Published in print, BAD IDEA #4: SEX 2.0

My first print-published piece appeared one year ago in a British young-lit journal called BAD IDEA. I really love the magazine - it's smart, funny, and the graphics are great. Today I finally got to see a copy, and though it's totally awesome to see my face printed in a magazine that is distributed all across the English-speaking world, it was not so pleasant to see how they'd mangled my words. The version that appears in print is devoid of flow, has been robbed of style, and there's a grammatical error to boot! Isn't it an editor's responsibility to check with a writer before they print something that's been altered drastically? No, I suppose not. Ah well, water/bridge whatevs.

Here's the cover:




Here's the piece:



(click for larger)


And here are my words, the words that the editor had agreed to print:

When I was 23 I was hired as a "daily" assistant director on an American network-TV movie starring Lucy Lawless, otherwise known as Xena: Warrior Princess. I was assigned to Lucy and ferried her from hair to make-up, blocking, touch-ups, and to set, all with perfect timing.
Actors have a tough job - to perform on demand - and many will cultivate neurotic rituals to help. A mustachioed 1970s star I worked with needed a moment before each shot to growl; an Oscar-winning actress required a painfully specific 17-word Starbucks coffee – scalding hot, constant refills. It was part of my job to facilitate this sort of thing.
Everything went smoothly on that first morning with Lucy Lawless. No rituals.
Late in the day we were in a dark tunnel running underneath a mental hospital shooting a scene where Lucy's character was escaping a swarm of mutant vampire bats. It was hot as hell; everyone was dripping. The star buzzed about, getting touch-ups, waiting for a last lighting adjustment. I hung close, listening for instructions on my walkie-talkie. She brushed past and I thought I heard her whisper, "I'm sooooo hot." Everyone was sweating, but this wasn't that kind of "hot."
"No way," I thought to myself, and I quickly reported this to a friend in the camera department. He was well impressed, but I was dumbfounded.
The lighting issue almost resolved I stood by ready to ask Lucy to set. Suddenly she approached, pressed herself against me, and purred in my ear the absolute filthiest, hottest smut I had ever heard. Each word that passed into me from her wet mouth shocked my nervous system, hijacking it, rendering me powerless. My blood boiled, my face flushed, and I almost lost my balance.

Women supposedly reach their sexual peak later than men. I could barely cope – was I past mine? At almost 40 Lucy Lawless seemed suddenly and definitely in her sexual prime, and it scared the shit out of me. She was Xena: Sex Warrior, and I was any man, standing in her way, about to be devoured in her deadly loins.
A few minutes later the rush in my ears quieted and the walkie-talkie finally became audible again.
"Jesus Christ Chris, get Lucy to set! Are you listening to me?" I couldn't see her anywhere.
"Oh, never mind, here she is. Thanks Chris, doing a great job, man."


Funny that the illustrator had obviously created the image based on my original text (wherin I noted her age), and so now one of the main features of the image is just hanging there, making no sense whatsoever. Yyyyep, overall a good introduction to the world of print I think. Giddyup!

MOTHERSWIMMER

I had a dream last year about an island. The island was populated by a remote and primitive people who did well there on their own except that there were no men on the island, only women. Once every 10 years or so, a tall ship carrying a group of silent colonial-looking men would arrive on the island, and there would be a ritual. In this ritual, the young women would line-up on a pier out over a bay. The men would swim under water, one for each woman, submerging themselves a few feet below the shimmering surface. The young women, having trained for this ritual their whole lives, would then dive into the water toward the men, and as they arced and swam upward to meet them, the men would swallow the beautiful young women whole.

There were some other characters and details in the dream, including a mother who was training her daughter for the ritual, a "motherswimmer" as she was known on the island. The daughter had no idea that the ritual would end in her being eaten, so the mother, laden with the guilt of her secret, switched places with her daughter last minute. As the daughter realized what her mother had done for her she realized that she was destined to be a motherswimmer too.

I think the main theme of this dream, and I'll write it out properly one of these days, is that men are inherently evil in every way, and that if we really had any respect for the miracle of nature that is women, we would spare them our sullied and unworthy company. Of course I'm projecting my own man-guilt, hewn of my recent hyper-active dating schedule, but there you have it. Themes.

Anyway, I wrote a song about the dream the very next day, but didn't finish it until today.

It's on an ethereal tip.


Motherswimmer
swim for your daughters
keep them
hold them
lie to them
for tomorrow

a white march
toward black depths
of kelp
into the throats
of men
the black hearts
of men



Phew, a little heavy, sorry!


Take a listen to the song via You Tube. I made a music video of sorts for it, walking around my neighbourhood today.

MOTHERSWIMMER