as love crowns you he crucifies you

Squinting his eyes against the setting sun, Jake stubbed his cigarette out against the corrigated metal of the train's roof and stood up. He twisted his torso enough to cause his spine to pop, slung his bolt-action rifle over his shoulder, and keyed in on his two-way radio.

"Sun down in twenty, time to come home."

The radio crackled briefly and its operator spoke up.

"Roger that. How's Spike? Anything?"

Jake looked down at the dog laying next to him. He squatted down and lovingly scratched around the collar on its neck. Spike raised his head slightly and lazily leaned into the boy's affections.

"Negative. But I don't have a good gut about this. Come home straight, don't fuck around."

"Language kid," the radio intoned.

Jake frowned and pressed the tiny red button on the cheap and grunged up radio in his hand. "Just come home. Now." He pleaded.

He hooked the radio into his belt, brushed the sandy blonde hair out of his eye, and shouldered his rifle. Looking through the scope he had a pretty unobstructed view between the railyard and the general store at the end of the road. He swept the rifle from side to side, once quickly, and then once again slowly, looking for movement.

Startled by the loud bang of metal against metal, the young man spun around to face the hatch that was just thrown open by a tomboyish redhead.

"Fuck! Jo, what I tell you about throwing doors open," he admonished her.

"I dunno Jake, what they say about your language?" she shot back, as she pulled herself up onto the roof, and brushed down the hem of her polka-dotted sun dress. She dropped to her knee, suddenly very focused on the undoing of one of her boot laces.

Jake turned back to the direction of the setting son and looked back into the scope. "Remind me again why everyone's on my case about my cursing?" he grumbled.

"Oh, you don't remember how you almost got all of us ran out of New Orleans by the King himself for that expletive laden tirade of yours?"

( Read more... )

I guess today is a good a day as any to make an announcement.

First off, there's a new photo book in the works, in which, if all goes well, I'll actually be collaborating with another photographer. It'll be called "Silent Cities", and there might be one or two of you out there who knows exactly what I'm planning based solely on that. News on that later...

Secondly, I've been toying with the idea of writing up a screen play. It's been bouncing around in my head for quite some time, and it's been mingling with all the useless knowledge I have stored up there. As I work on the various aspects of this project, I'll post more about it, not just to keep interested parties up-to-date, but so that I don't forget some of the little details involved. So between my serious love (and knowledge) of the zombie mythos, and the fact that I spend way too many hours behind the wheel, I present you with the first mention of my next project:

Blackwater, Missouri

"something something zombie hordes"


Anyways, notes have been collected, research has been made, and I'm going to start writing the first draft of the script tonight. Mind you, I don't know shit about writing screen plays, but that's never stopped half the people out there that do it.

Any and all input is appreciated, I'm pretty open to suggestion as to what you would like (and not like) to see in a zombie movie. I've got a series of concepts and outlines for the project, but there's still plenty of gaps that need to be filled in. Really all I have in my head is images and instances. I'm sure once I start writing it out everything will fall together.

The premise of the film really is an exploration of the zombie canon, and at the same time I'd like to challenge the de facto standards, such as character archetypes. I'm also going to try to focus on the town itself, and still keep a social sub-context. I'll probably delve into the concepts of religious mass hysteria, and at the same time try to create a sort of "how to" guide at the same time, without either being too heavy handed.

Expect signs of heavy influence from George Romero and Max Brooks.