Blue Christmas
28 December 2007 17:51![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skonen_bladesHe had chess pieces tattooed on his knuckles, prison style.
Black on the one hand, outlines on the other. He had castles on the pinkies, knights on the ring finger, bishops on the middle, the queen on his left index finger, and the king on his right.
“No pawns.” he said, jutting his chin up with a mixture of pride and disgust, like it was self-explanatory.
He owned a two-story black houseboat moored at the wharf on the inlet. It had a lot of skylights but not many windows. He had a pornography studio set up on the top floor. Just a camera and a bed, really, but it paid the rent, he said.
The films he posted on the site were shot during sunny days. If it was dark or raining, he’d pull a vertical blind across the skylights and use cheap lights. It was no-frills. He treated the talent as fairly as a pornographer could.
After I’d known him for a while, he showed me his artistic streak. He’d rented two more cameras and shot a girl-girl-boy threesome with very athletic models under the skylights during a rainstorm. Using only available light, the blue bodies writhed around each other, oiled, with raindrops hitting them and pooling in their hollows. They shoved in and out of the shadows, moaning softer than the rain hitting the windows. The water ran off of six packs and flawless shoulders in a beautiful illusion.
He cut it together, some of it in slow motion, looped some of the sound, and added a slow-moving symphony soundtrack with some synth.
It was gorgeous. I begged him for a copy. He said no way. I was welcome to come over and watch it whenever, he said, but it wasn’t leaving the house. He was a little embarrassed by it, I think.
I told him that he should do stuff like that more often.
“Yeah, but it’d never sell,” he said with a laugh. “This is not the eighties.”
He had a laugh like a poodle whining, completely at odds with his huge, threatening, craggy body. He looked like he was carved from a mountain. I could picture his wrinkles filled with soil, leaves in his hair, dirt under his knuckles.
I got the feeling that he hated the city. He didn’t see anything wrong in what he was doing because he felt that everyone in the city was doing something similar, that all we city-dwellers were soulless and available for a price.
The houseboat gave him the illusion that he wasn’t really part of this stinking, money-infested metropolis, just attached to it.
I remember the footage of him being arrested. I remember him ‘giving the bishops’ to the news camera. Something about not filing his permits properly. It was strictly neighborhood watch stuff. They just didn’t want him around their daughters. He was out within a year but the houseboat was broken into while he was in prison. Cleaned out.
He packed it in after that. He moved up to a small town in the interior and got a job at a friend’s bar. That was the last I saw of him.
Right now, though, one year later, I’m staring at Christmas present. It’s a dvd with no label on it.
The card says that he hopes I have a Blue Christmas and then there’s a smiley face.
tags
Black on the one hand, outlines on the other. He had castles on the pinkies, knights on the ring finger, bishops on the middle, the queen on his left index finger, and the king on his right.
“No pawns.” he said, jutting his chin up with a mixture of pride and disgust, like it was self-explanatory.
He owned a two-story black houseboat moored at the wharf on the inlet. It had a lot of skylights but not many windows. He had a pornography studio set up on the top floor. Just a camera and a bed, really, but it paid the rent, he said.
The films he posted on the site were shot during sunny days. If it was dark or raining, he’d pull a vertical blind across the skylights and use cheap lights. It was no-frills. He treated the talent as fairly as a pornographer could.
After I’d known him for a while, he showed me his artistic streak. He’d rented two more cameras and shot a girl-girl-boy threesome with very athletic models under the skylights during a rainstorm. Using only available light, the blue bodies writhed around each other, oiled, with raindrops hitting them and pooling in their hollows. They shoved in and out of the shadows, moaning softer than the rain hitting the windows. The water ran off of six packs and flawless shoulders in a beautiful illusion.
He cut it together, some of it in slow motion, looped some of the sound, and added a slow-moving symphony soundtrack with some synth.
It was gorgeous. I begged him for a copy. He said no way. I was welcome to come over and watch it whenever, he said, but it wasn’t leaving the house. He was a little embarrassed by it, I think.
I told him that he should do stuff like that more often.
“Yeah, but it’d never sell,” he said with a laugh. “This is not the eighties.”
He had a laugh like a poodle whining, completely at odds with his huge, threatening, craggy body. He looked like he was carved from a mountain. I could picture his wrinkles filled with soil, leaves in his hair, dirt under his knuckles.
I got the feeling that he hated the city. He didn’t see anything wrong in what he was doing because he felt that everyone in the city was doing something similar, that all we city-dwellers were soulless and available for a price.
The houseboat gave him the illusion that he wasn’t really part of this stinking, money-infested metropolis, just attached to it.
I remember the footage of him being arrested. I remember him ‘giving the bishops’ to the news camera. Something about not filing his permits properly. It was strictly neighborhood watch stuff. They just didn’t want him around their daughters. He was out within a year but the houseboat was broken into while he was in prison. Cleaned out.
He packed it in after that. He moved up to a small town in the interior and got a job at a friend’s bar. That was the last I saw of him.
Right now, though, one year later, I’m staring at Christmas present. It’s a dvd with no label on it.
The card says that he hopes I have a Blue Christmas and then there’s a smiley face.
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no subject
Date: 29 Dec 2007 01:56 (UTC)no subject
Date: 29 Dec 2007 02:06 (UTC)no subject
Date: 29 Dec 2007 09:34 (UTC)no subject
Date: 29 Dec 2007 18:15 (UTC)no subject
Date: 30 Dec 2007 00:54 (UTC)no subject
Date: 30 Dec 2007 04:07 (UTC)We park our cars in the same garage. I'd also rather find models who were voluntarily into it rather than agents. I was just thinking that agents might have catalogues of nudes to choose from and professionals that would take direction, show up on time, and have a body that would get them an agent in the first place. NOT that I have any idea what I'm talking about. Total conjecture.
But I was just thinking convenience there. A homegrown effort would be preferable. Saying "No, not you. Not hot enough." to a stranger who goes to auditions three times a week is a lot different than saying that to someone you know. I was thinking about that as well.
Masks! Look at you with your bright ideas! Masks would work well. Not what I had in mind but it's definitely a real-word solution if there's too much resistance to being recognized. And tattoo cover-up, I guess. Could definitely slot into the 'arsty' 80s feel I was describing. : )
no subject
Date: 30 Dec 2007 07:26 (UTC)Yes. Actually, dancers just occured to me. Lean, bendy dancers that could
move erotically.
Patchwork porno. Now, there's a concept.
Yes.
Hmmm. The expressive mask thing is neat. It gets further and further away from the idea but it's still within the realm of 'art film', though.
Gotta be film to get that feel.
no subject
Date: 30 Dec 2007 10:06 (UTC)no subject
Date: 30 Dec 2007 17:55 (UTC)no subject
Date: 30 Dec 2007 18:44 (UTC)no subject
Date: 30 Dec 2007 18:03 (UTC)I agree. In my vision, the models were caucasian. They could also be asian but yeah, lighter skin tones were part of it.
Some neat stuff could be done with dark skin tone as well. Like if it was a couple instead of a three way. And one half of the couple was super-pale, standing in the light, and the other half was really dark and came out of the shadows. Like a struggle between yin and yang.
That could work. It does carry a subtext, possibly, that black is evil and that's not what I would want to insinuate. But if it was shot well, it could reall be something.
Uh, this is all still hypothetical, right? I feel like we're daring each other here. = B
no subject
Date: 1 Jan 2008 04:39 (UTC)no subject
Date: 30 Dec 2007 03:58 (UTC)no subject
Date: 30 Dec 2007 04:09 (UTC)