by Leyner, Mark
And then, after what seems like hours and hours of falling, I finally open them …
I’m in the warden’s office.
I’m seated on the couch.
And now I experience a steady return to baseline consciousness. The neon checkerboard patterns and microelectronic overlays, the Paleolithic imagery and blue-green ooze all revert back into familiar aspects of the room. And the keening carrier tone fades to silence.
WARDEN
Pretty intense, huh?
MARK (voice-over)
I checked my watch. From the time we returned from the Contraband Control Room and drank the Gravy to now, only thirty seconds had passed!
Part of me wanted so much to profusely expatiate upon this bewildering, implosive contraction of time; to concoct some erudite correspondence—to propose, for instance, that it was like not only seeing your entire life flash before your eyes in an instant, but like experiencing the entirety of Homo sapiens phylogeny, as narrated by some jabbering Dominican A.M. drive-time merengue DJ, in the time it takes for an air bag to inflate in a 90-mile-an-hour head-on collision (and you’re in, like, one of those little Suzuki Sidekicks and the other vehicle is, like, a fucking Amtrak locomotive); part of me desperately wanted to somehow articulate to her my sense of awe and wonder that, from a warm broth of prebiotic molecules splashed up on Precambrian rocks and baked in the sun some 4 billion years ago, three pounds of deeply fissured neural tissue could evolve—the human brain—capable of apprehending—as evidenced by my own dumbfounding epiphanies (e.g., the karmic and eschatological merits of body-fat composition and LSAT scores, etc.)—not only the most recondite principles of the physical universe, but the origins, structure, procedures and modalities of consciousness itself.
But all I said was …
CLOSE-SHOT of MARK
MARK
It was weird … like a video.
WARDEN
Are you OK?
MARK
I feel kinda … kinda like I’m still … falling.
WARDEN
Post-lapsarian Stress Disorder, n’est-ce pas?
SUBTITLE: Post-lapsarian Stress Disorder, isn’t it?
MARK
Uh … peut-être.
SUBTITLE: Uh … maybe.
WARDEN
Venge-toi, punis-moi d’un odieux amour.
Digne fils du héros qui t’a donné le jour, délivre l’univers d’un monstre qui t’irrite.
SUBTITLE: You were blown into the sky by an exploding cow pie, a mythological gym siren gave you a hand job, and then you experienced a terrifying plunge to earth, yes?
MARK
Madame, pardonnez. J’avoue, en rougissant,
Que j’accusais à tort un discours innocent.
Ma honte ne peut plus soutenir vontre vue.
SUBTITLE: Yeah … pretty much. Whatever.
WARDEN gets corkscrew and two wineglasses from cabinet, and sits back down on couch. She arranges an assortment of pills—Fentanyls, Roxanols, and Demerols—on an antique Persian brass tea-glass coaster, opens a bottle of wine, and lights a hollowed-out Phillies blunt filled with marijuana.
She takes a long hit and passes the blunt to MARK.
WARDEN
Glass of wine? It’ll help cushion the fall.
MARK
(Exhaling thick plume of smoke)
Uh … sure. What is it?
WARDEN
It’s a white Burgundy—a ’73 Meursault-Charmes from the Domaine Roulot.
She pours, and then raises her glass in the air.
WARDEN
To Vincent and Lenore DiGiacomo.
MARK
To Vincent and Lenore DiGiacomo—without whose wise, generous, and indefatigable support, the screenwriting aspirations of seventh, eighth, and ninth graders at Maplewood Junior High School might well go unfulfilled. We thank you from the bottoms of our hearts and will never forget your unswerving commitment to this venerable art form.
They click glasses and sip.
MARK grimaces and spews wine back into his glass.
MARK
(indignant)
It’s hot! Shouldn’t a white Burgundy be served chilled?
WARDEN
Oh, it’s still warm? I’m sorry about that. We just pulled it from a convict less than an hour ago, and I never had a chance to get it in the fridge.
MARK takes bottle and reads affixed Contraband Control label.
INSERT SHOT of label:
Contraband Control Number: 56113
Confiscation: 5/21/96, 1630 hours
Inmate 77-64-0835
Body Cavity/Rectal
WARDEN
You want to send it back?
He tries another sip, rolls it in his mouth, and shrugs.
MARK
Nuh-uh. I guess its good. (pointing to the two huge Meridian DSP-8000 speakers—each 52″ by 21″ by 27″—suspended in opposite corners across the room)
How much does each of those weigh?
WARDEN
About 300 pounds.
MARK
No fuckin’ way!! What’s keeping them up? It looks like they’re just floating there.
WARDEN gets up from couch, rummages through desk drawer, and returns to couch, having retrieved Oshimitsu Polymers America Corp. product brochure.
WARDEN
(reading from brochure)
“Materials engineers have hypothesized that a single strand of orb-weaving spider silk, as thick as clothesline, could actually stop the Concord supersonic transport in flight!
“Oshimitsu Polymers America Corporation—a subsidiary of Shimazaki Chemical Company—has created a synthetic spider silk that has greater tensile strength than steel and is capable of supporting audio speakers of any weight.
“Using sophisticated computer simulation techniques and recombinant DNA technology, Oshimitsu scientists have been able to utilize the unparalleled ingenuity of the biosynthetic process by controlling polymer sequence and chain length to produce analogs of the natural silk proteins.
“Synthetic Spider-Silk Speaker-Suspension Line(r) is one of the many innovative synthetic fiber products that have made Oshimitsu Polymers America internationally recognized as the preeminent pioneer in advanced materials development.
“Because of their light weight, strength, and ductility, Oshimitsu synthetic biopolymer fibers may also have applications in military and commercial satellites and aircraft, earthquake-resistant suspension-bridge cables, and huge synthetic fiber-mesh space-nets designed to snare and divert errant asteroids and protect the earth from catastrophic and potentially species-threatening collisions.
“Oshimitsu Polymers America—committed to facilitating our increasingly complex synthetic fiber needs into the 21st century.”
MARK
That is so cool! How can I get more information about Oshimitsu Synthetic Spider-Silk Speaker-Suspension Line(r) and learn how other Oshimitsu synthetic biopolymer products can help enhance my home theater?
OVER-THE-SHOULDER SHOT of Warden circling phone number in catalog.
ZOOM in until phone number fills screen:
1-800-POLYMER
WARDEN
Just call 1-800-POLYMER. An Oshimitsu Polymers America customer service representative is waiting to answer any questions you might have about how Oshimitsu’s innovative line of biopolymer products can make your home theater the very best that it can be.
COMPUTER-ANIMATED OSHIMITSU LOGO SEQUENCE (8 seconds):
We hear hyperkinetic BONGO RHYTHM.
Phone number detaches itself and rises from catalog page, which dissolves, leaving numerals on empty cool-blue background (0.75 sec.).
Numerals break into rods and spheres, which then arrange themselves into polymer chain (1.50 sec.).
Polymer chain metamorphoses into fibers, and then fibers into spider’s web (2.25 sec).
Web becomes asteroid net, which snares massive meteor hurtling toward earth and slings it harmlessly into deep space (3.00 se
c).
Asteroid net contracts, elongates, and divides into suspension-bridge cables spanning serpentine river (3.75 sec.).
Suspension-bridge cables metamorphose into speaker suspension lines supporting huge loudspeaker over teeming indoor arena (4.50 sec.).
Speaker and suspension line remain foregrounded as indoor arena dissolves into sumptuous penthouse apartment with skyline view and amorous couple on sofa (5.25 sec.).
Penthouse apartment, speaker and couple dissolve back into cool-blue background (5.75 sec.).
Speaker suspension line breaks into rods and spheres (6.25 sec.).
Rods and spheres reconfigure into Oshimitsu Polymers America LOGO. Bongo solo crescendos and abruptly ends—and we hear astringent KOTO ARPEGGIO. Audio track and animation are synchronized so that koto arpeggio sounds at precise instant that logo coalesces (7.00 sec.).
HOLD LOGO for full second and dissolve (8.00 sec.).
WARDEN takes quick hit from blunt and proffers it and tea coaster with pill assortment to MARK.
MARK sticks blunt in mouth and, squinting through smoke, chooses two Demerols, and washes them down with a mouthful of tepid Meursault-Charmes.
WARDEN selects a single Fentanyl, tilts her head back, whacks the 2-mg tablet toward the back of her throat, and gulps it down dry.
WARDEN
What kind of sound system do you have?
MARK
In my room?
WARDEN
(nonchalantly wanton, pupils dilated, absently singeing armpit stubble with lit end of blunt)
Yeah.
MARK
(momentarily lost in pagan reveries)
Huh?
WARDEN
(also having lost her train of thought)
What do you think of Guiliani banning the Calvin Klein fist-fucking billboards?
MARK
(avoiding politics)
Did you ever look at De Kooning’s Alzheimer paintings on glue?
WARDEN
Now I remember what I was asking you … What kind of sound system do you have? In your room.
MARK
I have a Sherwood RV7050R receiver, a Yamaha CDC-655 CD player, and a pair of Bose speakers.
WARDEN
Which Bose?
MARK
The Acoustimass 5 Series.
WARDEN
Excellent speakers.
MARK
They’re OK … I got them as a gift for acing my Introduction to Recursive Function Theory final. They’re nothing compared to those things, though … (marveling at the suspended Meridians). Those are motherfuckin’ monsters!
CAMERA DOLLIES toward and then CRANES out through window.
VARIOUS ANGLES of honking Canada geese banking in crimson-streaked crepuscular sky over prison.
WARDEN (off-screen)
What are you running from your receiver to your speakers?
MARK (off-screen)
XLO ER-12. Braided construction.
WARDEN (off-screen)
Tinned ends?
MARK (off-screen)
Spade banana pin.
WARDEN (off-screen)
Excellent. What do you clean your CDs with?
MARK (off-screen)
Acoustic Research Fiber-Optic Lapping Slurry. And if they’re really scuzzy, I have a Marantz KR-II CD Gamma Irradiation Deck.
WARDEN (off-screen)
What do you use to dust your components?
MARK (off-screen)
For the CD player, I use Phase Technology Electrostatic Gauze, and for the receiver, a Hitachi BPA-500 Isopropyl-Impregnated Cheesecloth.
WARDEN (off-screen)
How about for your hands?
MARK (off-screen)
Klipsch Chlorhexidine Gluconate Audiophile Scrub.
WARDEN (off-screen)
What do you dry them with?
MARK (off-screen)
I’d always used the Polk Audio NS7 Post-Lavage Moisture Management System, but lately I like the Cambridge Soundworks Egyptian Cotton Pile Matrix X-130 Ablution Residue Stanching Shammy.
WARDEN (off-screen)
The S Series?
MARK (off-screen)
The SE.
WARDEN (off-screen)
That’s a nice towel.
PULL-BACK SHOT—using fiberoptic endoscope—beginning in WARDEN’S STOMACH, moving slowly up esophagus, and emerging from mouth, and then widening into shot of WARDEN and MARK, seated on couch, drinking Meursault-Charmes and smoking blunt.
(If the actress playing the role of the WARDEN finds the experience of having the endoscope passed in through her mouth and down into her stomach too much of an ordeal, an injection of diazepam is recommended to relax her.
(If, despite the diazepam injection, the actress still finds the scope excessively uncomfortable, a stuntwoman may be necessary to accomplish this shot.
(Be very careful when selecting the stuntwoman that the inside of her stomach and esophageal lining resemble the stomach cavity and esophagus of the actress.
(Recently, in the film My Angel’s Bitter Kiss, a stuntwoman was used for a pull-back shot that was to have originated in Michelle Pfeiffer’s duodenum. When the movie was shown to test audiences, it was so obvious that this was not the duodenum of Michelle Pfeiffer that—despite the intended poignancy of the scene—the theater erupted into derisive laughter. The entire sequence had to be hastily reshot at great additional expense.
(If, in the course of the pull-back shot, any polyps are found, they might as well be removed, since you’re in there anyway. Snip or vaporize polyps using the diathermy snare or laser attached to the endoscope head—this is assuming, of course, that the actress or stuntwoman has signed the appropriate SAG release forms.)
WARDEN
So, what’s your room like?
MARK
Pale colors, a good amount of bare floor, and a light and airy treatment at the windows.
When I turned 13, my mom and I decided to completely redo the room because the whole prepubescent Power Ranger/Michael Jordan thing had gotten so stale. And when we sat down and started talking about what we wanted to do, I initially envisioned a cross between the hunting lodge of Prince Augustus of Hanover in Upper Austria and a Level 4 Biohazard Decontamination Chamber. I wanted that mix of virile Bavarian coziness—that kind of very traditional sylvan gemütlichkeit—and a more hyperreal, more cyber-tea-ceremony, more sort of post-plague digital-necropolis feel. But it’s become so much more eclectic than that. I am not a proponent of the monolithic style. I think its just so wrong to try to force one’s naturally mercurial aesthetic temperament into a single procrustean stylistic formula.…
But, gosh, if I had to characterize the room …
I’d say that it’s a living space that, in its restraint, clarity, and openness, is timeless. I’d describe its distinguishing features as superb proportion, wonderful scale, elegant simplicity, and marvelous objects. I’d call it a simple, uncluttered space designed with equal measures of panache and pragmatism for a 13-year-old boy to do the basic things that a 13-year-old boy does—talk on the phone, surf the net, get high, watch TV, listen to music, and masturbate.
I’ve done the walls in Benjamin Moore Super White and on one I’ve hung lengths of sheer muslin from a row of small hooks a few inches below the ceiling. But a white room must be anchored by something dark, or it just floats away. So that’s what motivated my large pieces. I’ve got a cherry veneer queen sleigh bed with a waffle-weave duvet cover, I’ve got a Shaker-style entertainment armoire, and I’ve updated two Directoire armchairs with ecru-and-black leaf-print cotton slipcovers. Those are the pieces that give the room what I call ballast.
Then, of course, I have a stainless steel rack of leather motorcross trousers.
And I have a steel-and-glass vitrine for my objets d’art.
WARDEN
What kind of objets d’art do you have?
MARK
I have some pretty cool stuff that my dad brought me.
I have a scrimshaw engraving tool from Nantucket. I have a Ming Dynasty jade angel-dust urn, a Kangxi-period porcelain angel-dust ladle, and a 17th-century English sterling-silver and hobnail cut-glass angel-dust flacon. I have a foot-long lozenge-shaped piece of vitrified Ukrainian radioactive military waste. And I have a defused Italian Valmara-69 antipersonnel fragmentation mine and a Russian PFM-1 “butterfly” mine, which I was going to write a story about once, but never got around to—which is kind of typical of me.…
WARDEN
A story about a mine?
MARK
Uh-huh. In Mrs. Zimmer’s English class we read a story by Nathaniel Hawthorne called “The Artist of the Beautiful,” which takes place in New England in, like, the 1830s, and it’s about this guy Owen Warland who’s this wimpy genius who’s supposed to be a watchmaker but spends all his time working on this beautiful, intricate mechanical butterfly, and he’s in love with a woman by the name of Annie Hovenden who’s not really in love with him because I think she figures he’s too wimpy and quixotic and he’ll never amount to much career-wise, and she ends up marrying this stupid albeit totally buff blacksmith named Robert Danforth and they have a kid, and at the end of the story the kid accidentally crushes the mechanical butterfly.
Do you get what it means?
WARDEN
I’m not quite sure.
MARK
It’s basically about how artists are too delicate to exist in a world where the ability to earn a living and having a good body are considered, like, the most important things. So, y’know what butterfly mines are?
WARDEN
Nope.
MARK
They’re antipersonnel mines, but they’re released from helicopters and they have little wings that enable them to glide to the ground. The Soviets dropped a ton of them on Afghanistan. They explode when cumulative pressure is applied to the wings.
So I had this idea to do a remake of “The Artist of the Beautiful” where, instead of just making this exquisite mechanical butterfly, Owen Warland makes one of these PFM-1 butterfly mines, and at the end when the kid starts playing with it, his father takes it away from him and, not being the brightest guy in the world, he starts pulling on its wings and it explodes and blows his hands off, and Annie, who’s nothing if not pragmatic, realizes that Danforth’s blacksmithing days are over and she finally acknowledges that maybe Owen has a future after all—apparently as a munitions expert—and leaves her maimed husband for the Artist of the Beautiful, and they live, like, happily ever after.