN DEL RIO Y NEREYDA GONZALEZ DEL RIO.

LA NIÑA FUE VISTA POR ULTIMA VEZ EN LOS PREDIOS DEL JARDIN DE PAZ.  

VESTIA UNA BLUSA AMARILLA Y UNA FALDA AZUL.

LA NIÑA ES DIABETICA, Y SUS PADRES RUEGAN A QUIEN LA ENCUENTRE QUE POR FAVOR LLAME AL CINCO-CERO-TRES-VEINTICINO-TREINTA

___________________



EXT NIGHT.  BUSHES.

DECO powerwalks, dragging WAGA along.

DECO is in the middle of another CONFERENCE CALL.   She's terrified.

Deco:

THE ABSOLUTE WORST THING ABOUT TOURIST-TRASH IS THAT ALL YOUR FANTASIES END THE SAME WAY: OFFSPRING

YOU CAN GRAB THE BADDEST MOTHERFUCKER OUT THERE AND OFFER HIM AND HEIR OR, JAH FORBID, ONE CUTE DADDY'S GIRL, AND THAT'S IT, GAME OVER.  STICK A FORK IN YOU DANGER, YOU'RE DONE!

YOUR DAYS OF RULING THE ROOST ARE BEHIND YOU.

NOW YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO LOSE IF YOU GO INSIDE, AND THAT IMPAIRS YOUR JUDGMENT.  

I TALKED TO THE OTHERS AND WE ALL AGREE: IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO GO.

MAYBE YOU CAN PUT OUT A CHRISTMAS ALBUM OR SOMETHING.

PEACE OUT.

  

________

EXT DAY.  GHOST TOWN.

INTERTITLE:  "TWO CYCLES LATER"

DECO and WAGA walk up some stairs, the OCEAN behind them.  Their CLOTHES are worn and faded.  They've been on the run for some time.   

Deco:

THERE'S TWO TYPE OF TRIBES IN THIS COLONY: THERE'S THE PEOPLE WHO SHOW YOU THE OCEAN, AND THE PEOPLE WHO DON'T.

YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING, THE OCEAN'S RIGHT THERE, EVERYWHERE.  AND STILL SOME NERDS BROADCAST LIKE THIS:

SHE gestures away from the water.

Deco:

IT MAKES ME WANNA GRAB THEM BY THEIR POPPED COLLARS AND SHAKE THE GÜIDO OUT OF THEM.     

YOU KNOW WHAT BAD TASTE IS?  BAD TASTE IS ABSENCE OF EMPATHY.

BAD TASTE IS LACK OF CARING: JUST NOT CARING ENOUGH TO LOOK AROUND YOU AND RECOGNIZE THE BEST POSSIBLE SCENARIO AND GO WITH THAT ONE.

GOOD TASTE, ON THE OTHER HAND -GOOD TASTE IS ABOUT APPRECIATING SOMETHING EXQUISITE IN A MANNER INACCESSIBLE TO MERE MORTALS.

IT'S ABOUT SEEING THE AURAS, THE INVISIBLE RHYTMHS, THE HIDDEN CONTRASTS AND DIMENSIONS -

DECO pauses, SHE LOOKS AROUND

Deco:

SOMEONE'S FOLLOWING US.

  

_________

EXT DAY.  GHOST TOWN.  Empty streets and shuttered homes.  DECO and WAGA approach from the left while a GANG OF MEN approach from the right.  They meet in front of an OLD CHURCH.

DECO addresses the GANG's leader.  HE's dressed in all black.

Deco:

YOU JUST CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF MY BITCHSLAPPING, DO YOU, DANGER?

Danger:

I JUST WANT THE GIRL, THAT'S ALL.

Deco:

AND YOU THINK I'LL JUST HAND HER OVER JUST LIKE THAT?  WHAT ABOUT MY REWARD?

Danger:

I'M SURE WE CAN WORK SOMETHING OUT.  DO YOU STILL HAVE THE BOOK?

Deco:

MAYBE.  MAYBE I BURNED IT.

DANGER laughs.  

Danger:

YOU'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO LIE FOR SHIT.

DANGER motions to his MEN.  WAGA hides behind DECO.

Deco:

COME AND GET IT!

The MEN rush DECO.  SHE meets the first MAN with a fist to the nose.  HE goes down.  Two MEN grab her from behind and hold her arms, but DECO head-butts one and scissor-kicks the other.  THEY too go down.

DANGER takes out a HUGE KNIFE with his right hand and advances towards DECO.

Deco (to WAGA):

WHEN I TELL YOU, RUN.

DECO and DANGER circle each other.  DANGER pulls out an even BIGGER KNIFE with his other hand.

Deco:

RUN!

____________



MONTAGE:  DECO and WAGA escape.

_________

EXT DAWN.  BEACH.  DECO and WAGA arrive at a small INLET, where they find a hidden INFLATABLE RAFT.  THEY hug goodbye, and DECO helps WAGA into the RAFT.

But the GIRL has a change of heart.   She starts climbing out of the RAFT as waves crash against the sides, threatening to topple it.

DECO struggles to keep WAGA in the RAFT.  SHE tells the GIRL something we cannot hear.

WAGA stops struggling.  SHE curls up on the floor of the RAFT.  DECO sends her away, over the waves.

DECO returns to the beach and finds the RED BOOK washed up ashore.

SHE signs it, stashes it, and walks away without opening it.

_________

EXT DAWN.  OCEAN.  WAGA lays on the floor of the raft as it starts filling up with WATER.  SHE kicks her legs, as if in a dream, but otherwise goes quietly under.

Deco VO:

THERE COMES A TIME IN EVERYONE'S LIFE WHERE YOU WANT TO ONLY BE SURROUNDED BY WHAT YOU LOVE.

IT MIGHT NOT BE MANY THINGS, OR MANY PEOPLE, BUT ANYTHING ELSE JUST GETS IN THE WAY.

THE THING IS, IT'S UP TO YOU TO SORT IT OUT.

WHATEVER GOES IS TRASH.

WHATEVER STAYS IS HOME.

WAGA passes through the RAFT, comes out under it and swims away into the OCEAN as a small fish.

-END-

DECO

There comes a time in everyone's life where you want to only be surrounded by what you love.

It might not be many things, or many people, but anything else just gets in the way.

The thing is, it's up to you to sort it out.

Whatever goes is trash.

Whatever stays is home.

Ok, try this:

Stop looking for sense in things.  Maybe there is none.

Consider the idea that maybe there is no meaning: maybe its all random, chaos, and, in the end, it doesn't matter what you do with your life, because -in the grand scheme- your life is incredibly unimportant -just one life in the river of lives that have existed, now exist, or will exist in the future.

You with me?

Now comes the hard part: now, rather than being afraid by that thought, be liberated by it.

Imagine a life where you can do whatever you want, whenever you want -a life that is pointed in the direction of whatever it is that makes you happy, simply because... Well, why not?  What's the worse that cold happen?

What is there to fear in a universe where nothing truly matters?

You are forced to draw lines around that incredibly free life -because you live in a society with other people, and that automatically necessitates boundaries.  But never forget that those boundaries are created by you -they are arbitrary, and should be used solely for the purpose of keeping you on the path to whatever makes you happy.  They also move and change, as you move and change.  

You control those boundaries.

Because in a world without rules, everything is relative, including your definitions of "happy" "sad" "alone" "empty" and even of "good" or "bad."

Ultimately, amor, consider that its all simply a matter of perspective -and you control your perspective to a very large degree, usually.  

You can decide to simply look at things with curiosity, rather than boredom.  You might want to decide to look at people as interesting, rather than incomprehensible.  You might just decide to seek joy and fun in the reality you actually inhabit, rather than escape onto ones that are merely imaginary.

My advice, and you can start doing this immediately:

1. Do only things you enjoy -if you don't have time to do the things you enjoy doing, then make time.  That's the most important priority now -do what you enjoy to do.
2. Spend time with people you enjoy -follow the same directions as above.
3. Repeat, rinse.
4. Feel better.
   

I love you.


PS: Tell Todor to gimme my fucking money!

There's two types of tribes in this colony:   there's the people who show you the ocean, and the people who don't.

You know what I'm saying, the ocean's right there, everywhere.  And still, some nerds broadcast like this.  

[beat]

It makes me wanna grab them by their popped collars and slap the güido out of them...  

Do you know what bad taste is?  Bad taste is absence of empathy.  Bad taste is lack of caring: not caring to look around you and recognize the best possible scenario and go with that one.  

Good taste, on the other hand -good taste is about appreciating something exquisite in a manner inaccessible to mere mortals.  It's about seeing the auras, the invisible rhythms, the hidden contrasts and dimensions.

---

The absolute worst thing about Tourists is that all their fantasies end the same way: offspring.  

You can grab the baddest motherfucker out there and give him an heir, or, god forbid, one cute daddy's little girl, and that's it, game over.  Stick a fork in you, Danger, you're done.

Your days of ruling the roost are behind you.

Because now you have something to lose if you leave, and that impairs your judgment.  It exposes your vulnerabilities.  

You can't be ice hard when you're changing diapers, ya hear?

I talk to the others and we all agree:  it's time for you to go.

Maybe you can put out a Christmas album or something.

Out.

I've been thinking.

I know this is not what you want to hear, but I have to tell you, because otherwise what point is there, right?

Why bother if i can't tell you stuff?

You see, I'm gonna just come right out and say it, I -this isn't working for me.

i -i, just, this isn't my place.  Ive thought about it, and i don't want to be here anymore.  

I think it's time to go.

I don't know where yet.  Stop crying, I can distinctly hear you sniffling in the background.

I dont know when, exactly.  soon.  As soon as possible.  as soon as  I'm ready.

This place just isn't for me, you know?  I don't belong here.

I need to be outside, with my own kind.  Away from you.

Listen, if you don't stop crying im going to...

Please.

[beat]

What does japanese alphabet soup look like?

[beat]

Can a hearse carrying a corpse drive in the carpool lane?

[beat]

When I read about the dangers of smoking, I gave up reading!

[beat]

Listen, I'm gonna get out of here, and I don't care what you have to say.

This is the moment you have been dreading  from the instant you laid eyes on me, and I've been postponing it long enough.

Yes of course  have a plan, but I can't tell you.  The less you know the better.

You just go on about your life, eat your cereal, and at some point you'll turn around and I'll be gone.  You'll come back from the market and all my things will be scrubbed clean, as if I was never there.

Maybe you can put a small office in my space -make it work for you, for a change.

But I know I'm done here, and this is the last you'll hear from me.

Oh ok, fine, one last one before I go:

[beat]

Never raise your hand to a kid it, leaves your groin unprotected

[beat]

BEER: helping ugly people get laid for over three-hundred and seven years.

[beat]

Ok, fine one more, but then that's it, I really gotta go:

[beat]

 My short-term memory is not as sharp as it used to be. Also, my short-term memory's not as sharp as it used to be.

[beat]

In just two days from now, tomorrow will be yesterday.

[beat]

Ok, one more, i gotta go, seriously

[beat]

Our planet is the insane asylum for the rest of the universe.

[beat]

Ok, one more.

iPhone: soundtrack, Beyoncé

['ave maria' starts to play]

iPhone: visualize

___

Here are two things you are never to talk about in the company of strangers:

Religion & politics.

Well.  & drugs, but that one we'll get to later.

 ---

1st, religion.

People believe all kinds of crazy things, ok?  They believe in pills and uniforms and light-emitting tubes.  They even believe in other People.  hah

And most, if not all of Them, believe in something primal -they sense it all around them, whooshing and whispering mysterious words in their ears.

It confuses Them, these whispers and glimpses of the true world they inhabit.  it scares the shit out of Them, so They use the sacredest word of all: 'religion'  

Do not mock these people by engaging them in discussion about it -much like you would not condescend to a child by trying to explain molecular neurophysics to it.

Imagine if you were able to see the dots, but not connect them.

They're just pre.  Don't mind them.

Change the subject to pop music.

  

--

Now, politics.

Before anything else, consider that religion and politics are the same.  people believe in fictional beings because the alternative is too terrible to contemplate.

And they think their time on that planet is all they have.

So they rather spend it dreaming.

Can you blame them?

Change the subject to pop music.

--

-

I know what youre thinking and i promise you we will talk about drugs.

And about sex.

Yes, and about feelings.  we will talk about everything.

Gimme some time, im doing my best here to keep up with you.

And you evolve way too fast.

Los Treintitres Principios Del Desawebatosol

There are two types of people in this colony: those who can pass, and those who can't.

The following principles will assure your passage.


33.    Pray For A Safe Return.

32.      Assume The Best Of Them.

31.      Volunteer For Your Hometown.

30.      Stay Loyal Through Tough Times.

29.      Don't Dismiss Tradition - Reinvent It.

28.      Cross That Bridge When You Come To It.

27.      Try A New Ice-Cream.

26.      Choose Your Battles Wisely.

25.      Enjoy The Experience.

24.      Choose To Love Your Work.

23.      Travel Through Life.

22.      Stop Whining About It.

21.     Take Pride In Your Home.

20.     Above All, Seek Peace.

19.     Send Someone A Well-Chosen Gift.

18.      It's Okay To Go A Little Crazy.

17.      Take The Job If It's Offered.

16.      Smile At The Best Looking Person You See.

15.      Seek Good Times.

14.      Never Give Up Your Dreams.

13.      Don't Be The Angriest Person In The Room.

12.      Be Good To Your Bitch.

11.     Less Is Always More

10.     Remember The Last Thing That Made You Laugh

09.      Give Thanks For All Beauty.

08.      Listen To Children.

07.      Strive To Be An Unfinished Masterpiece.

06.     Collaboration Over Competition.

05.     Earn Respect -Don't Demand It.

04.     Bad Moods Require Good Friends.

03.     Believe Someone Else's Story For A Change.

02.     Time Will Pass And You'll Forget All About It.

01.     If It's Not Pretty, It Better Be Funny.

   

GROSERÍAS Capítulo Uno 09/11

The Dirtiest Words are truest.

Capítulo 1. 

i. A CANELA

    It makes
sense that the most important thing I’ll ever say to you I’ve had to
write down. It is, as you say, the perfect form of communication
for me: completely under my control, makes me the star, and allows for
no immediate refutal.

     But, on the other
hand, writing it down makes it irrefutable. It is now documented. I can
never deny writing what I'm about to write. I can deny meaning it, but
not expressing it.

So here it is: I-

Well, the thing is –this is not as easy as I thought, y’know

It takes some warming up up.

Gimme a minute here.

So how’re the dogs –The Girl been behaving?

(How come you refuse to answer my calls, by the way? What's up with that?)

Ok, I'm warm.

Here it is.

it’s all my fault.

Well, shit.  Now that
it's right there in black and white –small and scribbly, but black and
white alright –I must admit I feel better now. Who knew.

If you feel it requires elaboration, you better be up for a story.

I know you usually are:

Envision me in Isthmus, the big tropical fish in the small shallow pond; so much cooler than all these rubes around me.

I mean I just came back from The First, man.  I've been traveling -I've seen shit.  I've lived.

Now envision me in
this awful fag club, and by awful I mean "fucking awesome."  The great flaming masses of the third world, brown and scrubbed
to a shine with cheap soap and hair pomade –dimestore divas working two
jobs to to afford the extra rhinestones. Trade cocks that always
taste of raw meat.

I thought of coming
here alone. But something happened that changed my mind. I had an
epiphany –the one I've been meaning to tell
you about.

I understood that it's all my fault.

__

How did I come to realize this magnificent, essential truth? What led me to this enlightened perspective?

A boy.

Shocker.

Although in truth I
think it was both the trip and the boy –but who can blame us for
preferring the boy stories.

This particular boy is what Jewban would later call:

“The best-looking guy I’ve ever seen you with. Period.”

                                Trashbeach, 2036

And some random scuba-girl raved:

“Is your boyfriend a model?”

                      
Utila, 2036

And my friend La Pallasa, fashion-guru-slash-style-maven, sealed forever with a succinct:

“Ay Homzi –tú lo que eres es un niñín lindo.”

                             Isthmus, 2036

Just one more cute
little Isthmenian boy sacrificed at the altar of my good times,
beautiful in the indigenous way of a Save-the-Rainforest spokesvictim:
big brown eyes and impenetrable helmet of black horse-hair.

He grew up what
Isthmenians call “clase humilde” in the nation's third city.  Studied at public school –father a lorry driver.

Speaks no English.

Earns about 600 balboas a month.

‘Come again’, I said. Surely, I must have heard wrong.

‘600 a month,’ he said. He held his drink with both hands, fingers interlaced.

I now see that asking
those questions was probably pretty rude.
I couldn’t help it. I mean, fuck. I am a retarded alien:

‘How can you live on that money?’

‘Don’t you worry all the time?’

‘How will you ever get out?’

___

A few days ago, after a few consecutive days of Homzi sleeping over at my flat, my friend Jotade turned to me:

‘You’ve been all
over,’ he said, crinkling his nose like an aristocratic crane. ‘You’ve
met all kinds of men, from all over. What do you possibly see in this manachito?’

I shake my head then as I shake it now.

I shrug my shoulders.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘He’s just cool.’

Then I utter something
that I knew was a lie as soon as it left my lips.  I said it and it
hung there, twiddling its manicured thumbs, while both of us
pretended not to smell the fart in the room.

‘INothing serious,’ I said. ‘Just fun.’

‘Of course, dear…’ Jota poofs up his hair into severe spikes, and grabs ahold of the camera. ‘Whatever you say.’

His back is already turned away from me –walking out the door. 'Where are you taking me to lunch today?’

___

 
You don't care ‘bout anything but a good time

‘cause you dont care ‘bout anything.

The Birds

An entertainer gives the audience what it wants -an artist tells the audience what it's thinking.

Tommy Tune

ii.  A CANELA

Dinner with Jotade is like that mini-cooper car chase in The Italian Job (2004): cute, but exhausting.

‘The people from
Felix called me,’ he says in between sips of carbonated water. ‘They’re
desperate to have my photos –desperate!’

in Jotade’s world exclamation marks are currency.

‘But now I have to talk to that Yanet bitch at Physical. I bet she’ll want a piece of it.’

‘How dare she?' I say.

‘I know! Some people have no class.’

Jotade has been my
best friend for almost six weeks now. I found him through a
couple of fags who were my best friends at the time. Our shared love
for black-and-white photography and dirty boys brought us closer
together –and once we had come together, we became inseparable.

He spends days on end
smoking languid joints at my flat, endlessly rearranging my furniture.
He insists on a profound reverence for all kinds of fads; he’s always
looking for ways to improve the flow, or maximize our visible wall
space, reciting the principal cores of feng-shuei because “in change
resides harmony.”

He’s also
ridiculously hot –a tall swarthy model who’s now decided to now click the
pictures –nevermind he doesn’t know the first thing about a
photographic camera.

‘Such is the life of artists.’  He cocks an eyebrow in my direction.

‘Of course, dear.’ I already know better than to contradict him while he’s holding sharp instruments. ‘Lo que tu digas.’

The waiters slither
around the restaurant, silhouetted against the glare of the large glass
windows: an avant-garde dance group performance.

‘What’re we doing tonight?’ he asks. ‘Are you abandoning me once again to go see your little manachito?’

‘Maybe’

He gathers breath, sucking all the air out the cavernous room, and lets out the most bored of sighs.

‘typical.’

____

The only thing I have to offer anyone is my brain.

I
have no money, I'm not beautiful.  I'm not particularly pleasant. And
yet my ideas appear to draw people from across the land.  They come to
listen.  They stay to listen.

And still I have nothing to say.

___

Six-hundred
Isthmenian Balboas is about one day's wages in Trashbeach, and he lives
on that one whole month.  And he goes out and he drinks and he parties
and it's one day's wages here.  I can sling drinks one day and make
more than what he lives on for a whole month.

So why don't I?

Gimme
a fucking break -who wants to serve alcoholics one whole day?  Only
other alcoholics.  And I'm pretty sure I'm done with that.

I
ask if he ever thinks of leaving, and of course he says yes.  Says he
hasn't drummed-up the courage yet.  Says he's waiting for the right
moment.

'What's the right moment,' I ask.  'How can you recognize it?'

'Recognize it?'  He laughs that wonderful laugh and it goes through me, invading my cells like a virus.  'How can I miss it?'

And of course he's right.  So are you.  Everyone's right and I'm wrong.  So I have to laugh too.

I'm handicapped.

I
am physiologically unable to see the world as it is and must rely on
others to reveal it to me.  I am deaf, blind, dumb but, unfortunately, not mute.

Almost fifty times later, he's still with me, and still proves me wrong every chance he gets.

And I love it.  I love him.

Teachers will find you in the unlikeliest places and by transforming your circumstances, they will tranform you.

'That's
the old me,'  I now say whenever I'm encountered with some remnant of
that other life that I've shed like an ancient Rolodex. 'And the old me
never knew what he was talking about. He was just afraid.'

The new me still never knows what he's talking about.

But I've stopped being afraid.

____

Revulú:    q tal si no cambio los nombres

Homzi:     ?

Revulú:    del cuento

Homzi:     cual?

Revulú:    el q estoy escribiendo

Homzi:     el nuestro

Revulú:    aha

Homzi:     ok.

Revulú:    ok –buena idea?

Homzi:     si

Revulú:    no te molesta?

Homzi:     ?

Revulú:    q escriba cosas privadas, y use tu nombre

Homzi:     es buena idea.

___

iii.  A REVULÚ

‘Tu crees q eres raro?’ le pregunto al mismo tiempo q finjo nadar contra la corriente.

‘Si,’ responde de inmediato, sin mirarme.

Luego me mira.

Y explotamos de la risa.

‘Jo, esa respuesta estaba en la punta de la lengua, carajo.’

‘Nunca nadie me había
preguntado eso.’  Homzi está sentado en la arena caliente, cavando un
hoyo arbitrario, brillando bajo el sol fulminante de la costa
atlantica.

‘Pero querías que te preguntara –que alguien te preguntara’

‘Si, claro.’

‘Porque querías decírselo en alto a alguien’

‘Aha.’

‘Porque ser raro no tiene nada de malo.’

‘Exacto.’

Me hundo bajo la
superficie –dejándome arrastrar por el frío. Decidimos quedarnos en esta frontera donde el río encuentra al mar, en este revolcón violento, donde corrientes invisibles se unen y crean
remolinos.

‘Sabes que un primo mío se ahogo cruzando un río, así, donde se junta con el mar.’

‘Donde?’

‘Donde se junta el
río con el mar,’ a veces Homzi me habla como como si yo fuera un
estudiante de intercambio de una cultura exotiquísima, a quien hay que
explicarle las cosas más elementales.

Ahora me parece algo
adorable –nos reimos de ello. Pero estoy seguro que esa es la clase de
hábito que con los años puede llevarle a uno a prenderle fuego al colchón donde duerme el amado.

‘No, Niñín –en que parte del país? Con que mar se junta?’

‘Con el Pacífico, en Chiriqui,’ dice.

‘Ah, entonces ni importa.’ Me sumerjo nuevamente.

Imagino coreografiar un ballet submarino, una lucha épica y fluida contra la corriente. Regreso a la superficie.

‘Como que ni importa?’ Me estaba esperando el muy maldito.

‘Porque la otra costa es otro océano
es otra cosa completamente diferente, y no se puede comparar.’  Un
argumento de hierro, más lógico que el shopping-list de Aristóteles. Me
hundo.

Bajo el agua ejecuto elegantes plies y pirouhettes. Regreso a la superficie.

‘Eso es lo más
estúpido que me has dicho en toda la semana,’ sus ojos brillan, un
océano de luz blanca reflejada en sus ojos. ‘Y anoche me dijistes que
estabas seguro que habías visto una pantera negra rondando la casa.”

Piernas de seda, pies
en puntillas. Saltos largos y fluidos, cortando el agua con manos
afiladas y elegantes. Manteniendo el balance sin nunca mostrar
esfuerzo.

‘Era inmensa!’ digo.

‘Era de noche, Roberto – no hay panteras en el Istmo.’

‘Tenías que verle los ojos! Cuantos manachos se habrá comido ya?’

Grandes arcos de gaza
se desenvuelven en el río eterno. Me inclino contra la corriente, me
dejo llevar. Encontrar el balance, sin demostrar esfuerzo.

‘A cuantos manachos te has comido tu, es la pregunta’

‘Na más a ti –desafortudanamente.’ Salgo del agua y me arrodillo frente a Homzi, goteando sobre la arena caliente.

‘Porque na más a mi? Si hay tantos.’

‘Porque a mi solo me gustan los manachos raros.’

Las corrientes su unen, impulsando a los bailarines en saltos vertiginosos.

‘Todos lo manachos son raros,’ dice.

Balanceados en un dedo, fantasmas de tul, ayudándose el uno al otro, simultáneamente avanzando y dejándose llevar.

‘Pero lo que a mi me
gusta,’ le digo a los ojos mientras me seco las piernas, ‘a mi me
encantan los manachos que les gusta ser raros.’

‘Ah de esos sí que no hay muchos, mira.’

‘No me recuerdes.’ Es
hora de irnos, ya. Así podemos dormir unas horas acurrucados en la
hamaca antes de subir al pueblo a encontrar comida.

Homzi toma mi otra mano, y nos enfilamos juntos, la arena picándonos los pies.

___

“Addictions are cries for freedom.”

Jewban

"'Cause it feels good. I do it 'cause it feels so good."

Elvis Presley

‘Ay, la verdad es que
a mi me da una pereza bajar en cada puerto,’ dice mi tía contando las
perlas de su collar como un rosario. ‘Toda esa gente puerca vendiéndote
cosas sucias.’

Santa María, llena eres de gracia-

“Pidiendo limosnas –exigiéndolas!”

-el señor es contigo-

‘Para qué? Para ir a una de esas playa inmundas, a que más gente te venda más cosas?”

-bendita eres entre todas las mujeres-

‘No, niiiño!’

-y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre Jesús-

La novena es cada
viernes, en casa de mis abuelos. Agazapados los feligreses –mi madres,
sus hermanas, y los abuelos- bajo un palo de mango, nos llenamos del
espíritu indomable de la tía Leny.

‘Yo, mejor quedarme al lado de la piscina –Alfredo jamas sale del gimnasio- tomando solsito, y que me traigan caipiriñas.’

Una pregunta interrumpe el monólogo –se escucha como alguien gritando en misa.

‘Una bebida brasileña –ron, azucar y limones- deli, deli! Ay niña, que aun te falta probar maná del paraíso.’

Sus hermanas la miran absortas, interjectando preguntas ocasionales, pero en realidad tomando grandes sorbos de su glamour.

‘Sabes que los muy
bandidos hacían un buffet de chocolate todas las medianoches? Yo creo
que Alfredo tiene razón: si no ponen un gym, se hunde toda esa vaina!’

Un segundo y medio de
suspenso –un momento eterno, de arduo trabajo neuronal. Y luego risas,
una bandada de gordas gaviotas enloquecidas bajo el palo de mango,
haciendo temblar las hojas.

‘Ay, Leny,’ dice otra tía, enjugándose una lágrima. ‘Tu eres una vaina.’

Cada semana, la
repetición del mismo rito –una novena de gozadera y risotadas- todos
los feligreses cucurrucando menos mi Tia Leny. Ella permanece sentada,
recta y regia, con una sonrisa juguetona en los labios. La misma
sonrisa de los viejos que pasan largas horas desmenuzando pedazos de
pan duro para tirarlo al suelo frente a la bahía.

Desde mi puesto en la
silla-columpio, puedo ver todo sin llamar la atención. Pretendo
concentrarme en las enormes cucharadas de helado de chocolate, pero
escudriño los detalles –las carteras baratas de mis tías, los juguetes
mordidos de mis primos, las mamaderas rosadas- hasta -que susto me pegó
la vieja –me sorprende con sus ojos violetas fijados directamente en
los míos.

Parális completa –me siento un mocoso- no tengo idea que hacer.

Tia Leny me da un
quiño pequeño, imperceptible. Y su sonrisa se ensancha –un toquecito,
na’ más- con el placer íntimo de la complicidad.

Man, mi tía es un fucking trip.

___

Cuando yo era un niño
de diez u once, venía mi Tia Leny a pasar cada domingo a nuestra casa.
Leny y mi madre se pasaban tardes enteras preparando exóticos y
complicados platillos –mondongos criollos, lasagnas y pies de pollo-
acompañados de ensaladas multicolores.

Y cada domingo,
mientras las hermanas cuchicheaban en la cocina, tomando Reunite y
soltando carcajadas, mi padre dedicaba horas y horas a lavar y lustrar
su carro: un Toyota Cressida color champaña con asientos de cuero.
Ungüentos verdes fosforescentes aplicados en círculos vigorosos que
hacían a mi padre sudar bajo el sol del mediodía. Chamais húmedos,
mangueras enjabonadas, y las burlas picantes de la Tia Leny.

‘Oye, Toño,’ le dice desde la veranda. ‘Ese carro es tuyo, o tú de él?’

Mi padre restrega una llanta con un cepillo de cuerdas, en silencio. Frush-frush.

En la estufa, el mondongo despide un aroma fétido –como de basura hervida. La perra persigue una mosca perezosa.

‘Sabes cuál es la manera de ver quien es dueño de quién?’

‘No Leny, dime.'

Mareas de espuma sucia se derraman y corren calle abajo, hacia las alcantarillas.

‘Si el carro te cuida más de lo que tu lo cuidas –entonces es tuyo.'

‘Pero si tu cuidas
ese carro –si lo lavas y lo lavas y lo sobas y lo sobas con todo ese
amor- y ese carro no hace nada por ti mas que lo necesario y además de
eso no hace mas nada más que darte problema... y aún asi lo lavas y lo
lavas, y lo sobas y lo sobas... entonces ese carro ya no te pertenece a
ti.’

El ceedee-player cambia
de discos –un clic seco y un interminable silencio de transición. Solo
se escucha el flujo limpio del agua saliendo de la manguera.

‘Le perteneces tú a él.’

Tia Leny enfoca sus ojos en mi madre.

‘El que menos ama siempre gana.’

Se lleva su copa
lentamente a los labios -el mondongo hirviendo en la estufa, la perra
deambulando como un enfermo mental. Un sorbo largo y tendido –cerrando
los ojos, echando la cabeza hacia atrás. Deposita la copa con cuidado,
como si fuera la cristalería más fina del planeta.

‘Y eso que tiene que
ver conmigo?’ Mi padre parado bajo el sol candente, como una lámpara de
interrogación. Gotas de sudor aguijonean sus ojos, y su boca empieza a
retorcerse con los primeros indicios de rabia.

‘Todo tiene que ver contigo, Toño,’ dice mi tía. ‘Si tu eres el centro del universo.’

Se sirve otra copa.
Le cuenta a mi madre algo de su manicurista cueco, y pronto se
sumergen nuevamente en carcajadas –regresa la música, y poco a poco
retrocede el olor del mondongo ante la presencia sagrada del guiso.

En nombre del Tomate
y el Ajo y el Ají Verde –que la santísima trinidad bendiga este hogar y
que su presencia traiga paz a cada corazón, a cada boca. Que no falte
amor, Señor –que no falte nada- en este domingo de familia.

Amén.

___

El bar huele a loca de pueblo y alcanfor. Buco.

‘Manasssha,’ dice
Jotade, sibilando. ‘Voy a pedir otro vodka, a ver si eso mejora
la situación siniestra en la que me has metido.’

‘Dale,’ le digo. Lo veo escurrirse entre los cuerpos sudados en dirección al bar.

‘Y Jota?’ dice el Niñín, a mi lado. Sus dedos se entrelazan con los míos.

‘Anestesiándose,’ respondo, y escudriño su expresión. Captó? Nunca estoy seguro.

‘Y tú?’  Me mira a los ojos.

‘Aquí –en la lucha.’

‘En que lucha?’

‘Mi macho pues, que no me presta atención.’ Parpadeo en cámara lenta.

‘Y esa vaina?’ sus cejas se acercan –preocupación.

‘Es que el man es bien perra.’

‘Ah, sí?’ dice. ‘Cómo se llama?’

‘Quién?’

‘Tu macho.’

‘Ahh –Homzy.’

Llega más gente. El
aire acondicionado jadea – una loca gorda se abanica con un sombrero
enorme. La música continúa su ciclo eterno: inglés, español, regué,
tecno, típico, salsa -antes de regresar al inglés nuevamente.

Afina la voz el cantante.

-Ligia Elena la cándida niña de la sociedad-

‘Y a ti te importa que él sea perra?’ Me pregunta. No me ha dejado de mirar fijamente.

-se ha fugado con un trompetista de la vecindad-

‘Para nada.’

-su padre la busca afanosamente, lo está comentando toda la gente-

‘Que bien,’ dice. ‘porque de verdad que si soy perra, mira.’

-y la madre pregunta angustiada, en donde estará?-

Lo miro parado entre
la gente borrosa, su cara hacia mi. Tiene una cicatriz –o es un lunar?-
junto al ojo. Toco mis dedos a su cara de piedra

‘Esto que es?’ pregunto.

Homzi se ríe de una manera maravillosa y pura.

‘Esto,’ dice y respira profundo. Se lo deben haber preguntado millones de veces. ‘Esto es una llave.’

Las luces se
concentran en él, haciéndole tridimensional. Le noto pelitos en el
lóbulo de la oreja, las pequeñísimas venas en el blanco de sus ojos,
como raíces multicolores.

‘Como así?” pregunto.
Esa sensación electrificante, ese primer flechazo; esa primera vez que
nos damos cuenta que la otra persona es un misterio absoluto e infinito
–me deja desorientado, tartamudeando. 'Una…? Cómo… que?’

Sissy-puss mira su
piedra, y por primera vez se entera de sus detalles –cada lunar, cada
pelo, cada poro en relieve. Cada revelación abre trampas a corredores
más profundos, vertiginosas caídas vacías donde las voces susurran, se
entrometen, continúan sin parar.

-It’ll all end in tears

-I’ll surprise you, often

-Not all surprises are happy surprises

-Why bother, really

-What could you possibly see…?

-Why not?

-In this manachito?

-Maybe, maybe, maybe

-Seriously?

-There’s something in this world other than you.

‘Otras niñas que saben del cuento al dormir se preguntan-

‘Ok, novio,’ digo rendido, panza pa’arriba, lengua afuera, meneando el rabo. ‘Desarrolla.’

Sus comisuras dibujan
una sonrisa de victoria –comiendo de su mano, caidísimo, y sin
vergüenza de salir en semejante estado en público.

Me asusta lo que desconozco, pues lo deseo. Lo deseo porque conocerlo es lo único que mata el miedo.

-Ay Señor, y mi trompetista cuando llegará!?