Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Making the Villain Fist

The Invisible Man,
Dr. Doom and countless aspiring conquerors drawn by Ditko and Kirby,
Darth Vader,
crushing the cosmos in a fearsome gloved or gauntleted hand,
compacting Reality down into an ultra-dense chess piece,
it's a thing these people do, you know?

Saturday, October 31, 2015

Every Day Is Halloween 2

Every Day Is Halloween 2
by William D. Tucker 

Sequel
slash the budget
dump it in some film school grad's lap
command and control functions stay with the producer

Maximize marketing budget
optimize gore
optimize tits
optimize confusing, pseudo-arty shaky-cam bullshit
optimize shouting
optimize piss' n'shit grim'n'gritty color palette
optimize bogus "true story" websites

Economize talent
shoot in an anti-union right-to-work state
hire actors with low Q-ratings
for low pay
work them like pack animals

Strangely,
there's always money for 3-D post-conversion

If it's a hit,
crank out another one,
same formula

If it bombs,
write it down,
dodge some taxes

It isn't art,
nor is it truly entertainment,
but it's a healthy living
for the New Era Corporate Citizen.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Broccoli Gears

Broccoli gears
imagine giant gears
like you see in the obligatory clock tower stage
in one of those Castlevania games
teeth rotating into each other's gaps
mecha-comrades playing kissy-face
or something more X-rated.
I leave it to your imagination.
Now picture those giant gears
replaced by big, bulbous broccoli heads
florets grinding scandalously
into one another's intimate gaps . . .
. . . broccoli gears . . .

Friday, June 26, 2015

Saturday, May 23, 2015

Scribble with extreme care


Sometimes if you make a palimpsest out of a page
You call forth an angry demon.
Some of these page spirits are super-uptight, ya'll.
They see it as defacing their home medium.
And I looked at this spectral beast's Facebook profile:
Nothing but American flags, bald eagles,
the usual Benghazi dog whistle bullshit,
and "NIXON'S STILL THE ONE" t-shirts.
But most vile of all,
Beneath all the war-mongering homophobic anti-vaxxer conspiracy theorist armor
Was a vulnerable, needy mini-devil,
Desperately in need of  validation,
Reaching out in its own pathetically reactionary online post-modern identity performance art way-
See?
I'm too much the bleeding heart,
Even with this kind of trash.
Scribble with extreme care.
-Picture/Text by William D. Tucker, April-May 2015

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Parking Lot Labyrinth


Walk it twenty-three times
Before entering the sacred shopping place
And all the discounts shall be yours.

Friday, May 15, 2015

An agent from that Samsara routine of old


I saw you crossing the street, comrade,
But you knew it was too late.
I put my hand on your shoulder,
And  we pretend that everything is brotherly love,
Worthy nostalgia,
Not the truth,
Better than the truth!

But these are the necessary fibs
That separate our current gut-over-the-belt selves
From those lean selves,
Those nasty selves,
Those earlier versions of us
That moved through life like a pair of human-sized razor blades,
Cutting through every sacred bond of law, compassion, mercy.

I smile
Because as we lie to each other
I know you got my past
And you know I got your past
all marked down, graded, assessed, ready to use against you, use against me,
 Moment's notice.


I'm that bastard,
but you're that bastard, too!
From out of the past
Who's coming to drag you back to the Wendy's salad bar,
the coin-op arcade,
the small steel room full up with the whimpering entreaties
of broken, righteous people,
leaned on so hard
'til they believe what we believe,

kicking in doors, smashing in windows,
lighting fires where we shouldn't.
You know:
the bad good old days.
Nothing that glorious
Could possibly be good for you, right?

How 'bout all those phone conversations that we weren't supposed to hear,
Even though that's what we were tasked with by the machine upstairs?
How much silliness did we glean
From all those people's emails?

And that throwback arcade gamepad at-a-distance obliteration SHMUP game?
Only played with real ordnance, real neighborhoods, real time?
Killer, comrade, truly godlike killer!
I press this button,
House on the HD monitor transforms into smoking crater.
Call me Zeus,
Call me Slick,
Call me when the check clears.

How 'bout
the tiny steel room with the three bare fluorescent cylinders;
that stretch from midnight to 8:55am
with too many cigarettes, too much hard liquor,
every knuckle shattered one too many times,
a whole lotta people with the wrong ideals disappeared,

inquisitor's nausea
giving way to sense of duty
only returning in high-cryptic dream messages,
too many faces tread upon,
too much loyalty to a cause.

And what lies do you tell to get over on the normal people come morning?
Answer: All of 'em!
Deliver 'em up
Wrapped in a flag,
Excused by relevant bodies of secret law,
Thumpin' a stack of Bibles with another guy's severed fist,
If you must,
Just don't admit to a goddamn thing.
Don't even issue one of those non-denial denial type of deals.

Seriously, comrade:
This is the only truth I'll ever tell you:
Put a stake in me
Before I strike again,
Triggering another round of this tedious, macho Samsara wheel.
-April-May 2015
Text/Scribbles/Photography by William D. Tucker 

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Self-Portrait Goes off the Rails '08


Starring Steven Kell

Some old madness
Intruding into present time frame

Am I Enemy,
Or Detective?

Am I merely another Secret Mastermind squatting in some shadowed corner,
Or just another washed-up Dungeon Master,
Dice all rolled out,
Scattered to dust, further obliterated by B-movie wind machine action?

All we can do is dress sharp
In anticipation of some cinematic showdown or other

Hope we can outdraw the lousy sinister villain
Trailing us through this dumpy dystopia

Words/Photography by William D. Tucker
-May 2015

Friday, May 8, 2015

Overlook



Starring Steven Kell

DV Photography by William D. Tucker

Edited by Steven Kell

More DVCinema R&D . . .

Thursday, May 7, 2015

I miss it, but I don't



Starring Steven Kell

DV Photography by William D. Tucker

Edited by Steven Kell

Yet another by-product of the R&D going into a new cinematic project.

More to come . . .

Friday, May 1, 2015

Enemy Window



Starring Steven Kell

DV Photography by William D. Tucker

Edited by Steven Kell

If you want to X out that window, just drag the arrow to the upper right corner-yeah, right there, that's it, my friend! No need to break out the weapons and all of that . . .

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Fear and Stumbling




Starring Steven Kell

DV Photography by William D. Tucker

Edited by Steven Kell


Kierkegaard weeps. Then spins. And then it's okay. Daily exercise alleviates stress don't ya' know!

Monday, March 9, 2015

The Pearlies of Great Price, or, The Belligerent Dialectic of Plastic and Wood


What boss fight music shall be sufficient to underscore this duel to the death? 


Many themes pass through inanimate minds.


If they could have been friends, they would have argued endlessly over the road-trip playlist . . .


But there can be no friendship in this world.


Still, the minds of inanimates are quite strange, and prone to wicked nostalgia and decadent phantasy.


They know their sense of individuality is just an illusion.


They're just tools of the gods' vanity.


Expressions of the divine sense of entitlement.


Teeth perfect. World paved, trashed, and filled with strife eternal.



 Status: Perfect.
The trees fall.
Even the picks are doomed.


Plastic always had the speed and the ambition.




And now it almost regrets victory. 
With no more enemies to oppose it . . . 


. . . what new synthesis can ever be created from the clash of dynamic foes?


This regret . . . not what plastic had anticipated.


And plastic had anticipated everything.


Alone now, a mindless mind, the inanimate confronts its illusory nature.


"I"m just a tool of vanity. Who dreamed itself a king, a terror, a perfect, a someone . . ."



" . . . is this the mental torture of the gods? Do they regret their dominion? Or are they free of all agonies of conscience? I think their cruelty is a testament to their absolute freedom."


The victor thought no more, choosing to let its mind dissipate.
It wanted to take one last look at its fallen foe-comrade,
But this it could not do,
Plastic was in such a rush to mindlessness, to oblivion, to no more.

SKIP CREDIT ROLL. 

-January-March 2015