Notable Films
GLEN LUCHFORD / ALESSANDRO MICHELE
Beautiful short film directed by Glen Luchford which follows a guest into a dance party in a villa outside Florence. The film captures the contemporary essence of Alessandro Michele’s Cruise 2016 Collection.
And a version of Joy Division’s “She Lost Control” by Greek Minimal Wave band Alive She Died.
When all else fails, dance.
∞
Ishtarmani
REMINGTON GRAVES
The matriarch was ushered in by a band of utter morons, as usual. The domicile, which she so humbly decided to speak, was a desirous locale centered amongst the beleaguered and the bourgeoisie, dull as exposed brick and banal the likes of exfoliating femmes. Disparagingly, she delved into the drivel that so often fed the daunting droves; initiating a dissonant dissent among the natives was her sole and indomitable approach—Valentino and Balenciaga—sparkling diamonds and that constant slow motion laugh, in rare form, like usual.
”Madame, madame, over here!”
”Yes, you,” she hissed slowly while adjusting her left earring, “what is it?”
”How do you feel about being with us once again here in New York?”
”The stench is pungent and the people hardly interest me enough to make me sick.”
”Countess, Countess…”
”Yes, you, the peasant with the atrociously thin eyebrows.”
”Will we say you at any of the upcoming balls this year?”
”One can hope and pray—so, you may want to get on your knees—the sooner, the better.”
”Your Majesty…”
”You, young lady with the electronic device disgustingly attached to your hand.”
”Will you ever create a social media account for all your adoring fans?”
”When pigs fly. Keep an eye on your children—they may grow wings.”
”Madame Ishtar, over here, I worship the ground you walk on!”
”Of course you do! What is your question? And don’t waste my time and squander your greatest moment with mediocrity, young man.”
”Will you ever marry?”
”Finally, a relevant question. I have found a worthy husband after so many decades. I am aware you have pleaded for such a union…well, dream no longer, I shall introduce him here today.”
The crowd approached a little closer. The smell of steaming designer wear filled the room. The sound of high heels scraped and coupled with flashing bulbs and cameras clicking and people showing and grunting and crying out the name,” Ishtar…Ishtar…Ishtar…”
The Countess caressed her clavicle with thin pale fingers as she lost her self for a short moment staring at the glorious chandelier that appeared to be slightly spinning. Her right foot almost gave out from excitement and then she cried, “Yeshua, bring out the groom-to-be, will you, darling?”
And so the bloated, bearded man disappeared to the side of the stage for a few moments while the Madame demanded silence. Gasps and small shrieks filled the room as he returned with a lion on a chain—his collar encrusted with diamonds of all sizes. The beautiful beast gently pawed his way to her and rested at her feet.
The Madame extended her long arms arrayed in long silk pearl-white gloves and said, “I present you: Togar!”
∞
And The Birds Sang Beautifully
REMINGTON GRAVES
“Look at me. Don’t look away…there…see this…in my eyes…do you recognize it?”
”I don’t—please just let me go, I don’t know you. I don’t know why you’re doing this. Will you please just let me go, please? I swear to you on everything I hold sacred, I won’t tell anyone. I promise!” She blubbered through mucus and trailing tears. Her red hair clung to her sweaty face and to the corner of her quivering soft-pink lips.
”You have seen me in the waves of a wandering Wednesday evening, in between the swaying leaves while birds sung a sullen song, as rays from the sun caressed your scarlet crown as you walked gracefully on by. The tree’s limbs bent painfully to touch you, and you unknowingly threw off the obeisance with a shrug.”
”Will you please explain to me what I did to you,” she whispered as her head hung heavy, “and I promise I can…I can…fix it.” Her arms pulled up with dirty rope, her white freckled fingers crossed each other in a thorny nest. The pastel-yellow summer dress her grandmother had given her was now torn and soiled and draped about her like a giant autumn leaf.
“I want you to do exactly what you’re doing now. It pleases me to watch you surrender as your bare, pale feet cannot sustain you any longer,” he said focusing his gaze on her slender ankles and seeing his mother’s face on a small birthmark ,he smiled warmly.
”I don’t understand why I am here. What is this place?”
”An abondoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Nobody travels out this far. Not a single person can hear you howl in that dress…no one cares about your better angles…or see your stylish eyebrows…,” he uttered in a thick, soft baritone as he slipped one hand into a latex glove and then the other, “and I can proudly tell you, this moment will not be photographed.”
A horse neighed on in the distance as its hooves delved in the dusty nightmare…and the wind whined and cut through the crops…cicadas suddenly symphonied…an owl hooted then painfully screeched…in the midst of the swelling cacophonous pandemonium, she finally constructed a world within that musical composition where a spinning sun caressed her hair…where hulking trees waved their arms and reached to cover her…where Wednesday lasted forever, and the birds sang beautifully.
She had to.
∞
Again And Again
REMINGTON GRAVES
Rising
Monks that chanted clung to bells that firmly standeth
With such clamor, forced with swinging, and a ringing no longer cometh dreams of angels singing
So the hissing sickle to the wheat and the servants that did plead
A harvest that was promised now a hallmark mephitic an alarmed
Signifying the delusion of mass conformity’s inclusion
And with a pair of eyes upon that old unquestioned effigy, I sat at the corner of cathedrals planted and blurring into perigee
Falling
Beneath the beaten path of stamped hooves above the dirt and grass, your days are like years and my years your days—the drying mud the roof of graves
To delay the drapery of the mantle, the maiden in her crimson garb did handle such trembling hands as sunbeams kissed her broken fingers
Inside the fortress where thine Superman lay dead, in a tomb, a cold deep abyss never ending with its rearing head
Beheld the dawn galloped through the foggy wall, and so the voices that once kept you and rendered you at all, supposed a treatise begging for you once for all
Pulling Up
The son would not die, despite the three day bite of the cold breath of winter, and the father had sent three kings to ensure the success of life but with a sigh
And so I set out and descended aback the beast—my downward spiral, holding firmly eyes wide open, clenching teeth as blood did pour
At the bottom I beheld him and I leaped for knew I must
I did trust my desperation as I heard my body aching with a dying and a crying never more
My hands clamped about his neck and gasped and grunted with much begging he did plead and although there were no thirty pounds of silver, I would do it again and again
For Free
∞