Instead of a long winded explanation of what’s been happening as I settle into my new life in Austin, I will post some new El Rey Pulpo characters hot off the press.

El Rey Pulpo: Mexican Space Claw

Mexican Space Claw is based on a dream I posted here.

El Rey Pulpo: Pulpo & the Bee

El Rey Pulpo: Dream It Real II

El Rey Pulpo: Crystal Ball

El Rey Pulpo: El Rey Cameo

So I had a dream last night that a quartet of giant sewer rats were singing an Alan Parsons Project song to me while I sat in a jazz club sipping on a bright blue drink out of glass shaped like a banana. Now the song is stuck in my freakin’ head. So here it is to get stuck in yours.

Honestly, this is the Alan Parsons Project song I would have preferred a bunch of rats sing to me.

The Cure For My Discontent

By Amy Moloney

An endless loop of Bowie on vinyl filling me with divine

The scent of woodsmoke carrying the sweetgrass to the sky

Long conversation on a road trip to nowhere, just roam

An extra glass of red wine when I should just go home

A million colors dancing from a million lights far away

A brief touch to the small of my back followed by a sway

A ferocious hug from a friend that lingers way too long

Sounds of children when they’re singing their own song

A new lipstick that makes my lips feel the anticipation of a kiss

Long fingers twisting the ends of my hair, brief touch to my wrist

Kung fu movies all day on Sunday and well into the night

A soft pair of fuzzy pajama pants that never fit too tight

The taste of chocolate when it’s warm in my mouth

Watching the autumn sky as birds begin to fly south

Long walks through the forested canopy of trees

Feeling the wind on my face as it blows through the leaves

Coffee flavored ice cream in a café before unknown

A leap of faith that this next step is far away from alone

Filed under: Original Writing By The Fuzzy Lizzard Tagged: creativity, david bowie, dreams, inspiration, love, music, national poetry month, poetry, writing ]]> http://amymoloney.com/2013/04/13/national-poetry-month-cure-for-my-discontent/feed/ 0 fuzzylizzard 534681_450131638340265_388320802_n http://amymoloney.com/2013/04/12/finding-film-part-1-james-benning/ http://amymoloney.com/2013/04/12/finding-film-part-1-james-benning/#comments Fri, 12 Apr 2013 21:30:15 +0000 Amy Moloney http://amymoloney.com/?p=2122 Continue reading →]]>

Image from the film 13 Lakes by James Benning

Impressions and Lessons

“The old medicine man smiles through the face of nature. The old medicine man captures the face of nature within the eyes of his camera.”

Part of my compulsion to move to Austin had to do with a compulsion to understand and learn a new artistic medium of storytelling, film. Something that I never thought was part of my path, a strange and terrifying new direction that seemed to come from that place within the universe that pushes our actions toward our destiny. It cannot be denied, but takes some time to understand. This is not one of my spur of the moment new directions, I am taking my time and learning before acting upon the compulsion.

I have always been a movie lover, a devotee of fantasy and story. But film was at the periphery of my experience. A thing to be watched, observed, not to be made by my own hands. But there is this little voice in the wind whispering for me to tell my stories within a more visual format.

Before arriving in Texas, I became a member of the Austin Film Society. Mostly because I thought it was an opportunity to explore what this compulsion means in my world. I have no real definitions for what I’m drawn to do within this concept so foreign to me. I’ll admit, I am quite intimidated by this world.

I am finding myself surrounded by those who have been called to make films at an early age. They have been doing it for years, decades. Some of them are well known in the film industry. The feeling of intimidation is only heightened in the presence of such successful filmmakers. When they ask what I do, why I am there, how do I answer with anything definitive. I don’t even know what role I will play in this new world. And here I am face to face with directors of movies I’ve loved for years, being treated as one of the cool kids.

A Weekend with Filmmaker James Benning

I spent an entire weekend engulfed by the films of James Benning, a filmmaker that I have only recently become aware. I found myself enchanted by his simplicity, yet complex storytelling. In essence he removed some of the intimidation from my perspective of the film world. I had been approaching things from the standpoint of being an outsider peeking into someone else’s window like a secretive Peeping Tom. Inspiration struck while watching the last movie in the series, Stemple Pass. It’s not about being insider or an outsider of the film world. It’s about finding a voice in which to channel my own stories.

I see a lot of my own spiritual concepts reflected in the films of Mr. Benning. The love of nature, the silence of the mind, the communion with all while being in the moment then letting it go as the past. I felt a strong kinship with the man and his work.

The short time I’ve spent just observing films and observing conversations between Richard Linklater and others with the Austin Film Society has given me insight on the definitions I have been trying to formulate. I am learning the art of storytelling from all angles. I may never pick up a camera. I may pick one up tomorrow. Either way, I am finding that the compulsion to learn film from people who have been making films for decades is leading me to develop my own way. And there is no wrong way to do it. There is no need to feel intimidated by the experienced film people. Or even the idealistic youth of the film world that seem to be demanding my reason for being there with them.

Finding the drive to be something different than you have been for most of your adult life is a scary thing. I have basically hit the reset button on my life and am starting over like an 18 year old just leaving home for the first time. (Not that I ever want to be 18 again.) Doing what I’ve always wanted to do is extremely satisfying. For the first time in life that feeling of being perfectly inline with my purpose is all encompassing. I may only write things that end up on film. I may learn to do it all from concept to editing to shooting myself out of a cannon to promote my ideas. The future is unwritten, and mine to mold. But at least I will be entering the future with a new network of supportive film nerds that will understand all of my incessant movie quotes.

Pictures are Poetry

This film series has inspired me to write a series of stories and poetry based on the notes I jotted down while watching. These notes are like a journey into my personal meditations.

Possibly at the end of the series I will post snippets of the actual notes taken. They are surreal. But I will start with this one because it’s weird and funny, “Rick Linklater is wearing ugly socks, just like he is taunting me with memories of my [deceased] brother. The whole time I can hear Bryan laughing at me for trying to hold in my fart by concentrating on ugly socks.”

Here is the first poetic interpretation of one of James Benning’s films. I thought it fit with the National Poetry Month theme.

13 Lakes

By Amy Moloney

Hello Grandmother

It has been too long since you’ve reflected upon our world

The ripples upon your brow reveal the worry you carry deep below your surface

Steadfast you nurture and move us to where life begins

And ends and begins again

The world is the distortion, the static, the chaotic mind

Silence is the picture, the image, the solitude of mind

Grandmother, the mother, consort to the sky

Wearing her gown of white

As she opens her earth to let the winged gohead inside

Explosion before the impact of hard into soft

Where the Earth becomes the sky

And the sky becomes the reflection of night

This moment of perfect union

Already a memory of what was then

This moment an illusion

Never to be visited again

Emerald

By Amy Moloney

Crawling inside the forbidden, cups hold the hidden,

where secret knowledge dwells

Drinking from the pool, that hides from the fool,

the ancient doorway to your own hell

Somewhere croaks the raven, do not enter this haven,

follow you beyond the stone

Gathered beside the shade, the open evening glade,

Emerald sits upon his throne

He whispers to reap, crafty words from the deep,

they wrap themselves inside

Holding an ostentatious blade, you swipe them away,

afraid they’ll make you rise up with the tide

Never listening the grey, so this mage has to say,

banish your ego and your pride

Emerald walks turns himself away, denying your your claim,

casts a silent spell upon the night

The waters of hell, around you they swell,

sweep you up into a raging fire

The ways of the damned, have called you a man,

a thief, assassin, and a liar

Holding your blade, praying to names,

that rule your two-pronged tongue

Emerald appears enraged, you blaspheme his name,

like zealots blotting out the sun

You seek an unknown prize, with deceitful hungry eyes,

but refuse to play the seller’s game

Inside his hollowed lair, insulting the perfumed air,

again he denied this quest of empty fame

A knight of the other gods, whose fear you have wrought,

of a simple Emerald glow

Dwelling beneath the earth, holding no curse,

you vilify his shadowed place below

Now you become his, weeping into clenched fists,

a broken crusader of minds so old

Emerald frees your breath, saves you from death,

but still to lies you stubbornly hold

If a prize you do seek, look past the raven’s beak,

and knowledge will be yours

Just open your mind, leave old gods behind,

and kneel down at the shore

The green one awaits, holding open hidden gates,

take a sacred scroll from the pile

Drink from the cup, let it warm the body up,

and sit with Emerald a good long while

Emerald is not blind, his thoughts change your mind,

an enlightened one shares the bodhi seed

Sift through the sand, grasp it in your hand,

and allow the wisdom to feed

Again fear grips your throat, like a sinking boat,

you tumble through the waves

Somewhere you see, old archetypes make-believe,

a man himself he must save

Emerald is pleased, the green man on his knees,

to you he bows respect

It takes more than fear, to render man clear,

when he is his own shipwreck

You came here with pride, to slay what’s inside,

misguided prophecy upon your lips

You leave here with hope, new ways to cope,

your armor becomes your ship

Rising from deep, the knowledge you keep,

the raven will guide you across

Emerald you say, why show me this way,

our paths should never have crossed

He winks himself away, not before he said,

My son, we are one in the same

You called me him, then call it something grim,

but really it’s not what’s in the name

The wisdom is you, finding the truth,

on a quest to make pure the kingdom of what?

But this world is pure, it has been before,

and will always be what it must

The knight rides home, now never alone,

the emerald stone set into his ring

A new song begun, the honey bees hum,

and the kingdom of Emerald will sing

Journey

By Amy Moloney

Raised within a bible, taught my very nature was a sin

Confused by what they told me and what I knew within

They told me I was wrong, by nature, a freak

To hold inside the things they dare not speak

They were frightened of what they could not control

And the fact that I was the one they couldn’t pigeon hole

A vibrant creature with independent thought

Someone to dare disagree with intolerance they taught

Rebel, heathen, blasphemous witch

Free thinking must be some internal glitch

Sold myself as the devil’s wanton slave

At least, that’s how they perceived I would behave

Never once looking at the soul I did posses

Blinded to soul’s they themselves repress

Frightened of power that lies within themselves

Useless words upon their righteous shelves

Pious men sit in judgement of my wrongs

Took away my words and burned my songs

Silence the music it did not do

For strength in me is what it drew

I found a goddess within my mind

Who showed me how their sight was blind

She held me close against her breast

Assured me I had passed a bigger test

And through it all I escaped slightly scathed

Still, in the light of God I am bathed

My spirit they could crush or not take away

For I have found there is more than just one way

Phantoms & Lovers

By Amy Moloney

Craving the connection to a phantom, of what once was and yet to be.

A space left wide open to be filled with unfolding fantasy.

Why can’t we start now even though we have yet to play?

When light hits your face, do you let it in or cower away?

If I were to ask you to be my lover would you say yes?

Or would the phantom of you be the only interest?

I opened the door to my soul for a moment last night

Just to see if you would invite yourself in for a bite

It seems our timing is not quite in sync with our dreams

Phantoms and lovers fall into the trap of crossing screams

Filed under: Original Writing By The Fuzzy Lizzard Tagged: dreams, fantasy, love, national poetry month, original short stories by Amy Moloney, poetry, writing ]]> http://amymoloney.com/2013/04/09/national-poetry-month-phantoms-lovers/feed/ 1 fuzzylizzard 2_Cups_Cosmic http://amymoloney.com/2013/04/08/national-poetry-month-dont-let-go-but-please-dont-hold-on/ http://amymoloney.com/2013/04/08/national-poetry-month-dont-let-go-but-please-dont-hold-on/#comments Mon, 08 Apr 2013 16:00:54 +0000 Amy Moloney http://amymoloney.com/?p=2099 Continue reading →]]>

Don’t Let Go, But Please Don’t Hold On

By Amy Moloney

A slow dance in cadence with the night

My head on your shoulder

Your scent surrounding my senses

Burning me inside, a slow constant smolder

Knowing the time is short

And you will be gone before the morn

I feel my soul die a little at the thought

My mind in anticipation building a storm

Losing you, but holding on

I feel both relief and wrenching pain

Taking in the truth of our situation

A slow smoldering that will not change

….don’t let go, but please don’t hold on

The Diner

By Amy Moloney

Kind of like a dream…

Coffee and a diner on the desert sand

He waits at a booth in the corner

The back, where the lights flicker and strobe

Pouring syrup over a stack of pancakes

He smiles and offers me syrup for my coffee

Laughter and stories fill the room

A native man holds a bone to the sky

Offers prayers to the ancients made of smoke

A child is a ballerina dancing circles by the jukebox

Upon her toes with glitter in her hair

To the tune of a man named Johnny

And a boy named Sue

She giggles at the man with syrup

He pours the little girl a cup of maple

The waitress is 9 months pregnant, barely able to stand

The man gets up and pours his own coffee

And some for me

The sun begins to set outside the window of the diner

The whole room fills with orange light

He reaches out to brush my hair away from my face

Says that the orange light makes my smile look like candy

Candy made from the tears of angels

They cry for their happiness, and the joy of love

He opens the door for me, we walk outside

The desert air is warm

He leans in close

Whispers in my ear

“We have work to do”

I smile

We walk into the desert

Toward the lowering sun

The air begins to chill

He places a blanket around my shoulders

We walk

A small fire is burning

We sit to take in its heat

We dance to the sound of the popping flames

He places the blanket on the sand and we sleep

Curled together by the fire

His breath in my hair

He inhales my scent

Then says to me with another whisper

“Now I can find you no matter where you roam. I will always find you.”

He closes his eyes

Pulls me closer

We drift into the dream world together

Having the same dream

Where the clouds roll in

Rain washes us of every lover past

We dance in the rain

Laughing and free

We wake

New

Ready

Together

We walk back to the diner for more pancakes

Soul Lights in Time

By Amy Moloney

Silencing the thundering drums keeping the time

Holding accountable the promise of resurrecting what was eternally mine

Doubting reality in favor of a forgotten fairy tale

Within two hearts where home still refuses to settle or set sail

Earth spins in directions it’s never spun before

An axis of space becomes an unattainable dream, an alien shore

Propelling bodies through spaces meant for those we call gods

Shaking the souls, giving them life, melting away their facades

Unable to resist a pull stronger than the urge to fight

The draw of two bodies split from one single stream of light

Resistance remains but fades away in a matter of time

As belief refuses to take shape in the mirror of two stubborn minds

Still pulling together in spite of their being afraid

Finding the light becomes electric when lit from a single flame

Circling in confusion desperate to touch, to connect

Always trying to fit another’s light into the stark emptiness

Barely coping in the mundane trials of life

Light fades in and out, strobes of potential for true flight

Electric collision, two worlds explode into one

Light finds light, the storm of passion strikes with a force of a sun

Entwined eternal dancing upon ribbons of stardust and fire

Never too old to find the light of perfect union of an ancient desire

Whole and secure in the light that is once again made

A light shining so bright under a million suns, know only shade