Thursday, November 3, 2016

Blackthorne--Scene 54

image borrowed from


Cinemagenic Fifty-Four


“Life is just the predicament that precedes death.”
--Henry James.

1(sound cue) banjo & harmonica.
2(medium close up) Johnny Eagle staring at Bronson:
--So what the hell is burrowed up your backside so early?
3(reverse close-up) Cash Bronson:
--Aww, we’re just looking for strays & trouble--
makers. I was told that you were out here somewhere, so 
it’s a piece of luck finding you like this. I think you & 
I have some things to discuss, Johnny.
4(three-shot) angle on Buck: Anyone want some coffee; 
tastes like sawdust, but it’s hot.--tossing the inquiry like a
5(medium close-up) Bronson turned in the saddle, his dark 
eyes narrowing: So, you would be the mysterious buffalo 
hunter who has stirred up so much shit for me in town?
6(sound cue) slide guitar riff.
7(cut to overhead crane shot) the five riders facing the two 
8(sound cue) Guitar strumming & snare drum baps.
9(two-shot) angle over Bronson’s shoulder, Buck smirking
--Yeah, that would probably be me
10(medium close-up) Bronson, tight-lipped, nodding his 
head:--OK, well I’m Cash Bronson, and one of these days 
we need to palaver over your mistaken notion that you 
actually can rebuild this ramshackle ranch of yours.
11(close-up) Buck, tight-jawed:  Sure, why not? I’d be 
pleased to jaw a bit with the one-eyed jack in these parts.
12(two-shot) Thor sat up tall, stretched & drawled: 
Not today, hombres. Fuck your coffee & fuck you. So 
tell them what we want, big brother.
13(hold the shot) angle over Thor’s shoulder, Bronson, his 
tone approaching a growl--Just sit on that itch, boy; then
returning his gaze to the two men afoot in front of him--My 
brother makes a valid point though. It is possible that this 
is not a friendly visit.
14(medium close-up) the Eagle: Would you call it an 
unfriendly one? as he rolled his throwing knife in his big
hands, an old Colt prominent on his hip.
15(sound cue) Indian seed rattle & branch flute trills.
16(two-shot) angle over Johnny’s shoulder, Bronson:
--It could be--it could be; kind of depends on you fellows.
17(cut to close-up) Buck: Is that a fact, how so?
18(two-shot) angle on Bronson--I don’t know where to
begin with you, big man--so let’s talk to Johnny first.
19(medium close-up) the Eagle: So, let’s get to it.
20(three shot) angle on Bronson: Come to find out
you had a big misunderstanding recently with my
auction manager over some wages?
21(close-up) Johnny: You know that pinche gordo had
it coming--that baboso doesn’t bring you any honor.
22(sound cue) saxophone & guitar.
23(medium close up) Bronson: So you gave it to him?
24(close-up) Johnny: Hell, no--Sheriff Hop showed up
& stopped the dance.
25(two-shot) angle on Bronson: You know, that’s not 
the way I heard it.
26(medium close-up) cut to Buck: That’s the way it was.
27(cut to medium wide shot) over the stiff backs of the 
five riders, with Buck & Johnny facing them.
28(series of jump-cut close-ups) Bronson, the Eagle, 
Thor, Buck, & the three cowhands.
29(sound cue) harmonica, saddles creaking, horses 
shifting hooves, & a dog growling.
30(close-up) bacon burning & smoking in a 
frying pan.
31(medium wide shot) Buck casually bent down, 
keeping Thor in his periphery, then lifted up the
blackened pan out of the low orange flames, & sat it
on a flat rock.
32(reverse the shot) Buck & Johnny with backs to the 
camera; --Bronson: Sorry about your vittles--straightening
up in the saddle, & folding his arms. Truth be told, 
Graff is a minor problem, & I choose to let you slide--
because when it comes to horse busting, I like your style; 
but get this clear, if you want wages from me, You will have 
to find a way to get along with Graff.
33(sound cue) guitar strumming.
34(two-shot) angle on Johnny, his features stoic, not respon-
ding.--Bronson: That brings us to a more serious problem--
that we need to deal with today; right now.
35( medium close-up) Buck: And what might that be?
--Bronson: I think that you boys need to know that you’re on 
my land.

36(sound cue) castanets & coronet.

Glenn Buttkus

OK, buckaroos, this is the last of the Review; from here on the episodes
will be new. Thanks to all the patient readers who trudged through all
54 scenes--and to the dozens of you who called for this review--you
are welcome. I am going on a three week road trip to TX starting next
week, so the saga continues after Thanksgiving. Hugs.

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Tuesday, November 1, 2016


image by glenn buttkus


Even paradise could become a prison if one had
enough time to take notice of the walls.”
--Morgan Rhodes.

There are a few of us left,
     deep in the inner cities--walls
           on ancient buildings, walls of brick,
                     that back in the 20’s & 30’s were 
           decorated with billboard art, hand
     painted advertisements, many 
over the top of others, now
resembling a decopasge,
or several layers of peeling
wallpaper, just
                           part of a musty past that did not
                  have the media options to boost sales
          & public exposure. I’m still shocked to hear 
  that most people spend 12 bucks to see a single
movie and then have to sit through a tedious myriad
of television commercials on the sainted silver screen

                        while suffering the indignation of having
                        a third of the audience playing with their
                        smart phones throughout the feature.

I am the north wall of the exalted Pythian Temple, 
crumbling bravely on Broadway in the theater district in
Tacoma. I face a parking lot, where once a department store
stood shoulder to shoulder with me. My aching bricks are
festooned with fading overlapping ads for cigars, jewelry, a
painless dentist, Turkish cigarettes, & the New York &
Washington Outfitting Co, where “a dollar a week will dress you”, 
sad smile, or at least it would in 1924.

The Temple used to house over a hundred members, rich
businessmen (all fat white cats--no Jews or ethnic minor
-ities), the Donalds of their day, rivaling the Masons &
Kiwanis. There are less than twenty members at present, old
men in moldy double-breasted suits, huddled in dark corners
smoking pungent cigars--while hybrid & electric cars
back into me, smashing my ankles, graffiti swaths cover a
section of me by the alley, drunks urinate on me after dark,
& most folks just pass by hurriedly without greeting or
acknowledging me. Such is the plight of most century old

I realize that I have a fateful date with a behemoth
wrecking ball soon. There’s a rumor that following
my unceremonious demolishment the pesky parking
lot adjacent to me will double in size; terrific--then
folks who work downtown can cough up 20 bucks
a day to park their jalopies on my proud bones. Yes.
progress can be both trollop & succubus.

Pioneer buildings
are rarely saved by those who

need a place to park. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub