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Savage Lee Writing

Textual Dérive; The Kinetic Phonetics of a Terminal Fool. Written in the Key of H

The New Day

She has trouble coordinating her honest moments. She projects sincerity at all the wrong times. She looks like a liar when she’s in love.

Me? I’m built out of bad memories and good intentions. I kiss with my fists and I dream of a cool touch like stonework arms wrapping around me in an impossibly immobile embrace. 

I’ll be strong when I need to be, and weak when no-one’s watching. I’ll wash my hair with turpentine and bacon grease. I’ll coat my body in a hard candy shell that seems to be strangers to come and take a lick. I’ll do it all, and I’ll do it all on a Thursday, just to be cool.

You, you’re as rare and historically accurate as a feathered dinosaur. You’re a spectacular display of what our evolutionary heritage is capable of. You’re a spec of yesterday, seen through the veil of tomorrow. You are the love and the strength and a bratty little thing that dares to push on and on into the new day.

Isn’t that where we’re headed? To the new day?

Come with me.

Dadance

She wants to be forgiven for what she hasn’t done yet. 

She smiles, and points her spaceship at the heart of our galaxy, where everything’s all bright, and frothy, and far too warm.

Behind her, laughter is echoing like shards of glass thrown down an empty wishing well. Fragments shatter, shifting into tinier and tinier scraps of sharp reflections. 

All over the city, shadows are growing. Listen carefully. You can hear them.

She’s just a pivot and a kickflip away from total salvation. Ride the high side of the sky and then touchdown on the dusty plains of the real world.

Watch history reverberate with the casual contact. 

Feel the firmament of the world start to shift underfoot.

Reach out for the sky.

Too Sick To Communicate

A creeping illness has settled into my bones, weighing me down with anxiety, depression, and mucous. 

I feel broken, and apart from the world. It’s like my thoughts are caving in on themselves, turning open windows into gaping mouths of shattered glass. My skull reverberates at its own pitch, painfully.

Outside, birds are fighting, and the air is arguing with clouds. Everything is moving, shifting, changing states. The world is doing things.

Meanwhile, I’m fighting off panic, trying to stay calm. I have too much to do to be brought low by sickness. I have a world that needs to be adjusted and moved over. Everything must go into a box. Boxes must be stacked. Stacks must be shifted to get out of the way.

I’m sitting here, dizzy and fretful. My brain is awash in deep seas of sensations and slippery pockets of warm wet goo. 

I have to fix myself. I have to move past this point. 

But everything is icky. 

John Diggle: Green Lantern

I can see so clearly how you could adapt John Diggle from CW’s Arrow into being John Stewart the Green Lantern.

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They’ve already got the first name in common, and the switch from Diggle to Stewart could be accomplished by saying one was his middle name, or his regular identity was compromised, so he switched to his mother’s maiden name. That part’s relatively simple. 

Diggle’s background is still in-line with continuity for Stewart’s history. He’s got the military experience, the by-the-books but takes-no-crap attitude, and it even sets up a pre-existing familiarity with crime-fighting, and the concept of costumed heroes and villains.

So John Diggle becomes John Stewart, who becomes Green Lantern.

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While Arrow is between seasons, David Ramsey is in the JLA movie, which gives a tie between the TV series and the movie Universe. This is a profitable business move, and is hugely satisfying for the fans.

Suddenly, you’ve got an awesome Green Lantern, and he has an established history with Green Arrow. These guys are buddies who’ve been through years of adventures together, and now they’re two of the world’s most famous super-heroes. 

After the JLA movie, David goes back to Arrow, and the Green Lantern Ring goes into a box that says: in case of emergency only. And we’d learn that, maybe John isn’t totally comfortable with using the ring.

“This thing… it’s like an atomic bomb. And I can feel it, Oliver. I can feel it in my head, when I wear it. Like it’s talking to me.”

The ring is an alien device. It’s eerie, otherworldly. Almost like the monolith from 2001. And John would respect the power of the ring too much to abuse it. “This thing isn’t for fighting crime, it’s for saving the world. Maybe other worlds, too.”

Perhaps once a season, John would use the ring, and something crazy would happen, and there’d always be some negative fallout. That way, when the ring came off he could say, “and that’s why I can’t use the this thing! Because somebody always gets hurt!”

But then, JLA 2 comes around… And he’s called to duty. The ring returns. 

Or maybe, at the end of a season of Arrow, John admits that he needs more training, and he goes off-Earth to the Green Lantern Corps homeworld. That would parallel Ollie’s adventures and training on the island, and it could also lead nicely into an off-world Green Lantern movie. A space adventure, out in the stars. 

Of course, this is all just me daydreaming about potential storylines, but who knows? Sometimes, really awesome things happen.

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Burn Away, Baby

Born again, little phoenix. Ashes still smudged around her eyes like mascara. Charcoal under her nails like dried blood.

She shivers, anticipating this new life. It’s like the old one, but bolder, brighter. The flames more blue and red and yellow. The colours seem to scream.

She’s an externalized inferno. Her breath is heat. Her eyes are sparks of creativity, inspiring new idea. Promethean lofts of fantasy. Subterranean levels of depression.

She casts off my memory like a ghost that must be expelled from the haunted house. She claps her hands three times and the birds fly away, never to return again, save as shadow sketches that appear atop the weathervane at dusk.

I shall not bother her again. Unless she’s troubled by the sound of raindrops falling against the window glass. 

This Is A Personal Blog Entry For You

Haven’t you been following me for a while now?

We’re writing love notes down in the river, bleeding into the stream. 

I know I got a heart inside this chest. I’m gonna break myself open like an egg, and let the good parts of me just ooze on out of the cracks.

You know what I want. 
You know what I need.

And you send it to me, sealed with fuck all. 

I wait for you to come home, so you can learn I left doors unlocked. 

You prefer to enter through the side-window anyway.

I got problems and issues you can’t define.

I got ways out and ways in of situations you shouldn’t contemplate.

You want to dance? 
I got the shoes.

You want to smoke?
I got some fire.

We’re gonna do this thing. 

It’s gonna burn us up and up and up…

And off into ashes. 

If I’m going to be uncomfortable, then I shouldn’t even bother trying to act. Or so I figure. 
Lots of actors have histories and shared pasts. Shall we avoid it, or embrace it? We can push to reconnect, and see if we can’t channel some of that intense energy that exists between us. Make it something useful. Make it work for us.
Maybe we’ll dance together. Maybe we always do. Maybe we always have. Our little feet clicking back and forth across the floor. Our little statements cutting through the air between us like angry birds brutally dive-bombing each other. 
We might not have perfect harmony, but we’ve got a sense of naturalism that’ll keep audiences awestruck. They won’t be able to take their eyes off us, as we flicker and transform into whole new beings. Shaky images filled up with light. 
We’ll transfix them. We’ll radiate skill and ease.
Just try not to step on my cues, okay?

If I’m going to be uncomfortable, then I shouldn’t even bother trying to act. Or so I figure. 

Lots of actors have histories and shared pasts. Shall we avoid it, or embrace it? We can push to reconnect, and see if we can’t channel some of that intense energy that exists between us. Make it something useful. Make it work for us.

Maybe we’ll dance together. Maybe we always do. Maybe we always have. Our little feet clicking back and forth across the floor. Our little statements cutting through the air between us like angry birds brutally dive-bombing each other. 

We might not have perfect harmony, but we’ve got a sense of naturalism that’ll keep audiences awestruck. They won’t be able to take their eyes off us, as we flicker and transform into whole new beings. Shaky images filled up with light. 

We’ll transfix them. We’ll radiate skill and ease.

Just try not to step on my cues, okay?

I Wish There Was More To Me Than This

I’m feeling kind of lonely these days, but I also feel really inconvenienced and angry when people try to spend time with me. 

I don’t know why, but I’ve lost most of my sexuality. I just don’t feel an urge to be close to anybody. It’s like I past my best-before date on my 35th birthday, and now my body no longer has any desire to breed. I don’t feel good about touching people. I feel bad, like I’m something nobody needs.

My girlfriend sleeps with other people, and when she does, I sleep alone. I don’t like going to bed alone, but I like waking up alone. When I wake up alone, I turn on all the lights and some music. When there’s a sleeping body in the apartment, I skulk around with the lights low, forgetting to eat for hours. I dig a hole into myself and sit there for half a day or more.

Nothing commands me. Nothing compels me. I see all these beautiful young people, and I see right through them. Nothing entices me. Nothing holds me. I miss food more than I miss human contact. I fantasize about eating cookies more than cunt. 

I’m so focused on becoming attractive, but only for marketing purposes. I don’t care if anybody’s attracted to me, only that I’m attracted to myself. 

Nobody makes me feel special. Unique. I have nothing to offer to anybody. I just live inside this tiny little head, thinking tiny little thoughts.

This Is Where We Met and Now It’s The Only Place We Meet

You’re out there still. Always. Always so still. 

You don’t sound happy, and that’s sort of heart-breaking in and of itself. But what are hearts for, aside from breaking? Do you just want to pump blood your whole life? Or would you rather spill some out across the carpet?

I wish I could show you who I really am, now. You’ll recognize it all, but the tune is changing. Everything is altering. I’m moving, and I don’t wear the same suits anymore. I’ve altered that diet that defined me. Remember the way I chased sweet things all day? I’m not like that now. 

Hell, I don’t even know what i’m like. I’m happy to not recognize the guy I see in the mirror. This new illusion is much more sculpted to my desires. I just want to be this thing. I want to grow into it. I want to become.

I’m not trying to gloat. I miss your absence every day, like a missing tooth. I keep sticking my tongue in the hole, and tasting the blood that sits there. It just won’t heal.

At the same time, why forget what happened? You weren’t happy. I wasn’t happy. We hurt each other constantly. We sulked and raged. We were not perfect, kindred spirits. We were injured animals, as likely to scratch and bite as to purr. We were imperfect people, pursuing an imperfect relationship. 

And when it worked, it was like swapping places with the heavens above and the earthen floor below. 

You’re too doomed for me. You know it to be true. 

I’m too sketchy for you. We can feel it in our scars.

And yet, deep down inside, I wish you’d still talk to me. I know you still stalk me. I know you still have a knife on your belt that remembers what it’s like to bite through my flesh and into my bone.

I’m looking for something honest, and something that’ll make me feel good, in that order. I don’t know if I’m looking for you, or just looking out for you, so I won’t accidentally trip across your shoestrings again.

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