Jolly writes a story


Jolly McJollyson
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Jolly McJollyson
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10/30/2006 11:48 pm
So anyhow, here's a rough, rough, rough draft:

Doubting Thomas

Thomas had heard curates and academics lecture endlessly in the corridors of the museum, their words bouncing off the cold walls in invisible, insubstantial waves, their rhetoric as sculpted as the marble pillars: art for art’s sake is not art, art for one’s own sake is not art, art for others is not art, divine sublimity for the sake of creation: that is art. Voices, windy echoing on the cold walls: whisper, shudder, consonant, vowel, unintelligible but for a word here and there—“never,” “contours,” “sublime transcendence.” No matter. He recognized the speech: recognized, remembered, knew, ignored. Their words are not Thomas’s words. The words here are not art. They do not concern art. He spat.

In a maze of winding hallways, Thomas snaked through the exhibits. Statue of David, scrotum but no rectum, constipated I’d bet. Hasn’t shat for a thousand years—friend and lover to the armless, assless Venus de Milo—fertilizer of fallow fields. He doesn’t pass like me. Thomas passed by Dave. Sling slung over the shoulder, slingslung flaccid but stony hard, iron irony—marble erected in impotence: solid, stony sloth. Replica, anyhow. Plaster marblemold. Not even that accurate. Mike’s Dave stood on a raised platform, his plaster flaking.

Mockmarble crumbling plastershell behind him, Thomas pressed on to the Monet section, taking his usual seat, expectant, staring at the center painting on the West wall. It was a piece he knew—had memorized. Hazy, sunset-shadowed parliament buildings stood motionless, trapped in a moment which craves the next. Ever approaching Night crouched on sinewy haunches, flexed to lunge, forever prepared and patient, waiting. The water which had once flowed and eddied now lay stagnant, the reflections therein unwavering. Still. But not for long. He was just in time. Back storeroom of the museum. Alone. Wall-thumping. Curator. Panting. Woman there. Breathing. Thudding. Dull. Hardbreathing. Thud. Breathless bodies beat away the minutes at the usual hour against the wall behind the painting. Hidden—virile, victorious, self-pleased—God what a curator. He’ll be finished soon. Call you? **** that. You’re fired. New secretary, same curator, same wall, same rattling Monet. Same Thomas. The future is the present is the past, that bygone mockery of progress, ever laughing.

Laughter, now static-hidden, now buzzing clearer, now hidden, finally burst in his ears, the booms of a fireworks display. Such a long time ago. Thomas was a student then, an avid learner with a passion for the arts. Going places. An old Professor smoking a pipe. Smokebillowing windwhispers — You’re going places, Thomas. Laughter. There she stood before him, Vanessa, brilliantfaced, ringing laugh sighing again. Bright and wonderful she had told him of every work the museum held; wonder-full and bright he had drunk her words. So long ago. Fondly the repartee bounced in wave and particle between them, Thomas and Vanessa, Vanessa and Thomas. They knew well their medium, with one ear silently listened to the starry night, couched in quiet awe. Vincent, mad-eyed, still-listening to his mono audio, did not know how they admired him. He had loved, they had loved, and loved she was gone, a ghost, the first phantasm flitting behind that damned Monet. First, but not last. Curator. Usurping lecher. He spat.

And now the same lecher hid behind his Monet-hanging wall. Every day Thomas watched, waited, and listened, ashamed, alone, hoping to hear the bodies beating as he remembered, but always knowing that only every third day would the painting shake—scheduled. Penciled in by the curator; I’ll see if I can make time for you: scheduled, controlled, linear. Behind the framed painting she beds down with Procrustes. He’s protected, a son of Troy. The plaster ceiling—crumbling, flaking—dusts the marble floor. Dusting marble? Never mentioned... Who told you the floor was marble? Limestone floor, limestone pillars. I will not lie, not intentionally.

He stood, still watching the shaking masterpiece: the painting still suffering sodomy, but not stillsuffering. Nothing immobile. All eroding. Water cutting rocks. Canyons thirty-thousand years in the making. Ground stonesits motionless and indestructible, underground walls hiding sputtering, spurting streams, the siltful waters hiding nothing—only slicing into the solid rock, gouging granite gaps and crevices. Stillwatching, Tommis listened, still-listening, to the drumming against the wall. Almost finished now. Five minutes, no endurance. Way to ride, cowboy. In the last throes, the painting fell, marblelimestonefloorbreaking. The wooden prison lay splinterframed. Tommis ignored this. No frame. Unimportant. Vanessa. He listened to the last thud.

Thomas could not control. How could he when. It’s perfectly excusable that. I can’t be judged if. Why does. Done. A seed—denied, ignored, suppressed, unleashed—is sown in stony ground. Self-pleasing figures standing around him, marblemade, unfecal, infertile. Framed in preconception, unaware, or perhaps too aware, of the ever-cracking plaster-caste past, the voyeur slides into the shadows, vanishing without effort, knowing only the final spasm. He will return, not understanding his momentary fulfillment, jealous rage welling up in his heart, an endlessly unsatisfied, unwitting student walking into hurricane force wind—wind invisible and insubstantial, full of animosity and spiteful power. Full of fury it blows, hollow and empty.



If you have ANY questions, please refer to my response to hunter60's first post on page two. It clears up a lot of the main images and symbols. If you're still unsure of something, ask. I'm more than happy to answer it, and you'll teach me something about where my writing needs fixin'.

Or better yet, go here: http://www.guitartricks.com/forum/showpost.php?p=189169&postcount=38

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My band is better than yours...
# 1
iiholly
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iiholly
hmm
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10/31/2006 12:00 am
cynical enough?

# 2
Jolly McJollyson
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Jolly McJollyson
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10/31/2006 12:03 am
Originally Posted by: iihollycynical enough?

I wouldn't call it cynical...
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My band is better than yours...
# 3
z0s0_jp
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z0s0_jp
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10/31/2006 12:10 am
Thomas is not my cup o' tea----i don't know who creeps me out more...the two backed beast or Thomas who is "just in time" well written though....definately stirred emotion in me....a little disturbing but that says something about me as much as the story
"Dammit Jim!! I'm a guitarist not a roadie...so haul my gear"
# 4
Jolly McJollyson
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Jolly McJollyson
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10/31/2006 12:14 am
Originally Posted by: z0s0_jpThomas is not my cup o' tea----i don't know who creeps me out more...the two backed beast or Thomas who is "just in time"

Well, he is there to listen to two people fudgin, so I'd say he should be creepy...
I want the bomb
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My band is better than yours...
# 5
ericthecableguy
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ericthecableguy
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10/31/2006 12:40 am
He's a very believable character...It's a unique story. Not really the kind of stuff i'm into, but i would be interested to see where it goes... :cool:
For life is quite absurd and death's the final word, You must always face the curtain with a bow
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

METOOB
# 6
Jolly McJollyson
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Jolly McJollyson
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10/31/2006 2:45 am
Made some sweeping changes.
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# 7
hunter60
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hunter60
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10/31/2006 3:41 am
Interesting. Nice use of imagery. Yeah, it's a little dark and cynical but that's the voice the piece calls for I would think. I suspect that Tommis is a very angry, bitter young-man? An artist in search of a soul? A young man wrestling with the eternal question: "Is sex the only true art that man can master?" Sees the degeneration of mans attempts to paint those amazing feelings onto canvas or chiseling them into stone?

Perhaps a young man with a broken heart listening to the wild throes of someone else while sitting in a decaying chapel of mans mockery of all things beautiful?

Jolly, this reminds me of early Tom Wolfe (pre-Bonfire of the Vanities. Back when he was the master of modern day stream of consciousness writing. Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test or The Pumphouse Gang.... [The original master of this sort was James Joyce. Try and hack your way through Ullyses sometime. Geez. I've tried at least a dozen times and can't get past the first thirty pages before I want to pull my eyes out. If you've read it and enjoyed it, God bless you.])

I think it's a good piece. Keep going. I want to see where this goes.
[FONT=Tahoma]"All I can do is be me ... whoever that is". Bob Dylan [/FONT]
# 8
Jolly McJollyson
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Jolly McJollyson
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10/31/2006 4:02 am
Originally Posted by: hunter60Interesting. Nice use of imagery. Yeah, it's a little dark and cynical but that's the voice the piece calls for I would think. I suspect that Tommis is a very angry, bitter young-man? An artist in search of a soul? A young man wrestling with the eternal question: "Is sex the only true art that man can master?" Sees the degeneration of mans attempts to paint those amazing feelings onto canvas or chiseling them into stone?

Perhaps a young man with a broken heart listening to the wild throes of someone else while sitting in a decaying chapel of mans mockery of all things beautiful?

Jolly, this reminds me of early Tom Wolfe (pre-Bonfire of the Vanities. Back when he was the master of modern day stream of consciousness writing. Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test or The Pumphouse Gang.... [The original master of this sort was James Joyce. Try and hack your way through Ullyses sometime. Geez. I've tried at least a dozen times and can't get past the first thirty pages before I want to pull my eyes out. If you've read it and enjoyed it, God bless you.])

I think it's a good piece. Keep going. I want to see where this goes.

Ulysses is the greatest novel ever written and I would die for James Joyce. However, try reading it along with a book of criticism on it, particularly Hart and Hayman's James Joyce's Ulysses, read a section of the criticism twice before the corresponding section of the Novel. Don't ever feel like you're using a crutch by trying this method. After all, Joyce had to publish two schemas so people could actually read it.

Now for your other questions:
I suspect that Tommis is a very angry, bitter young-man?

Thomas or Tommis is lonely and more likely jilted than bitter. However, he certainly does have his bitter and angry moments. Really I think of him more as a recluse at this point.

An artist in search of a soul?

Perhaps Thomas's first trip to the art museum was some noble sojourn. Sadly he keeps returning for this petty sexual fulfillment.

A young man wrestling with the eternal question: "Is sex the only true art that man can master?"

Sadly he's only getting off.

Sees the degeneration of mans attempts to paint those amazing feelings onto canvas or chiseling them into stone?

He would, but he is, after all, Thomas/Tommis (To miss) and doesn't realize what's playing out right before his eyes. The shaking painting and assless David hide both what's behind and underneath them, denying the existence of excrement or savage, empassioned, animalistic sex. Hiding behind walls. That's why the David statue is made of plaster, he's a sham, a mockery of solidity. This is really more about language than art, but the parallels had to be drawn somewhere.

Perhaps a young man with a broken heart listening to the wild throes of someone else while sitting in a decaying chapel of mans mockery of all things beautiful?

Man and language's assumption that beauty overpowers ugliness is really the mockery here. By denying the existence of the horror, man creates something lifeless and confined to preconceived notions (hence the frame and Procrustean bed). Remember, though, the ugly side is not some transcendence either, merely a reality pushed aside by aesthetic deceptions. I do think Thomas has a broken heart, though. At this point, however, his behavior is encoded by experience, and maybe some day I'll go write about it.
I want the bomb
I want the P-funk!

My band is better than yours...
# 9
acapella
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acapella
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10/31/2006 4:52 am
Well, I'm just going to say I liked it. And leave it at that.
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# 10
hunter60
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hunter60
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10/31/2006 5:13 am
Originally Posted by: Jolly McJollysonUlysses is the greatest novel ever written and I would die for James Joyce. However, try reading it along with a book of criticism on it, particularly Hart and Hayman's James Joyce's Ulysses, read a section of the criticism twice before the corresponding section of the Novel. Don't ever feel like you're using a crutch by trying this method. After all, Joyce had to publish two schemas so people could actually read it.

Now for your other questions:

Thomas or Tommis is lonely and more likely jilted than bitter. However, he certainly does have his bitter and angry moments. Really I think of him more as a recluse at this point.


Perhaps Thomas's first trip to the art museum was some noble sojourn. Sadly he keeps returning for this petty sexual fulfillment.


Sadly he's only getting off.


He would, but he is, after all, Thomas/Tommis (To miss) and doesn't realize what's playing out right before his eyes. The shaking painting and assless David hide both what's behind and underneath them, denying the existence of excrement or savage, empassioned, animalistic sex. Hiding behind walls. That's why the David statue is made of plaster, he's a sham, a mockery of solidity. This is really more about language than art, but the parallels had to be drawn somewhere.


Man and language's assumption that beauty overpowers ugliness is really the mockery here. By denying the existence of the horror, man creates something lifeless and confined to preconceived notions (hence the frame and Procrustean bed). Remember, though, the ugly side is not some transcendence either, merely a reality pushed aside by aesthetic deceptions. I do think Thomas has a broken heart, though. At this point, though, his behavior is encoded by experience, and maybe some day I'll go write about it.



Touche' my friend - well said. (understand, I am not denigrating Joyce. I am only saying that I find Ullyses a very dense and difficult work. I thought that Finnegans Wake and the Dubliners to be wonderful reads. Joyce was a major literary force. Perhaps I am a little too stupid to appreciate Ullyses??? That is most likely the case. ) But then literary criticism is nothing more than fusing of literature and art and art for arts sake...??? a snake eating it's own tail, wot? :)
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# 11
Jolly McJollyson
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10/31/2006 5:18 am
Originally Posted by: hunter60Touche' my friend - well said. (understand, I am not denigrating Joyce. I am only saying that I find Ullyses a very dense and difficult work. I thought that Finnegans Wake and the Dubliners to be wonderful reads. Joyce was a major literary force. Perhaps I am a little too stupid to appreciate Ullyses??? That is most likely the case. ) But then literary criticism is nothing more than fusing of literature and art and art for arts sake...??? a snake eating it's own tail, wot? :)

I...I don't know what to say.

I can't believe you liked Finnegan's Wake but not Ulysses! I mean, I love them both, but it's very, VERY rare to find someone who likes Dubliners and the Wake but not Ulysses... Most people are turned off by either the Wake or Dubliners. Fascinating, actually. Ulysses needs some serious analyzing, but so does Finnegan. I think if you could get the Wake, you can get Ulysses, just try out the book I suggested. Ulysses is incredibly dense and difficult, and I guarantee I know exactly where you fell off the boat. Does the sentence read, "ineluctable modality of the visible, thought through my eyes?" Pick up the book I mentioned, it opens up Ulysses BEAUTIFULLY.
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# 12
Jolly McJollyson
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10/31/2006 5:21 am
Originally Posted by: hunter60But then literary criticism is nothing more than fusing of literature and art and art for arts sake...??? a snake eating it's own tail, wot? :)

Well, I don't know. I think, though, that literary criticism is merely analysis, and so neutral. If anything, the critique of criticism is that it's not creation and therefore not art. More of an instrospective view than self-destructive.
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# 13
earthman buck
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earthman buck
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10/31/2006 5:21 am
I'm not gonna lie to you, I didn't understand a lot of that. Perhaps I would if I was reading it from a book whilst in my room or something, but reading computer-screen text is difficult for me. Basically, I had no idea what was happening throughout that whole story.

But I will say this: you are a genius of words. Even though my small vocabulary did not allow for a full understanding of what you had written, I liked the way the words rolled off my mind's tongue as I read them.

Bravo, my pet.
# 14
Jolly McJollyson
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Jolly McJollyson
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10/31/2006 5:23 am
Originally Posted by: earthman buckI'm not gonna lie to you, I didn't understand a lot of that. Perhaps I would if I was reading it from a book whilst in my room or something, but reading computer-screen text is difficult for me. Basically, I had no idea what was happening throughout that whole story.

I'm not gonna lie to you, that story was way above what I'd expect you to be able to understand. That doesn't mean I think you're stupid, it means I think you don't have the background in English that you might need to really get this. I'm impressed that you made it through.
I want the bomb
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# 15
acapella
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acapella
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10/31/2006 5:48 am
Three cheers for having made it through! acapella and earthman, the idiot twins of GT, have tackled yet another of the mind's great mysteries: literature!
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# 16
earthman buck
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earthman buck
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10/31/2006 6:03 am
Now I'm just sad I can't join in on the literary discussion.

Any chance you could put it in picture-book form for us?
# 17
Jolly McJollyson
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10/31/2006 6:19 am
Originally Posted by: earthman buckNow I'm just sad I can't join in on the literary discussion.

Any chance you could put it in picture-book form for us?

Heh, I don't think many of the pictures would be family friendly...

If you need a lot of help, my response to hunter60 on page 2 breaks down the main images and symbols fairly succinctly.
I want the bomb
I want the P-funk!

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# 18
z0s0_jp
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z0s0_jp
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10/31/2006 7:08 am
well, with the sweeping changes my picture of Thomas as Aqualung is now replaced by Matt Damon :mad: i liked the mystery, i also pictured Thomas as a Phillip Seymore Hoffman type, a little nervous, with sweat beads under his nose, possibly a janitor w/ a dangerously high I.Q.....(although i have seen students that look like aqualung ;) ) i wanna know what thoughts would spring from a Salvador Dali exhibit? i am sure you had your reasons for your revealing of Thomas as a student
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# 19
Jolly McJollyson
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Jolly McJollyson
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10/31/2006 7:19 am
Originally Posted by: z0s0_jpwell, with the sweeping changes my picture of Thomas as Aqualung is now replaced by Matt Damon :mad: i liked the mystery, i also pictured Thomas as a Phillip Seymore Hoffman type, a little nervous, with sweat beads under his nose, possibly a janitor w/ a dangerously high I.Q.....(although i have seen students that look like aqualung ;) ) i wanna know what thoughts would spring from a Toulouse-Lautrec or Salvador Dali exhibit? ;) but i am sure you had your reasons for your revealing of Thomas as a student

He's not a literal student, I was being figurative. He's more the Aqualung figure you imagined.
I want the bomb
I want the P-funk!

My band is better than yours...
# 20

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