Homage To Luis Bunuel

[poliphilo]

We have a DVD of Un Chien Andalou out on loan. Late last night I thought I'd watch one of the extras (so I can post the disc back today and feel that I've had my money's worth.) I expected a half hour tit-bit. Turns out it's a feature length biography of Bunuel. So there I am, way past midnight, wishing the great man would hurry up and die.

He was an endearing old cove. A bit of a domestic tyrant (one gathers) but his wife and sons  humoured  him and got on with their own lives behind his back.

When members of his family were late for dinner one evening (he was fanatical about time-keeping) he put the dish of paella on the living room floor and danced on it.

I woke up around four o'clock.  I remembered how Bunuel and Dali had experimented with automatic writing- and thought I'd give it a shot myself. I started stringing words together in my head without pause for thought- and soon went back to sleep.

So here's today's exercise. A slice of automatic writing (or typing.) Ready, steady, go.....

Automatic Script

And if the cat isn't ready for the dousing I propose to give it,  that's too bad, but it will happen anyway. Ho, ho, he said and looked up to the beacon on the hill. Flags were there. Flags of many nations- all fluttering and spluttering in the breeze. They will have trouble getting over the fence, he thought. And then she arrived, swaying and clicking her castanets. He was entranced. The air grew purple round them. Rain fell and the helmets of the conquistadors glittered in the wintry sun.

That'll do. Very Spanish.  Hmmm....

And Once More Because It's Fun

The trees cast long shadows over the deer park and the two sisters lay on the tartan rug and watched how the raindrops clung to the barbed wire fence. Nothing could be worse than this, said Eloise. And nothing could be finer, said Joan. A high cloud obscured the sun. The clowns came prancing by in procession. One of them clashed a huge pair of cymbals. And then came elephants. Tall white elepahants with Howdahs on their backs . And the sisters rolled out of the way to avoid being trampled.

Comments

[besideserato.livejournal.com]

Thank you, dear, it was very sad.

I put him in a little Tiffany's box--it almost matched his plumage--and buried him in the middle of the plumeria grove. We sang (or rather, cried) Hello, Mr. Zebra to him and left him leis of gardenias and hibiscus.

After that, whenever I head that song, I did not refrain from singing at the top of my lungs--like if I scream he will hear me. It's silly. But it feels good. After posting about this, I dug out my Boys for Pele CD and had a go.

And it was such a relief.

Sweet bird. If only I could have told him that four years later, the same boy who broke our hearts asked me to run off with him. He would have had a giggle at that, I know it.

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

I guess your insides must have prettied up over those four years. ;)

[besideserato.livejournal.com]

My insides were always quite comely--it was his fault that he was blind!

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

What he needed was a pair of x-ray specs.

[besideserato.livejournal.com]

[Laughs]