"Creeps I Know" at the Digging Pitt.
Digging Pitt Too Gallery (45th and Plummer Streets in Lawrenceville) is inviting everyone to a storytelling session this saturday at 4PM. It's a good chance to stop in and see the work of McClung, Gonzalez and Sarver- if you haven't yet had the chance. It's also a fine opportunity to share (or listen to) some stories about creeps. I'm certain that each and every one of you could spin a fine yarn about someone or other that has given you a case of the "creepin' willies". Now's your chance to malign them in public!*
As for me, I hope to be there. Of course I will be taking some risks by attending. I'm certain to know some of the people there, and its likely my name would come up in their stories. But because I am proud of who I am, I will stand tall and... never mind. Anyway, I know that it is physically impossible for many to be there, so I thought I'd share some thoughts here:
The given topic opens up a world of possibilities. Perhaps like attracts like, for I have been swarmed by creeps throughout my life. I had an ex-girlfriend that loved LSD because she enjoyed the feeling derived from the ingestion of strychnine. She was a cold fish. Then there was the greenhouse owner who never bathed, and whose miasmic reverberations lingered for minutes after her every passing. She smelled of a hearty mix of fecal matter, b.o., vomit, and dirt... and was rumored to have a bird's nest in her hair. There was the middle-aged woman who allowed her two full-sized rottweillers to attack me on my exit from her store... and then visited me when I got out of the hospital to plead for mercy for her dogs. While we are on the subject, there's the guy I know that rubbed peanut butter on his genitals and solicited our mutual friend's dog to clean him up. And of course we could mention every member of the current presidential administration. But that's too easy.
The creep I have chosen to focus on is much more insidious. When I first met him, he seemed like an alright guy. B. was an ex-marine in his late twenties who was attending the art institute for film. Though he had some abilities in cinematography and editing, he was a terrible screenwriter. My friend J. made an introduction, and I came on to help tweak the script. He had in mind a horror/thriller short, and he intended to shoot parts of it at the abandoned Dixmont Asylum out on route 65. I had wanted to explore those ruins for a couple of years, and this seemed like a good opportunity. Besides, I was marginally employed.
The plot itself should have raised a red flag. The story revolved around an aspiring artist who found his inspiration in the kidnapping, sexual assault and murder of young women. My friend J. was to play the lead, and B. seemed almost obsessive in his direction of the role. The dialogue was terrible, but the more I got to know B., the more it seemd true to his personality. Some people just lack adaptive social sklls. Although extraordinarily polite, B.'s manner was wooden with little warmth. This fact was inreasingly in evidence as B. latched on to us, and insisted we take him to our regular haunts so he could meet women. Invariably, he would order a few shots of whiskey and begin a malicious stream of invective directed at his ex-girlfriend. Sure, it was a night out with the guys... but he often got so extreme and obsessive, that we would slip out of the bar whenever he went to the bathroom. But in his inebriation he wouldn't take the hint, and in his hungover sobriety he wouldn't remember our abandonment of him. This went on for several weeks as we worked on the movie.
We shot scenes of the lead character drugging and subduing women. We showed him tying them up and subjecting them to physical and mental torture... and creatively disposing their bodies. If you subtracted the ridiculous dialogue, the events didn't strain credibility. It was all very well thought out. For the most part, when B. was working on the film he was too preoccupied to act out. Call it sublimation. Through this period, we did our best to help him make his film, and avoided him otherwise.
By the time the shooting was concluded, our resistance to socializing with B. had mellowed... we had let our guard down. I invited B. to a party at my house. Throughout the night he imbibed sangria, and began to get belligerent. He started making lewd comments to the female guests. He was demonstrating no recognition of personal space. Finally he made the mistake of grabbing J.'s girlfriend's breast, and was taken down swiftly (J. is a very big boy). Meanwhile the buddy that B. had brought to the party was heaving a spew of sangria-tinged puke all over the bathroom walls. B. eventually slinked away and, a few days after the fact, tried to apologize for his misbehavior. We were pretty much done with him by this point.
A short time after our last experience with B., we heard a story about him through the grapevine. Evidently he had been out with someone we knew, and B. had gotten drunk and made incriminating comments about himself. He had told our friend that he keeps a bottle of chloroform in his bathroom cabinet for "special dates". Soon after this revelation, B. disappeared, never to be seen again. He was not missed.
* My lawyer advises me not to encourage the use of any proper names. Truth is a defense against slander, but good luck...
As for me, I hope to be there. Of course I will be taking some risks by attending. I'm certain to know some of the people there, and its likely my name would come up in their stories. But because I am proud of who I am, I will stand tall and... never mind. Anyway, I know that it is physically impossible for many to be there, so I thought I'd share some thoughts here:
The given topic opens up a world of possibilities. Perhaps like attracts like, for I have been swarmed by creeps throughout my life. I had an ex-girlfriend that loved LSD because she enjoyed the feeling derived from the ingestion of strychnine. She was a cold fish. Then there was the greenhouse owner who never bathed, and whose miasmic reverberations lingered for minutes after her every passing. She smelled of a hearty mix of fecal matter, b.o., vomit, and dirt... and was rumored to have a bird's nest in her hair. There was the middle-aged woman who allowed her two full-sized rottweillers to attack me on my exit from her store... and then visited me when I got out of the hospital to plead for mercy for her dogs. While we are on the subject, there's the guy I know that rubbed peanut butter on his genitals and solicited our mutual friend's dog to clean him up. And of course we could mention every member of the current presidential administration. But that's too easy.
The creep I have chosen to focus on is much more insidious. When I first met him, he seemed like an alright guy. B. was an ex-marine in his late twenties who was attending the art institute for film. Though he had some abilities in cinematography and editing, he was a terrible screenwriter. My friend J. made an introduction, and I came on to help tweak the script. He had in mind a horror/thriller short, and he intended to shoot parts of it at the abandoned Dixmont Asylum out on route 65. I had wanted to explore those ruins for a couple of years, and this seemed like a good opportunity. Besides, I was marginally employed.
The plot itself should have raised a red flag. The story revolved around an aspiring artist who found his inspiration in the kidnapping, sexual assault and murder of young women. My friend J. was to play the lead, and B. seemed almost obsessive in his direction of the role. The dialogue was terrible, but the more I got to know B., the more it seemd true to his personality. Some people just lack adaptive social sklls. Although extraordinarily polite, B.'s manner was wooden with little warmth. This fact was inreasingly in evidence as B. latched on to us, and insisted we take him to our regular haunts so he could meet women. Invariably, he would order a few shots of whiskey and begin a malicious stream of invective directed at his ex-girlfriend. Sure, it was a night out with the guys... but he often got so extreme and obsessive, that we would slip out of the bar whenever he went to the bathroom. But in his inebriation he wouldn't take the hint, and in his hungover sobriety he wouldn't remember our abandonment of him. This went on for several weeks as we worked on the movie.
We shot scenes of the lead character drugging and subduing women. We showed him tying them up and subjecting them to physical and mental torture... and creatively disposing their bodies. If you subtracted the ridiculous dialogue, the events didn't strain credibility. It was all very well thought out. For the most part, when B. was working on the film he was too preoccupied to act out. Call it sublimation. Through this period, we did our best to help him make his film, and avoided him otherwise.
By the time the shooting was concluded, our resistance to socializing with B. had mellowed... we had let our guard down. I invited B. to a party at my house. Throughout the night he imbibed sangria, and began to get belligerent. He started making lewd comments to the female guests. He was demonstrating no recognition of personal space. Finally he made the mistake of grabbing J.'s girlfriend's breast, and was taken down swiftly (J. is a very big boy). Meanwhile the buddy that B. had brought to the party was heaving a spew of sangria-tinged puke all over the bathroom walls. B. eventually slinked away and, a few days after the fact, tried to apologize for his misbehavior. We were pretty much done with him by this point.
A short time after our last experience with B., we heard a story about him through the grapevine. Evidently he had been out with someone we knew, and B. had gotten drunk and made incriminating comments about himself. He had told our friend that he keeps a bottle of chloroform in his bathroom cabinet for "special dates". Soon after this revelation, B. disappeared, never to be seen again. He was not missed.
* My lawyer advises me not to encourage the use of any proper names. Truth is a defense against slander, but good luck...
posted by Merge Divide at 5:18 PM
2 Comments:
Oh my god!
bbbbrrrrrr
Cartersville,
Thanks for the kind comments. Stop by again.
Post a Comment
<< Home