Blue
an illustrated novel
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Chapter 4 Leer page1
found lining the highway yesterday morning.
One local official, when asked to comment,
noted that the number of dead cats--four--
matched exactly the number of shopping days left until Christmas.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Chapter 4 Leer: Foreword
To say that Blue owes everything to John Tanner when it comes to the creation of "Leer" would be an overstatement but as a witness to much of the discussion regarding the creative process for the graphic novel, I have been asked to share my perspective. Blue, John and I were sitting around Blue's studio one hot summer night. I had just pounded my eighth St. Pauli Girl in a row after we all polished off a whole Bar-B-Qued chicken each and John was nursing his second. Blue never drank, as I recall, and it is for that reason that I was stunned that he asked me to write this foreword. Regardless, I was sufficiently impressed with the conversation of that evening to have managed to allocate a reasonable chunk of permanent memory to it.
Blue had, to that point in time, never struck me as the comic book illustrator type. I will admit that I have no idea what that type is, I just didn't think Blue was it. I mean, he was such an "artist" type artist. He always talked about Rauschenberg and Johns, Jim Dine and Kurt Schwitters, Duchamp, Dali and of course Pablo. Blue loved to call him Pablo because everyone else called him Picasso and Blue hardly did anything like everyone else. So when he stood up and looked John directly in the eye and said, "I need your help", I couldn't believe it. Blue never asked for help with anything. I knew this was going to be something unusual for Blue. He told John that he wanted to write a comic book, as he put it,"More correctly, I want you to write it so I can focus on the artwork." John became immediately excited by the proposition. He leaped into an interview about plot, characterization, setting, tone, genre, the works. Blue had very little to say about any of that. He said,"John, I just said, I don't want to write the comic book, I want to illustrate it."
I could not imagine a more dynamic duo to create a comic book than Blue and John. Both men are talented beyond their disciplines yet work tirelessly and respectfully within them. However, neither one is encumbered by dogmatic constraints.
The first few months of work were exhilarating to witness. At first, Blue handed John completely finished pages full of unusual and provocative imagery. The concept being that Blue would create a storyless piece and John would fill in the story. The work was spectacular. The imagery was bizarre and unpredictable and the stories were sheer poetry. Unfortunately, none of it held together at all. I told them that they should scrap the comic book idea and make a coffee table manuscript or collection out of the art and poetry but neither would have it. Both men were committed to the idea that they were going to be like Miller and Moore, bringing something different, something new to comics, while recognizing the greatness of heroes like Stan Lee. So they changed their approach. John decided to take a few weeks to write, no meetings, no discussions and no ideas from Blue.
I was in the room when John delivered the first twelve pages of "Leer" to Blue. I can still remember the expressions on his face as he read all the way through the pages, three times. Blue's expressions changed from anticipation, to laughter to intense agreement and approval but in the end his face displayed nothing but awe and admiration for the words that John had bestowed upon him. The same admiration and respect was written on John's face just one week later when Blue uncovered the first of the drawings for the comic book. This awe swap continued for months until Blue announced that he was going to submit the work to a variety of publishers. John wanted to have more written but Blue felt that it was important to get a reaction before they spent too much time barking up the wrong tree. Blue confessed to me later that he probably should have aimed a bit lower with his first comic book rather than make a dozen submissions to the largest, most well established, most influential and least interested publishers he could find. I probably don't have to mention any names here, so I won't but the point that I must make is that Blue and John were turned down cold. The standard response was. "Thank you for your submission to..., However, we do not accept unsolicited manuscripts for publication." The response that kept Blue going, gave him hope and doubled his workload was in addition to the line above, one publisher added this..."The manuscript you have submitted is not in the proper format for production..."
"That's what we're doing wrong!", Blue beamed to John as he laid the rejections out in front of him."All I have to do is redraw all of the drawings in the proper format!" This is the kind of guy that Blue is. He had just spent months working on the most incredible drawings, real works of art, for the book, and he was ready to redo every single one of them. John suggested that Blue try different publishers with the same drawings but Blue didn't want to risk that "Leer" might go unpublished just because he didn't do the drawings in the format he should. So Blue did the drawings over again, in the proper format. John continued writing and in the process discovered that the comic book "Leer" was going to have to be a graphic novel. John simply had too much to say about Leer, Edgar Van and Mona for one comic issue or even three for that matter. Blue had several sketches created for the new pages and, in fact, had more than the original set completed, in proper format, when the inevitable happened. Life.Blue's girl dumped him and John had a Doctoral thesis to write. Blue left town to avoid the heartache of daily visual reminders and John went on to teach something other than writing.
Now, twenty-some years later, Blue has begun to put the pieces back together again and plans to finish "Leer" himself. I have been asked to keep him company on this literary and artistic journey and I hope that you will too. So without further adieu, ladies and gentlemen, I give you "Leer"
Foreword by Barry McMahon
Owner/Artist - DeeperArts, Creators of SymTell
Blue had, to that point in time, never struck me as the comic book illustrator type. I will admit that I have no idea what that type is, I just didn't think Blue was it. I mean, he was such an "artist" type artist. He always talked about Rauschenberg and Johns, Jim Dine and Kurt Schwitters, Duchamp, Dali and of course Pablo. Blue loved to call him Pablo because everyone else called him Picasso and Blue hardly did anything like everyone else. So when he stood up and looked John directly in the eye and said, "I need your help", I couldn't believe it. Blue never asked for help with anything. I knew this was going to be something unusual for Blue. He told John that he wanted to write a comic book, as he put it,"More correctly, I want you to write it so I can focus on the artwork." John became immediately excited by the proposition. He leaped into an interview about plot, characterization, setting, tone, genre, the works. Blue had very little to say about any of that. He said,"John, I just said, I don't want to write the comic book, I want to illustrate it."
I could not imagine a more dynamic duo to create a comic book than Blue and John. Both men are talented beyond their disciplines yet work tirelessly and respectfully within them. However, neither one is encumbered by dogmatic constraints.
The first few months of work were exhilarating to witness. At first, Blue handed John completely finished pages full of unusual and provocative imagery. The concept being that Blue would create a storyless piece and John would fill in the story. The work was spectacular. The imagery was bizarre and unpredictable and the stories were sheer poetry. Unfortunately, none of it held together at all. I told them that they should scrap the comic book idea and make a coffee table manuscript or collection out of the art and poetry but neither would have it. Both men were committed to the idea that they were going to be like Miller and Moore, bringing something different, something new to comics, while recognizing the greatness of heroes like Stan Lee. So they changed their approach. John decided to take a few weeks to write, no meetings, no discussions and no ideas from Blue.
I was in the room when John delivered the first twelve pages of "Leer" to Blue. I can still remember the expressions on his face as he read all the way through the pages, three times. Blue's expressions changed from anticipation, to laughter to intense agreement and approval but in the end his face displayed nothing but awe and admiration for the words that John had bestowed upon him. The same admiration and respect was written on John's face just one week later when Blue uncovered the first of the drawings for the comic book. This awe swap continued for months until Blue announced that he was going to submit the work to a variety of publishers. John wanted to have more written but Blue felt that it was important to get a reaction before they spent too much time barking up the wrong tree. Blue confessed to me later that he probably should have aimed a bit lower with his first comic book rather than make a dozen submissions to the largest, most well established, most influential and least interested publishers he could find. I probably don't have to mention any names here, so I won't but the point that I must make is that Blue and John were turned down cold. The standard response was. "Thank you for your submission to..., However, we do not accept unsolicited manuscripts for publication." The response that kept Blue going, gave him hope and doubled his workload was in addition to the line above, one publisher added this..."The manuscript you have submitted is not in the proper format for production..."
"That's what we're doing wrong!", Blue beamed to John as he laid the rejections out in front of him."All I have to do is redraw all of the drawings in the proper format!" This is the kind of guy that Blue is. He had just spent months working on the most incredible drawings, real works of art, for the book, and he was ready to redo every single one of them. John suggested that Blue try different publishers with the same drawings but Blue didn't want to risk that "Leer" might go unpublished just because he didn't do the drawings in the format he should. So Blue did the drawings over again, in the proper format. John continued writing and in the process discovered that the comic book "Leer" was going to have to be a graphic novel. John simply had too much to say about Leer, Edgar Van and Mona for one comic issue or even three for that matter. Blue had several sketches created for the new pages and, in fact, had more than the original set completed, in proper format, when the inevitable happened. Life.Blue's girl dumped him and John had a Doctoral thesis to write. Blue left town to avoid the heartache of daily visual reminders and John went on to teach something other than writing.
Now, twenty-some years later, Blue has begun to put the pieces back together again and plans to finish "Leer" himself. I have been asked to keep him company on this literary and artistic journey and I hope that you will too. So without further adieu, ladies and gentlemen, I give you "Leer"
Foreword by Barry McMahon
Owner/Artist - DeeperArts, Creators of SymTell
Friday, June 25, 2010
Chapter 3, Odd Jobs (cont) 3
Blue wondered about that flower daily for the next couple of weeks. He was sure it meant that what seemed like a horrible nightmare had actually happened which threw his mind into a spin about the reality of Glurp, Walter and Mr.Nut but he had no intention of taking a trip down "Nightmare Memory Lane." It did make him consider however that there was more to his reality than met the eye, particularly the wakeful eye. The painting, "Defending Champ" did for Blue what the works that dealt with Glurp, Walter and Mr. Nut had done earlier in his life. It relieved his mind, made him feel better about his nightmares and eased his fears. Drawing and painting in general was very therapeutic for Blue and he remained active artistically despite a reluctance to submit his work to galleries for consideration. He had a hard time with the whole process of the "art world" and the steps he would have to go through to display his work, sign with an agent or gallery or both, in his mind "package himself for sale".
Instead he came up with a brilliant idea. He would create artwork where he could be entirely expressive, creative and distinctive, unchained to any one style, free to explore his own unique vision AND be able to sell his work for lots of money, gain adoring fans and live in luxury. Blue decided to illustrate comic books.
Before Blue came to the realization that this idea of his was seriously flawed on a variety of levels, while he was fully enthusiastic, hopeful and committed, he managed to convince his friend, John Tanner, to write the story. The two of them worked tirelessly, generating ideas, sketching out concepts, developing characters and trying different artistic approaches. Ultimately, they created "Leer". The comic grew from a single issue to a graphic novel, or at least it was supposed to, it just never did. However, nothing worth doing should ever be left undone.
"So after over twenty years I'm going to finish "Leer"," Blue said to himself as he stepped among the pages he penned so long ago. "I have to find them all but where on Earth did I put them?" he asked himself as he dumped out boxes of notebooks, sketchpads, receipts, bills, unpaid traffic violations, unopened wedding and graduation invitations, REAL comic books and pornography.
Pornography? "where the hell did that come from", Blue inquired of his own memory because it was true. Blue never did buy any pornography. It wasn't because he didn't like to look at naked women. He really liked looking at naked women, actually, and that's what he spent the next twenty minutes doing, thoroughly forgetting about the fact that he was trying to organize all of the "Leer" drawings into one place. After he finally got finished jerking himself around and got back down to re-establishing his priorities, Blue finally found the original "cover" image for "Leer".
Instead he came up with a brilliant idea. He would create artwork where he could be entirely expressive, creative and distinctive, unchained to any one style, free to explore his own unique vision AND be able to sell his work for lots of money, gain adoring fans and live in luxury. Blue decided to illustrate comic books.
Before Blue came to the realization that this idea of his was seriously flawed on a variety of levels, while he was fully enthusiastic, hopeful and committed, he managed to convince his friend, John Tanner, to write the story. The two of them worked tirelessly, generating ideas, sketching out concepts, developing characters and trying different artistic approaches. Ultimately, they created "Leer". The comic grew from a single issue to a graphic novel, or at least it was supposed to, it just never did. However, nothing worth doing should ever be left undone.
"So after over twenty years I'm going to finish "Leer"," Blue said to himself as he stepped among the pages he penned so long ago. "I have to find them all but where on Earth did I put them?" he asked himself as he dumped out boxes of notebooks, sketchpads, receipts, bills, unpaid traffic violations, unopened wedding and graduation invitations, REAL comic books and pornography.
Pornography? "where the hell did that come from", Blue inquired of his own memory because it was true. Blue never did buy any pornography. It wasn't because he didn't like to look at naked women. He really liked looking at naked women, actually, and that's what he spent the next twenty minutes doing, thoroughly forgetting about the fact that he was trying to organize all of the "Leer" drawings into one place. After he finally got finished jerking himself around and got back down to re-establishing his priorities, Blue finally found the original "cover" image for "Leer".
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Chapter 3, Odd Jobs (cont) 2
Suddenly, Blue is startled. He sits up and looks around, quickly trying to understand what all of the commotion is about. Soldiers are storming past him on both sides. As quickly as they arrived, they are gone. All except one, he appears to be someone of rank and importance although Blue, never concerning himself with military issues other than to abhor them, is impotent to recognize the rank and therefor suitably unimpressed. The officer, whose skin is pale and translucent, points toward the open field and orders Blue to join the ranks of the soldiers or get out. Blue finally adjusts to being awakened enough to actually see what is happening around him. The soldiers have fallen into rank in the distant field. A young girl is innocently tossing a beach ball up and down only a few yards away while just beyond her, Champ is quietly surveying the troops. Blue notices some tanks lined up in the field, their cannons trained on the peaceful Champ. "What on Earth are you doing here?", Blue demands, his sense of urgency and outrage immediately apparent to the officer. "I am here to kill that", the officer responds,"and I suggest you run along, little man, before you get yourself caught in the tussle." The officer then turns toward the girl and says, "come along Cynthia, daddy is going to kill the nasty beastie now." The girl stops throwing the ball, "I want my lollie now", she responds, "you told me I could have a lolly, remember?" She continues, singing the last syllable,"and I want to go back to the beach," she finishes as she kicks the beach ball directly at her father. He catches it and says,"of course, my little darling," and pulling a rather large lollipop from a pocket which didn't seem to exist seconds earlier, hands it to the little brat saying,"and we'll be back to the beach in no time, just as soon as I eliminate this," he pauses to find just the right word,"thing!"
"You can't do that!" Blue shouts.
"I can, little man. Now shut up and get out of my way or I'll have you thrown in prison." The officer ordered.
Blue realized he was going to get nowhere with the soldier, so he ran up onto a large boulder right next to Champ and tried to get the "monster's" attention. "Champ, Champ! Hey Champ, you have to listen to me, they are going to kill you!", Blue yelled. Champ simply turned his head and gently nuzzled his forehead into Blue's chest. "NO!" Blue added in earnest, "You don't get it, you have to run away, they are going to kill you!" Blue reached out to Champ but the monster just rolled over like a puppy wanting to play, his belly to the open sky and sunshine overhead. Blue jumped down from the rock, waving his arms to the soldiers and yelling, "Don't shoot, DON"T SHOOT, can't you see he's harmless?", as he ran up to Champ and hugged his massive neck, just under his smiling chin. Blue was fairly certain that Champ was smiling, and this made his plight seem even more urgent, ridiculous and morally charged. "You can't kill my friend!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.
At that moment, all guns opened fire on Blue and Champ. Blue felt his chest burst open just before he saw a large missile of some sort detonate as it struck Champ in the belly. Blue and Champ were terminated instantly. Blue's head fell directly next to Champs large eye which looked at him lifelessly as Blues vision went blank.
A second later, Blue woke up. He was lying on the beach. He felt as though someone had just stroked his cheek. He slowly opened his eyes. Startled, he sat upright. Champ was looking down at him, his large nostrils, directly over Blue's head. Blue didn't know what to do. He was so relieved that he wanted to hug Champ but he couldn't be sure what had happened. He wondered if this was really the first time he was actually seeing the monster or if in fact it was happening at all. He patted Champ on what he thought must be the nose and smiled. Blue began talking to Champ. He told him everything that had just happened and the monster just stayed right there and listened. "I can't believe you're alive," Blue whispered,"I can't believe I'm alive." He hugged Champ as best he could. It was more like laying up against Champs head, with feeling. "I want you to go back into the water," he told Champ,"please?" he reconsidered. "I think that something bad will happen to you if you don't,"he added. Champ raised his head from the beach slowly. He tucked his forehead into Blue's chest and turned away gently as if saying goodbye to an old friend. Blue sat on the beach and watched as Champ moved slowly back into Lake Champlain. He watched Champ swim for awhile until, finally, the monster who was his friend dove under the water and did not come back up. Blue's head was resting on his own forearm, his body stretched out on the sand facing the lake. The breeze across the water was cool and soothing. Blue again returned to sleep.
"Nurse! I'm gonna need some coffee in here, STAT!" Blue heard from above. He opened his eyes to see JW leaning over his face with bedhead and a mischievous grin. "Get me ten CCs of the good stuff and hold the cream, this one's flat-lining!" JW held a coffee over Blue and continued,"It took us a little while to find you but I think it's still hot. We thought you were dead!" "So did I," Blue responded. "What the hell are you doing sleeping out here man?" JW asked. "It's a long story," Blue said,"let's just forget it. I want to get home." Blue said as he got up from the sand. JW gave him the coffee as Tricia gave Blue a little kiss on the cheek. Back at the house, everyone piled in the van. Blue was driving and JW was riding shotgun. "Hold on a second," JW said to Blue. He reached over and pulled something from Blue's collar and handed it to him saying, "good morning sunshine". It was a single white clover flower.
"You can't do that!" Blue shouts.
"I can, little man. Now shut up and get out of my way or I'll have you thrown in prison." The officer ordered.
Blue realized he was going to get nowhere with the soldier, so he ran up onto a large boulder right next to Champ and tried to get the "monster's" attention. "Champ, Champ! Hey Champ, you have to listen to me, they are going to kill you!", Blue yelled. Champ simply turned his head and gently nuzzled his forehead into Blue's chest. "NO!" Blue added in earnest, "You don't get it, you have to run away, they are going to kill you!" Blue reached out to Champ but the monster just rolled over like a puppy wanting to play, his belly to the open sky and sunshine overhead. Blue jumped down from the rock, waving his arms to the soldiers and yelling, "Don't shoot, DON"T SHOOT, can't you see he's harmless?", as he ran up to Champ and hugged his massive neck, just under his smiling chin. Blue was fairly certain that Champ was smiling, and this made his plight seem even more urgent, ridiculous and morally charged. "You can't kill my friend!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.
At that moment, all guns opened fire on Blue and Champ. Blue felt his chest burst open just before he saw a large missile of some sort detonate as it struck Champ in the belly. Blue and Champ were terminated instantly. Blue's head fell directly next to Champs large eye which looked at him lifelessly as Blues vision went blank.
"Defending Champ" by Blue acrylic on canvas
A second later, Blue woke up. He was lying on the beach. He felt as though someone had just stroked his cheek. He slowly opened his eyes. Startled, he sat upright. Champ was looking down at him, his large nostrils, directly over Blue's head. Blue didn't know what to do. He was so relieved that he wanted to hug Champ but he couldn't be sure what had happened. He wondered if this was really the first time he was actually seeing the monster or if in fact it was happening at all. He patted Champ on what he thought must be the nose and smiled. Blue began talking to Champ. He told him everything that had just happened and the monster just stayed right there and listened. "I can't believe you're alive," Blue whispered,"I can't believe I'm alive." He hugged Champ as best he could. It was more like laying up against Champs head, with feeling. "I want you to go back into the water," he told Champ,"please?" he reconsidered. "I think that something bad will happen to you if you don't,"he added. Champ raised his head from the beach slowly. He tucked his forehead into Blue's chest and turned away gently as if saying goodbye to an old friend. Blue sat on the beach and watched as Champ moved slowly back into Lake Champlain. He watched Champ swim for awhile until, finally, the monster who was his friend dove under the water and did not come back up. Blue's head was resting on his own forearm, his body stretched out on the sand facing the lake. The breeze across the water was cool and soothing. Blue again returned to sleep.
"Nurse! I'm gonna need some coffee in here, STAT!" Blue heard from above. He opened his eyes to see JW leaning over his face with bedhead and a mischievous grin. "Get me ten CCs of the good stuff and hold the cream, this one's flat-lining!" JW held a coffee over Blue and continued,"It took us a little while to find you but I think it's still hot. We thought you were dead!" "So did I," Blue responded. "What the hell are you doing sleeping out here man?" JW asked. "It's a long story," Blue said,"let's just forget it. I want to get home." Blue said as he got up from the sand. JW gave him the coffee as Tricia gave Blue a little kiss on the cheek. Back at the house, everyone piled in the van. Blue was driving and JW was riding shotgun. "Hold on a second," JW said to Blue. He reached over and pulled something from Blue's collar and handed it to him saying, "good morning sunshine". It was a single white clover flower.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Chapter 3, Odd Jobs (cont)
On a weekend trip to Vermont, Blue saw a very amazing thing that would prompt him to create a painting which he still hangs on to today, even after countless offers from would-be collectors.
The bands were playing in Lake Champlain, Vermont, home to Champ, the Lake Champlain monster. Champ had been photographed and seen by many but never very clearly and not in any verifiable fashion. Photos were always blurry and the eyewitness accounts fell short of convincing or credible to those who demanded the facts. Blue was always a bit gullible and really wanted to believe in things like sea serpents, ghosts, flying saucers and the supernatural. The show went late. People had to be kicked out of the bar to get them to leave. It was an awesome show. Blue was wet with sweat from head to toe. Moving amplifiers was nothing compared to dancing full tilt for hours on end but Blue did both. He was pretty high by the end of the night, after loading up the last of the gear, sliding the high hat into what little space was left for it between the Marshalls and the battered case that still managed to protect the most beautiful hollow-bodied Rickenbacker bass Blue had ever laid eyes on. Blue's roommate, JW, asked him to paint a fire-breathing Godzilla monster on the pick guard and a crazy little Cap'n Ahab chasin' down the Great White Moby Dick on the back of the body but Blue refused because the Ric was so damn beautiful. JW said it would just make the Ric that much better and after Blue turned famous, the guitar would be worth even more. JW was a good friend and a good roommate. Blue painted the guitar and it was in fact way cooler after the paint job, particularly when JW would pop it up from his hip where he slung it low while playing, displaying the back of the body. Blue had painted the chase scene upside down facing JW so when he popped it, the crowd would see the crazy little Ahab character mercilessly lunging after Moby with spear in hand. True Genius!
Still rushing from an awesome show, relentless dancing and the adrenaline pumping from being the only roadie for all three bands, Blue, who was always sober, didn't drink, smoke, chew, shoot, inhale or swallow anything remotely mistakable for hallucinogenic, was high as a kite on life. He dropped the van at the house where all three bands were crashing for a night of Spinal Tap and beer and went for a walk around Lake Champlain. He had been walking for about ten minutes when right before his eyes a small island appeared, fifty feet out into the lake. The island moved slowly toward him. Instead of running in fear, Blue sat on the edge of the shore in a lotus position and waited as the island grew and grew nearer to him. When the island was approximately twenty-five feet away from Blue and shore, a large boulder rolled right up to Blue and stopped, inches away from his crossed legs.
The boulder opened its eyes.
Blue laughed, quietly, to himself.
The boulder narrowed its eyes and lifted from the ground with a sound that was remarkably similar to a musing human, a sound like "hmmm". The boulder moved slowly past Blue followed by a long neck and the island which sprouted a tail as it left the lake and began walking down the middle of the street. Blue was sure that this must be Champ.Within a few seconds, Champ reached a stoplight which he very carefully ducked under as he continued down the street. The town was dark except for the stoplights, streetlamps and the sporatic glow of interior lighting, softened by the curtains drawn aganst the night, leaving Blue alone with Champ as they made their way through town to an open field where Champ rolled in the grass and lay on his back as if looking up at the moon which seemed to be gazing right back down at the two of them. Blue followed Champ's lead and lay down his head on a pillow of clover, breathing in the scent of its white little flowers and fell fast asleep.
The bands were playing in Lake Champlain, Vermont, home to Champ, the Lake Champlain monster. Champ had been photographed and seen by many but never very clearly and not in any verifiable fashion. Photos were always blurry and the eyewitness accounts fell short of convincing or credible to those who demanded the facts. Blue was always a bit gullible and really wanted to believe in things like sea serpents, ghosts, flying saucers and the supernatural. The show went late. People had to be kicked out of the bar to get them to leave. It was an awesome show. Blue was wet with sweat from head to toe. Moving amplifiers was nothing compared to dancing full tilt for hours on end but Blue did both. He was pretty high by the end of the night, after loading up the last of the gear, sliding the high hat into what little space was left for it between the Marshalls and the battered case that still managed to protect the most beautiful hollow-bodied Rickenbacker bass Blue had ever laid eyes on. Blue's roommate, JW, asked him to paint a fire-breathing Godzilla monster on the pick guard and a crazy little Cap'n Ahab chasin' down the Great White Moby Dick on the back of the body but Blue refused because the Ric was so damn beautiful. JW said it would just make the Ric that much better and after Blue turned famous, the guitar would be worth even more. JW was a good friend and a good roommate. Blue painted the guitar and it was in fact way cooler after the paint job, particularly when JW would pop it up from his hip where he slung it low while playing, displaying the back of the body. Blue had painted the chase scene upside down facing JW so when he popped it, the crowd would see the crazy little Ahab character mercilessly lunging after Moby with spear in hand. True Genius!
Still rushing from an awesome show, relentless dancing and the adrenaline pumping from being the only roadie for all three bands, Blue, who was always sober, didn't drink, smoke, chew, shoot, inhale or swallow anything remotely mistakable for hallucinogenic, was high as a kite on life. He dropped the van at the house where all three bands were crashing for a night of Spinal Tap and beer and went for a walk around Lake Champlain. He had been walking for about ten minutes when right before his eyes a small island appeared, fifty feet out into the lake. The island moved slowly toward him. Instead of running in fear, Blue sat on the edge of the shore in a lotus position and waited as the island grew and grew nearer to him. When the island was approximately twenty-five feet away from Blue and shore, a large boulder rolled right up to Blue and stopped, inches away from his crossed legs.
The boulder opened its eyes.
Blue laughed, quietly, to himself.
The boulder narrowed its eyes and lifted from the ground with a sound that was remarkably similar to a musing human, a sound like "hmmm". The boulder moved slowly past Blue followed by a long neck and the island which sprouted a tail as it left the lake and began walking down the middle of the street. Blue was sure that this must be Champ.Within a few seconds, Champ reached a stoplight which he very carefully ducked under as he continued down the street. The town was dark except for the stoplights, streetlamps and the sporatic glow of interior lighting, softened by the curtains drawn aganst the night, leaving Blue alone with Champ as they made their way through town to an open field where Champ rolled in the grass and lay on his back as if looking up at the moon which seemed to be gazing right back down at the two of them. Blue followed Champ's lead and lay down his head on a pillow of clover, breathing in the scent of its white little flowers and fell fast asleep.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Chapter 3, Odd Jobs
Brianna would prove to be Blue's first love. She also became the first woman to break his heart. She ended up sleeping with a friend of a friend who was really cool and she was quite sure that Blue would like him.
Blue never bothered to find out. In fact, he moved as far away as possible in an easterly direction without falling into the ocean. Blue loved Boston. He did what any young enterprising rising star of art would do. He worked in a frame shop/gallery and a restaurant and spent his money on all the wrong things. He confused his social life with art and dabbled in too many disciplines for any self respecting gallery to accept him. He was an artist. Like any good artist, Blue surrounded himself with other artists, his friend Billy eventually joined him in Boston where they shared an apartment with two musicians. Billy and Blue had a few shows together. At one show they made a collaborative work, casting each others faces and making hand-made paper likenesses which each decorated of the other. Then they painted each others faces and sat in front of the art. Billy spent most of the night making fun of the people who struggled to get the concept while Blue fantasized that some high-powered agent would come in and recognize that he and Billy were the next Rauschenberg and Johns.
Blue was always trying to play music but wasn't very good at it. All of his roommates were.So Blue became a roadie. The great thing about being a roadie was that you got in to all of the shows for free and you got to travel.
Blue never bothered to find out. In fact, he moved as far away as possible in an easterly direction without falling into the ocean. Blue loved Boston. He did what any young enterprising rising star of art would do. He worked in a frame shop/gallery and a restaurant and spent his money on all the wrong things. He confused his social life with art and dabbled in too many disciplines for any self respecting gallery to accept him. He was an artist. Like any good artist, Blue surrounded himself with other artists, his friend Billy eventually joined him in Boston where they shared an apartment with two musicians. Billy and Blue had a few shows together. At one show they made a collaborative work, casting each others faces and making hand-made paper likenesses which each decorated of the other. Then they painted each others faces and sat in front of the art. Billy spent most of the night making fun of the people who struggled to get the concept while Blue fantasized that some high-powered agent would come in and recognize that he and Billy were the next Rauschenberg and Johns.
Blue was always trying to play music but wasn't very good at it. All of his roommates were.So Blue became a roadie. The great thing about being a roadie was that you got in to all of the shows for free and you got to travel.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Chapter 2, Hey or What Blue Learned from Glurp (cont.) about Women3
"I wish that I could be your guardian angel, not just because I think that you deserve to be protected, so I can see if you walk like that everywhere you go. I don't believe that you do because the way it affects me makes me think that it can only be for me." Blue whispered to Brianna when all of their other friends were busy watching CapMan add another one to his "Wall of Fame", a beer bottle cap collection so expansive that it was no longer a wall but many walls. Most remarkable was the fact that every cap was from a bottle that he had consumed himself.
"Whooeee!, Yes!"
Normally, the fact that CapMan had just announced his decision to extend the collection to the ceiling for lack of wall space would have been just the thing to elicit such a response from Blue, however, that wasn't the cause of the outburst. Blue played it off like it was but that was because he felt embarrassed, elated and downright giddy over something so extraordinarily wonderful that he he had no intention of making it public. That was, not until he had time to process and enjoy it for himself. Brianna had, only seconds earlier whispered back,"Well, Blue, it is only for you."
He couldn't believe it. Blue felt as though he had stolen a line from Glurp to trick Brianna into accepting how he felt for her. It seemed a bit false to use a line from an imaginary friend who resembled a large Lemonhead with legs, but there was something different going on. In fact, this blissfully romantic episode was only the beginning of a realization and transformation for Blue that would prove to be a major turning point in his life.
Until now, Blue had been rather non-committal. He was attending college with an "undeclared" major. He had always been an artist in his own mind and by the looks of it to everyone else a fairly good one. However, he didn't really commit to it until he started creating art about his dreams.The moment he discovered that Glurp's words worked with Brianna, he began to explore his dreams, openly, within his artwork. Glurp was out of his subconscious and jumping off the page. Blue's first kiss, his sexual appetite, his fears and his ambitions were drawn, painted and collaged right alongside Glurp, Mr. Nut and Walter for all of his friends, his teachers and even his lovely Brianna to see. As Blue translated his dreams to his art the nightmares became less frequent. Glurp showed up only occasionally and Walter and Mr. Nut disappeared altogether. By the time Blue graduated from college, Glurp was just a childhood memory.
"Whooeee!, Yes!"
Normally, the fact that CapMan had just announced his decision to extend the collection to the ceiling for lack of wall space would have been just the thing to elicit such a response from Blue, however, that wasn't the cause of the outburst. Blue played it off like it was but that was because he felt embarrassed, elated and downright giddy over something so extraordinarily wonderful that he he had no intention of making it public. That was, not until he had time to process and enjoy it for himself. Brianna had, only seconds earlier whispered back,"Well, Blue, it is only for you."
He couldn't believe it. Blue felt as though he had stolen a line from Glurp to trick Brianna into accepting how he felt for her. It seemed a bit false to use a line from an imaginary friend who resembled a large Lemonhead with legs, but there was something different going on. In fact, this blissfully romantic episode was only the beginning of a realization and transformation for Blue that would prove to be a major turning point in his life.
Until now, Blue had been rather non-committal. He was attending college with an "undeclared" major. He had always been an artist in his own mind and by the looks of it to everyone else a fairly good one. However, he didn't really commit to it until he started creating art about his dreams.The moment he discovered that Glurp's words worked with Brianna, he began to explore his dreams, openly, within his artwork. Glurp was out of his subconscious and jumping off the page. Blue's first kiss, his sexual appetite, his fears and his ambitions were drawn, painted and collaged right alongside Glurp, Mr. Nut and Walter for all of his friends, his teachers and even his lovely Brianna to see. As Blue translated his dreams to his art the nightmares became less frequent. Glurp showed up only occasionally and Walter and Mr. Nut disappeared altogether. By the time Blue graduated from college, Glurp was just a childhood memory.
Chapter 2, Blue about Girls
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Chapter 2, Hey or What Blue Learned from Glurp (cont.) about Women2
Glurp was fantastically gregarious. He could find his way into any conversation instantly. The problem was that as soon as he did, he tried to take the conversation over. It wasn't enough that he had engaged Blue's friends, he had to own them. They had to become his friends and if that was at Blue's expense, so be it. Glurp had the annoying habit of making Blue appear stupid. The most frustrating thing about this being Blue's dream is that he often had to accept the dream situation. He was only able to do what was possible within his own dream. He found himself unable to remember or recite facts, excerpts from novels or poems, song lyrics, lines from movies, any of the bits of trivia or threads of conversation he was accustomed to sharing with his friends while in this dream state whenever Glurp was around. Another truly annoying habit of Glurp's was to tell Blue as well as Blue's male friends that they were thick. He would attempt to reinforce that idea by flicking them on their skulls with his unusually rigid fingers. Then his eyes would turn to the ladies. His chest would swell, his posture become more erect as he sauntered his way toward them. On any given night, the women in Blue's circle of friends would react differently to Glurp's advances. While it was often difficult to stomach the discourse as it unfolded it nonetheless served to provide great insight into the human condition, or what made women tick. Glurp made the girls feel sexy. He scared them. He pleased them and made them cry. Glurp said some incredibly romantic things that made the women blush, smile or just plain crawl up on his lap. Blue sat by and watched everything, powerless within his dream state. Althought Blue had no memory from dream to dream of the events which happened between Glurp and his friends, he had very vivid memories of the dreams while he was awake. Blue began to experiment with his understanding of women, derived through the exploits of Glurp.
Brianna was the most lovely person whom Blue had ever seen. She walked with a slight shift in her hips, just enough to say sexy without being blatantly sexual. When Blue watched her walk his thoughts drifted far away from any fears he had and his heart felt light. He remembered something he had heard Glurp say to her one night in a dream and decided to actually say it to her for real.
Brianna was the most lovely person whom Blue had ever seen. She walked with a slight shift in her hips, just enough to say sexy without being blatantly sexual. When Blue watched her walk his thoughts drifted far away from any fears he had and his heart felt light. He remembered something he had heard Glurp say to her one night in a dream and decided to actually say it to her for real.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Chapter 2, Hey or What Blue Learned from Glurp (cont.) about Women
Blue dove to the ground and rolled under the cart as soon as his feet hit pavement. "Get down", he whispered emphatically, trying to protect Glurp who stood over him nonchalantly peeling a banana and laughing. "You really don't get it do you," he said to Blue, "I suppose you have to go through this every time you come here but for me, it's a bit comical." What Glurp was alluding to was the fact that any time that he appeared, whatever was bothering Blue disappeared. It always took Blue a little while to recognize the situation because it was after all, for Blue, a dream. Compared to many people, Blue was actually quite good at identifying that he was in a dream state and acting accordingly. Blue had a heck of a time with the peanut. Once the peanut decided he was going to get violent, Blue lost all sense that he was dreaming. It became a fight for his life and Blue felt real fear. Blue had the exact same problem when it came to girls. He was petrified of girls. Not that girls would hurt him physically, or even emotionally for that matter, but that he would fail with them. He was pretty sure that he was destined to be alone because the only woman he ever loved in his life, his mother, was dead. Blue loved his mother completely, without ever knowing her. She died giving birth to Blue. Frank never let Blue forget it. Every time that Blue did something that Frank didn't like, he would tell Blue that his mother would have been disappointed in him, angry with him or hateful toward him for the supposed transgression. Blue didn't believe Frank. In fact, he knew that Frank was lying. Not because of anything anyone ever told him, people never discussed his mother with him for fear of hurting his feelings. All people other than Frank that is. Blue knew Frank was lying because Blue knew his mother. The bond he felt with her went beyond an earthly knowledge of who she was or what she was like. He could feel her emotions within him, he saw things the way she would have seen them. That is why he was afraid of girls. Blue believed that he had to steer clear of any relationships with girls because that would only lead to pregnancy, babies and death.
Glurp considered it his personal mission to erase that way of thinking completely from Blue's mind. This is how Glurp annoyed Blue. This is how Blue learned from Glurp. This is what Glurp did.
Glurp told outrageous stories of love. Madly passionate encounters with various women, separately and together. Glurp may as well have been Wilt Chamberlain for all of the globe trotting he claimed to have done. Courtship was not at all what Glurp was about. Glurp did have dreams, Blue would find, and apparently they all had to do with sex. Glurp was after women for a good time. He liked to party. His idea of a party was performing various sexual acts countless times regardless of who they occured with in as many places as he could think of, then talking about them. This is when Blue started to get annoyed. Most annoying was that he and Blue spent a great deal of time together with a variety of Blue's friends, real friends of Blue. They would go to parties where Billy, Blue's best real friend, Edgar, Tricia, Justine, CapMan and the lovely and lucious Brianna would hang out, sharing music, stories and movies, talking politics, religion and art. In Blue's dreams, these parties were everything that Blue wished a party would be. The atmosphere was always just right. If Blue wanted to listen to music, the music was the main event. if he wanted to talk politics, everyone there seemed to have an opinion and they were eloquent enough to express it. If he wanted to see a movie, they had a big screen, an awesome sound system and unlimited popcorn. There was always just the right number of people at each gathering and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Everything was just right, Blue was happy.
Precisely at the moment that Blue felt this way, Glurp would arrive.
Frank
Glurp considered it his personal mission to erase that way of thinking completely from Blue's mind. This is how Glurp annoyed Blue. This is how Blue learned from Glurp. This is what Glurp did.
Glurp told outrageous stories of love. Madly passionate encounters with various women, separately and together. Glurp may as well have been Wilt Chamberlain for all of the globe trotting he claimed to have done. Courtship was not at all what Glurp was about. Glurp did have dreams, Blue would find, and apparently they all had to do with sex. Glurp was after women for a good time. He liked to party. His idea of a party was performing various sexual acts countless times regardless of who they occured with in as many places as he could think of, then talking about them. This is when Blue started to get annoyed. Most annoying was that he and Blue spent a great deal of time together with a variety of Blue's friends, real friends of Blue. They would go to parties where Billy, Blue's best real friend, Edgar, Tricia, Justine, CapMan and the lovely and lucious Brianna would hang out, sharing music, stories and movies, talking politics, religion and art. In Blue's dreams, these parties were everything that Blue wished a party would be. The atmosphere was always just right. If Blue wanted to listen to music, the music was the main event. if he wanted to talk politics, everyone there seemed to have an opinion and they were eloquent enough to express it. If he wanted to see a movie, they had a big screen, an awesome sound system and unlimited popcorn. There was always just the right number of people at each gathering and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Everything was just right, Blue was happy.
Precisely at the moment that Blue felt this way, Glurp would arrive.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Glurp Dreams
Chapter 2, Hey or What Blue Learned from Glurp continued
Blue saw Glurp pretty regularly after their first meeting, almost nightly, in fact at first. Over the years, however, Glurp's appearances in Blue's dreams became more sporadic. He always seemed to show up when Blue felt stuck and needed someone or something to change the course of his dream. Glurp was incredibly good at that.
Blue didn't always have bad dreams. Sometimes he had very good dreams that went bad, like when Walter showed up, while others were simply reflections of his daily routine. As Blue grew older, his dream to nightmare ratio shifted toward the positive and dreams filled his night with opportunity, wonder, escape, and even love. Actually, Glurp was sort of responsible for Blue's first kiss.
As Blue got older, Mr. Nut became larger and considerably more menacing. He seemed to forget the rule that stated that he wasn't supposed to hurt Blue. Since he didn't remember where the rule came from and Blue never knew who defined the rules, Mr. Nut took it upon himself to determine how we was going to handle Blue on any given day. On this particular day, Mr. Nut was violent. He decided that before ingesting Blue, he would peel Blue. He would crack open his shell and eat out his insides like a peanut. He lifted Blue high into the air and held him up to the light of the sun, between his index finger and thumb, inspecting him for just the right spot to crack him open. He decided that pinching him between the fingers and thumb would be the best approach. As he did so, Blue doubled over, tucking his elbows in and covering his head with his hands, bracing himself against the nutty giant. As Blue folded forward, the hooded jacket he was wearing popped out at the waistline like a cracked shell. Mr. Nut was delighted to see how nicely the edge of the "shell" presented itself to him. He held Blue by the legs with one hand and grabbed at the coat with the other. He peeled the coat off of Blue who slipped out of his grip and began to fall toward the ground.
The moment before Blue hit the ground a street merchant pushed his cart, loaded with bananas directly under him. With a squishy thud, Blue landed safely in the cart before he could fathom what had just occurred, Blue was being pulled by the arm, out of the cart and off of the banana pile. "Nice of you to drop in", Glurp chuckled, " I've banana few bad spots before but there is nothing a peeling about this situation of yours!"
Blue didn't always have bad dreams. Sometimes he had very good dreams that went bad, like when Walter showed up, while others were simply reflections of his daily routine. As Blue grew older, his dream to nightmare ratio shifted toward the positive and dreams filled his night with opportunity, wonder, escape, and even love. Actually, Glurp was sort of responsible for Blue's first kiss.
As Blue got older, Mr. Nut became larger and considerably more menacing. He seemed to forget the rule that stated that he wasn't supposed to hurt Blue. Since he didn't remember where the rule came from and Blue never knew who defined the rules, Mr. Nut took it upon himself to determine how we was going to handle Blue on any given day. On this particular day, Mr. Nut was violent. He decided that before ingesting Blue, he would peel Blue. He would crack open his shell and eat out his insides like a peanut. He lifted Blue high into the air and held him up to the light of the sun, between his index finger and thumb, inspecting him for just the right spot to crack him open. He decided that pinching him between the fingers and thumb would be the best approach. As he did so, Blue doubled over, tucking his elbows in and covering his head with his hands, bracing himself against the nutty giant. As Blue folded forward, the hooded jacket he was wearing popped out at the waistline like a cracked shell. Mr. Nut was delighted to see how nicely the edge of the "shell" presented itself to him. He held Blue by the legs with one hand and grabbed at the coat with the other. He peeled the coat off of Blue who slipped out of his grip and began to fall toward the ground.
The moment before Blue hit the ground a street merchant pushed his cart, loaded with bananas directly under him. With a squishy thud, Blue landed safely in the cart before he could fathom what had just occurred, Blue was being pulled by the arm, out of the cart and off of the banana pile. "Nice of you to drop in", Glurp chuckled, " I've banana few bad spots before but there is nothing a peeling about this situation of yours!"
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Glurp the Flicker
Chapter 2, Hey or What Blue Learned from Glurp
Nightmares have a way of sticking with a person, especially if they are recurring nightmares, particularly if they are nightmares wherein a strange, yellow, mannish creature continually engages in dramatic displays, seeking attention, remaining dissatisfied regardless of how much attention he is actually paid.
Glurp is just such a creature and it is in Blue's nightmares that he repeatedly performs. He is a singer, a dancer, a juggler and a mime. He walks the tightrope, leaps motorcycles over buses, dances with wolves, carries a six gun, with which he can shoot "Lincoln off a penny", swims underwater without coming up for air, ever, and makes a creme brulee which is to die for. Glurp also seems to know every word that was ever uttered and is not the least bit concerned others may not want to hear them. If there is a prompt, his quick quotation will follow, regardless of propriety or decorum. He quotes Ghandi in the same breath as Hitler and Martin Luther King with Nixon. Khomeini, Stalin, Castro, Reagan, Saddam Hussein, Bush and Capone tiptoe off his tongue and skip across the field playfully with Mandela, Kennedy, Carter, Lincoln, Queen Victoria and the Dalai Lama. He is both articulate and recklessly self indulgent in word and deed. Glurp is powerful. He makes even the heaviest object seem light as a feather, the most insurmountable task as easy as pie. Glurp is incredibly insecure.
Blue has always found him to be incredibly annoying. Amazing, but annoying. If you asked Blue what he thought of Glurp, he wouldn't be able to tell you, exactly. But if you asked him if Glurp was insecure, he would answer you emphatically, "NO". Blue was in awe of Glurp's many talents. In fact, when Blue first met Glurp, both of them were only seven years old and Blue was enamored. Blue had just finished wiping the last bit of chunky bile off of his sleeves and was turning to face the seventy-five foot tall peanut when two large round spots appeared before his eyes. They came closer to his face, obscuring his vision until all went black. He actually felt the spots bump up against his face. as he reached up to feel what the spots were made of they were removed from his eyes, enabling him to see, no more than five inches away from his own face, a very oddly shaped, yellow head.
"Peanut butter cup?", said the yellow head. There stood Glurp, in all his glory, green shirt, tight black pants and big eyes on a very yellow head, holding two peanut butter cups in his hands, the spots before Blue's eyes. He would have smelled the peanut butter if he hadn't been drenched in it a moment earlier. Blue couldn't think of anything more revolting than the thought of eating a peanut butter cup at that moment. It was about the funniest thing that had ever happened in one of his dreams and well worth a rather hearty laugh which Blue was more than willing to muster. The more he laughed, the more he thought about how funny it really was and the more funny he thought it was the more he laughed until, finally, tears began to stream down Blue's face, as much out of pure relief as anything else. "Whatsa Matta?!" Glurp teased, "Don't you think I'm funny? Goin' to have yourself a big blubberin' sob over a little candy?" Blue shook his head and held up his index finger, asking for a second to compose himself.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Glurp's the name", Glurp responded, "but you can call me Glurpendomulous Nobfidium Exparthenamius McGilililly Finnegoshion the third. How's about you?"
"I'm Blue"
"Of course you are, and why not, after all, how many times does a guy get eaten and spit back out by a seventy-five foot tall peanut?!"
"Somewhere in the neighborhood of about a hundred by now, I'd say," said Blue. "You see it just keeps happening over and over and over again. In fact, if you hadn't come along, it would probably be happening right about now. But really, my name is Blue."
"Well, Blue, it looks like I came along at just the right time," Glurp gestured over his shoulder," look, no more Mr.Nut!"
"You're right," said Blue, "thank you Glurpen-n-n-d-o..."
"You can call me Glurp"
Glurp is just such a creature and it is in Blue's nightmares that he repeatedly performs. He is a singer, a dancer, a juggler and a mime. He walks the tightrope, leaps motorcycles over buses, dances with wolves, carries a six gun, with which he can shoot "Lincoln off a penny", swims underwater without coming up for air, ever, and makes a creme brulee which is to die for. Glurp also seems to know every word that was ever uttered and is not the least bit concerned others may not want to hear them. If there is a prompt, his quick quotation will follow, regardless of propriety or decorum. He quotes Ghandi in the same breath as Hitler and Martin Luther King with Nixon. Khomeini, Stalin, Castro, Reagan, Saddam Hussein, Bush and Capone tiptoe off his tongue and skip across the field playfully with Mandela, Kennedy, Carter, Lincoln, Queen Victoria and the Dalai Lama. He is both articulate and recklessly self indulgent in word and deed. Glurp is powerful. He makes even the heaviest object seem light as a feather, the most insurmountable task as easy as pie. Glurp is incredibly insecure.
Blue has always found him to be incredibly annoying. Amazing, but annoying. If you asked Blue what he thought of Glurp, he wouldn't be able to tell you, exactly. But if you asked him if Glurp was insecure, he would answer you emphatically, "NO". Blue was in awe of Glurp's many talents. In fact, when Blue first met Glurp, both of them were only seven years old and Blue was enamored. Blue had just finished wiping the last bit of chunky bile off of his sleeves and was turning to face the seventy-five foot tall peanut when two large round spots appeared before his eyes. They came closer to his face, obscuring his vision until all went black. He actually felt the spots bump up against his face. as he reached up to feel what the spots were made of they were removed from his eyes, enabling him to see, no more than five inches away from his own face, a very oddly shaped, yellow head.
"Peanut butter cup?", said the yellow head. There stood Glurp, in all his glory, green shirt, tight black pants and big eyes on a very yellow head, holding two peanut butter cups in his hands, the spots before Blue's eyes. He would have smelled the peanut butter if he hadn't been drenched in it a moment earlier. Blue couldn't think of anything more revolting than the thought of eating a peanut butter cup at that moment. It was about the funniest thing that had ever happened in one of his dreams and well worth a rather hearty laugh which Blue was more than willing to muster. The more he laughed, the more he thought about how funny it really was and the more funny he thought it was the more he laughed until, finally, tears began to stream down Blue's face, as much out of pure relief as anything else. "Whatsa Matta?!" Glurp teased, "Don't you think I'm funny? Goin' to have yourself a big blubberin' sob over a little candy?" Blue shook his head and held up his index finger, asking for a second to compose himself.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Glurp's the name", Glurp responded, "but you can call me Glurpendomulous Nobfidium Exparthenamius McGilililly Finnegoshion the third. How's about you?"
"I'm Blue"
"Of course you are, and why not, after all, how many times does a guy get eaten and spit back out by a seventy-five foot tall peanut?!"
"Somewhere in the neighborhood of about a hundred by now, I'd say," said Blue. "You see it just keeps happening over and over and over again. In fact, if you hadn't come along, it would probably be happening right about now. But really, my name is Blue."
"Well, Blue, it looks like I came along at just the right time," Glurp gestured over his shoulder," look, no more Mr.Nut!"
"You're right," said Blue, "thank you Glurpen-n-n-d-o..."
"You can call me Glurp"
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Chapter 1 continued, Waking
Yeti breath is bad, but yeti gas is worse. The yeti had this habit of farting while sleeping that was like clockwork. He would start to fall to sleep, spooning Blue while Blue tried to sing even though the oppressive weight of the yeti's arm was crushing the very breath with which he was trying to sing right out of him, so he wheezed out the words as if singing his last breath away. The yeti liked the way it sounded and Blue knew that so he endured the pain of it rather than suffer the consequences of a wakeful yeti. When the yeti, who Blue called Walter, wouldn't or couldn't sleep, he complained. He listed everything that was wrong with the world because of mankind's stupidity. It is one thing to have to suffer the lamentations of an insomniac yeti, it is quite another to attempt to counter his requiem with optimism when everything he says is essentially correct. So, one night, Blue tried commiserating. Optimism was truly a survival technique. Optimism followed by singing, and yes, succombing to the clockwork habit was a means of survival. Blue welcomed the farting in comparison to the overwhelming depression resulting from commisseration. The clock worked like this. Walter fell to sleep. Within minutes Walter began to scratch his behind. This gave Blue the chance to slide out from the spoon of Walter's embrace. After the scratching, Walter always sat up, bolt upright, directly perpendicular to whatever surface he and Blue had been spooning on. He would open his eyes, survey the area until he saw Blue, motion to Blue that he must come to him, whereupon he would take Blue's hand, pulling him into a spooning position behind himself. When Walter felt as though Blue understood his job, namely spooning Walter back to sleep, Walter would sleep. Blue would know Walter was asleep when Walter began to fart, and the clock struck one. Blue was relieved by the farting because it meant two things. One was that Walter was now asleep and because of his massive build, Blue's feet were actually closer to the gas than any other part of his body. The other thing that the farting meant is that by the time the clock struck twelve, which it always did after the farting started and the clock striking began, Blue's alarm clock would ring.
When Blue awoke from his nightmare with Walter he always felt the same way, hollow, empty, frustrated and demoralized. Then, a brief wave of optimism would wash across his mind and settle in his heart. In that moment he was a pure boy. He was Blue, alone, awake, alive. He was at peace, breathing in the morning, thinking of nothing.
Within minutes he would hear his father's footsteps, outside his bedroom door and the feeling of peace would vanish. His mind would begin to fill with thoughts kicking the lid closed on the iron crate in which he hid his heart. "Get out here, Blue, time to eat, and I gotta leave so don't make me late", Blue's dad, Frank, would say, every day, all the time. Blue couldn't remember a day he had made the old man late. In fact, Frank would be the only one who said a word in the morning, unless his sister decided to make some stupid joke that always had a color in it like, Hey Blue, you're looking a little green around the gills this morning." Then she'd laugh and say, "get it? green around the gills, and your name is Blue?", then she would punch him. Frank would laugh and kiss her on the forehead and then he'd start listing all of his jobs for the next five days and if they were lucky he'd get another one by next week so he could make even more money which wouldn't be enough to pay the bills because he had to spend so much on the stupid kids, not you, Lisa, you're worth every penny, blah, blah, blah... That thought took about a second to pass through Blue's mind. Unfortunately it took about fifteen minutes to play out for real again today. This morning, however, it was punctuated by some good news. Lisa was going to have a recital this evening where she was going to perform "Greensleeves" which she had been practicing so beautifully for the past month on the "family's" organ which only she was allowed to play. "Oh, Blue, you're looking white as a ghost!" Lisa punched into Blue's gut as his father gently guided his head toward the wood panelled Country Squire station wagon with the hard metal thermos Blue had spent his paper route earnings on for Father's Day. Frank still talks about how nice it was of Lisa to get up early on Father's Day to brew him a nice thermos full of coffee because she was the best daughter a father could ever have. Blue can still remember the sound of the freeze-dried crystals being scooped into his gift after his sister comandeered it. Pouring the boiling water that he had prepared only seconds earlier over the crystals, Lisa closed the thermos, warning him that it was her idea and danced out of the kitchen to present the gift to Frank. Blue thought himself silly to have put so much tape on the label that said, to: Dad, Happy Father's Day from: Blue. If she had thought about it, Lisa would have written her own name on it or ripped off the label but she was too concerned with making a display of herself to cover all of the bases. Upon presenting it to Frank she boasted,"I made you coffee daddy!" Frank looked down and started reading loudly, "to:Dad from, " suddenly his voice dropped about ten levels as he finished,"Blue". Quick as a wink his voice shot up again, he held Lisa up in his arms and shouted,"My little angel made me coffee!". That memory only took a second to flash through Blue's mind but the smell of those mountain grown, freeze-dried crystals hung in the air and decided to ride along with them all the way to school.
When Blue awoke from his nightmare with Walter he always felt the same way, hollow, empty, frustrated and demoralized. Then, a brief wave of optimism would wash across his mind and settle in his heart. In that moment he was a pure boy. He was Blue, alone, awake, alive. He was at peace, breathing in the morning, thinking of nothing.
Within minutes he would hear his father's footsteps, outside his bedroom door and the feeling of peace would vanish. His mind would begin to fill with thoughts kicking the lid closed on the iron crate in which he hid his heart. "Get out here, Blue, time to eat, and I gotta leave so don't make me late", Blue's dad, Frank, would say, every day, all the time. Blue couldn't remember a day he had made the old man late. In fact, Frank would be the only one who said a word in the morning, unless his sister decided to make some stupid joke that always had a color in it like, Hey Blue, you're looking a little green around the gills this morning." Then she'd laugh and say, "get it? green around the gills, and your name is Blue?", then she would punch him. Frank would laugh and kiss her on the forehead and then he'd start listing all of his jobs for the next five days and if they were lucky he'd get another one by next week so he could make even more money which wouldn't be enough to pay the bills because he had to spend so much on the stupid kids, not you, Lisa, you're worth every penny, blah, blah, blah... That thought took about a second to pass through Blue's mind. Unfortunately it took about fifteen minutes to play out for real again today. This morning, however, it was punctuated by some good news. Lisa was going to have a recital this evening where she was going to perform "Greensleeves" which she had been practicing so beautifully for the past month on the "family's" organ which only she was allowed to play. "Oh, Blue, you're looking white as a ghost!" Lisa punched into Blue's gut as his father gently guided his head toward the wood panelled Country Squire station wagon with the hard metal thermos Blue had spent his paper route earnings on for Father's Day. Frank still talks about how nice it was of Lisa to get up early on Father's Day to brew him a nice thermos full of coffee because she was the best daughter a father could ever have. Blue can still remember the sound of the freeze-dried crystals being scooped into his gift after his sister comandeered it. Pouring the boiling water that he had prepared only seconds earlier over the crystals, Lisa closed the thermos, warning him that it was her idea and danced out of the kitchen to present the gift to Frank. Blue thought himself silly to have put so much tape on the label that said, to: Dad, Happy Father's Day from: Blue. If she had thought about it, Lisa would have written her own name on it or ripped off the label but she was too concerned with making a display of herself to cover all of the bases. Upon presenting it to Frank she boasted,"I made you coffee daddy!" Frank looked down and started reading loudly, "to:Dad from, " suddenly his voice dropped about ten levels as he finished,"Blue". Quick as a wink his voice shot up again, he held Lisa up in his arms and shouted,"My little angel made me coffee!". That memory only took a second to flash through Blue's mind but the smell of those mountain grown, freeze-dried crystals hung in the air and decided to ride along with them all the way to school.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Chapter 1 continued Bedtime for Blue, More Dreams
The peanut had a point. A very meaningless point but one which made total sense to a peanut and when that peanut is seventy-five feet tall, that is good enough. The other "regulars" in Blue's nightmare cast of characters included the yeti, the clown, Chunk, Glurp and the Light Wizards.
The yeti was always moping around. He would lumber through any number of dreams, passing right between Blue and any fun he might be having or person he might be interested in spending time with. During one particularly wonderful dream, Blue was finally talking with Angelina, a very lovely young girl in Blue's fourth grade class. She was everything Blue loved about fourth grade. She ran like the wind, sang like a bird, caught flies with her bare hands then let them go because she wouldn't hurt them. Angelina made up jokes that were actually funny. She didn't just recite jokes she read from a joke book or overheard from an older brother, like Matthew Burger always did. She made them up herself. She remembered everything she read, could perform complex math problems in her head and knew where almost everything in the world was, like cool buildings, countries, states, capitals, natural wonders and best of all, amusement parks. Blue could never speak to her in real life. He was too shy. The one time he tried, a bird unloaded on him from a tree above his head just as he uttered her name. She had only just looked at him when the mess hit. Blue reached his hand up to feel for what had hit him and there across all of his fingers the payload was smeared. Angelina looked on, stunned but empathetic with her fingers pressed slightly against her own mouth, silencing a gasp so laden with pity it made Blue blush and run. In this particular dream, however, Angelina was smiling at Blue with admiration. In this particular dream, Blue had heard the bird move in the branches above his head. In this particular dream, Blue stepped directly sidewards just as the payload dropped. Without even looking, he raised one foot up, like a crane in the water, letting the splash of excrement splatter the exact spot where that foot had been a fraction of a second earlier. He froze in that position long enough to show how perfectly he had timed the whole event, then strode toward Angelina with an uncharacteristic suavity that captivated even her. Blue moved in close, Angelina's breath became shallow, expectant, she wanted to talk to him, to Blue! Suddenly, a large limosine pulled up directly adjacent to the sidewalk where Blue approached Angelina. The back door flew open and out rolled a yeti. As he rolled, his head struck the concrete directly between them. Blue and Angelina looked down in awe. The seven foot tall creature turned and looked up at them, slowly moving, repositioning himself, preparing to stand. He did so with great effort. He turned toward Angelina, his belly to her face, and moaned. She gazed up at him with sadness. His butt was right about chest high to Blue who leaned around the yeti's massive girth to steal a look at Angelina. She too, leaned to look at Blue. At this, the yeti fell to the ground, sitting cross-legged between them and began to cry. He promptly tugged at Blue, forcing the boy to look more closely at his skinned knee. It is very hard to tell that a yeti's knee is skinned so the yeti made sure that Blue saw the skinned knee by pulling Blue down hard enough and close enough that Blue skinned his own knee, elbows and chin in the maneuver.
Blue pried himself up to his knees and looked up to Angelina, who had vanished. This is how it usually went with the yeti. What happens for the next five hours or so is that Blue spends all of his time trying to comfort the yeti, generally to no avail, since the yeti is implacable. On this night, the yeti forced Blue to hug him and sing him to sleep on the bench just feet away from the place where Blue was going to talk to Angelina. The very bench where Blue thought he might steal his first kiss.
The yeti was always moping around. He would lumber through any number of dreams, passing right between Blue and any fun he might be having or person he might be interested in spending time with. During one particularly wonderful dream, Blue was finally talking with Angelina, a very lovely young girl in Blue's fourth grade class. She was everything Blue loved about fourth grade. She ran like the wind, sang like a bird, caught flies with her bare hands then let them go because she wouldn't hurt them. Angelina made up jokes that were actually funny. She didn't just recite jokes she read from a joke book or overheard from an older brother, like Matthew Burger always did. She made them up herself. She remembered everything she read, could perform complex math problems in her head and knew where almost everything in the world was, like cool buildings, countries, states, capitals, natural wonders and best of all, amusement parks. Blue could never speak to her in real life. He was too shy. The one time he tried, a bird unloaded on him from a tree above his head just as he uttered her name. She had only just looked at him when the mess hit. Blue reached his hand up to feel for what had hit him and there across all of his fingers the payload was smeared. Angelina looked on, stunned but empathetic with her fingers pressed slightly against her own mouth, silencing a gasp so laden with pity it made Blue blush and run. In this particular dream, however, Angelina was smiling at Blue with admiration. In this particular dream, Blue had heard the bird move in the branches above his head. In this particular dream, Blue stepped directly sidewards just as the payload dropped. Without even looking, he raised one foot up, like a crane in the water, letting the splash of excrement splatter the exact spot where that foot had been a fraction of a second earlier. He froze in that position long enough to show how perfectly he had timed the whole event, then strode toward Angelina with an uncharacteristic suavity that captivated even her. Blue moved in close, Angelina's breath became shallow, expectant, she wanted to talk to him, to Blue! Suddenly, a large limosine pulled up directly adjacent to the sidewalk where Blue approached Angelina. The back door flew open and out rolled a yeti. As he rolled, his head struck the concrete directly between them. Blue and Angelina looked down in awe. The seven foot tall creature turned and looked up at them, slowly moving, repositioning himself, preparing to stand. He did so with great effort. He turned toward Angelina, his belly to her face, and moaned. She gazed up at him with sadness. His butt was right about chest high to Blue who leaned around the yeti's massive girth to steal a look at Angelina. She too, leaned to look at Blue. At this, the yeti fell to the ground, sitting cross-legged between them and began to cry. He promptly tugged at Blue, forcing the boy to look more closely at his skinned knee. It is very hard to tell that a yeti's knee is skinned so the yeti made sure that Blue saw the skinned knee by pulling Blue down hard enough and close enough that Blue skinned his own knee, elbows and chin in the maneuver.
Blue pried himself up to his knees and looked up to Angelina, who had vanished. This is how it usually went with the yeti. What happens for the next five hours or so is that Blue spends all of his time trying to comfort the yeti, generally to no avail, since the yeti is implacable. On this night, the yeti forced Blue to hug him and sing him to sleep on the bench just feet away from the place where Blue was going to talk to Angelina. The very bench where Blue thought he might steal his first kiss.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Chapter 1 continued Bedtime for Blue
Blue's alarm clock was his best friend and his worst enemy. He counted on the thing to wake him up, rescuing him from countless horrors that unfolded, nearly nightly during his slumber. Unfortunately, setting it meant that it was bedtime and bedtime meant more dreams. Even his "Happy Dumm-Dumm" pajamas couldn't protect him from the sadness and uncertainty that haunted every nightmare.
Blue wished for normal nightmares. A dragon, swooping down from the sky, breathing fire and clawing at him from the smoky aftermath of its own exhalation would have been a welcomed experience. At least a dragon can be fought. You could lunge at him with your sword or take a swing at him with your stick, for example. That actually sounded like fun to Blue.
How about a plane crash or maybe a disaster at sea, he asked himself regularly, reasoning that he could always find a parachute or a life preserver. There was actually something he could do about it. He would be able to react. That was it. That was the horror of the nightmare.
He had thought about it long enough to understand the root of the nauseating emptiness he felt upon waking. There wasn't a single thing he could do. Not for himself, and often, even more frustratingly, he couldn't help them.
They were an interesting group. It can be said with a degree of certainty that you would never meet such a group ever in your life, even if you lived to be as old as Blue's great-grandmother who at the age of eighty-five, still played tennis with women half her age. In fact, it is unlikely that you would ever meet any of the beings with whom Blue had become familiar.
There is the man who is sometimes a woman, who sits in a room, at a desk, waiting to teach Blue something every night. The man who is sometimes a woman goes by many names, among them are Sophocles, Aristotle, Buddha, Jesus Christ, Mohammed, Confucius, Mother Theresa, Cleopatra, Queen Victoria, Sir Isaac Newton, William Shakespeare, Carl Jung, John Lennon, Count Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy and Abe Vigoda.The room in which the man who is sometimes a woman sits is at the top of a rather lengthy staircase. Inexplicably, the man who is sometimes a woman is able to greet Blue every night to tell him what they are going to study that evening.
The subjects are just as varied as are the personas of the man who is sometimes a woman, and contrary to assumption, not all lessons are taught by the most likely persona. For instance, Confucius was preparing a lesson on applied physics while Karl Marx planned to show Blue how to make home-made ice cream. Planned is truly the operative word here and this is, ultimately, the source of the frustration.
Between Blue and the accumulated knowledge of humankind's existence stands a seventy-five foot tall, living peanut.
Anyone would be terrified of a seventy-five foot tall, living peanut if it could breathe fire, fly around or smash things up a bit.
Blue's peanut simply blocks the doorway to the man who is sometimes a woman. There is nothing simple about it, really. Blue has been trying to reason out why he has been blocked, night after night, for years. He has asked the peanut and the peanut has responded.
The peanut doesn't know. The peanut only knows that Blue is not allowed to pass him, Blue is not permitted to reach the man who is sometimes a woman. The other piece of information that the peanut was able to provide would have been great news if Blue hadn't already tested it to his own dissatisfaction. The peanut told him that he is not allowed to hurt Blue. Hurt is defined as "to cause bodily injury to; injure". Blue felt that the giant peanut hurt him. To this day, you could not convince him otherwise that being scooped up, ingested and eventually vomitted to the location from which you had been previously scooped, could be viewed in any way other than that of being hurtful. Blue told the peanut that shortly after pulling himself up from a pool of extra chunky bile. The giant nut asked him if he had any broken bones. Blue said, "no". The nut asked whether Blue had any cuts or bruises. Blue said, "no". The nut asked Blue if he felt as though he may be suffering from internal bleeding, light-headedness or blindness. Blue said, "no". "Then you are not hurt", the peanut informed him.
Blue stared at the nut in quiet desperation. "You threw me up! You could have just swallowed me for good. It would all be over. This whole stupid thing would end!" Blue cried out in disgust. "I am sorry," the peanut frowned,"I think I am allergic to you."
"Allergic to me?! You CAN NOT be serious," Blue moaned through clenched teeth,"then why eat me?" The peanut sat dejectedly in front of the doorway. "I have to stop you, I cannot hurt you, I have no shoebox to keep you in, I must eat you."
Blue wished for normal nightmares. A dragon, swooping down from the sky, breathing fire and clawing at him from the smoky aftermath of its own exhalation would have been a welcomed experience. At least a dragon can be fought. You could lunge at him with your sword or take a swing at him with your stick, for example. That actually sounded like fun to Blue.
How about a plane crash or maybe a disaster at sea, he asked himself regularly, reasoning that he could always find a parachute or a life preserver. There was actually something he could do about it. He would be able to react. That was it. That was the horror of the nightmare.
He had thought about it long enough to understand the root of the nauseating emptiness he felt upon waking. There wasn't a single thing he could do. Not for himself, and often, even more frustratingly, he couldn't help them.
They were an interesting group. It can be said with a degree of certainty that you would never meet such a group ever in your life, even if you lived to be as old as Blue's great-grandmother who at the age of eighty-five, still played tennis with women half her age. In fact, it is unlikely that you would ever meet any of the beings with whom Blue had become familiar.
There is the man who is sometimes a woman, who sits in a room, at a desk, waiting to teach Blue something every night. The man who is sometimes a woman goes by many names, among them are Sophocles, Aristotle, Buddha, Jesus Christ, Mohammed, Confucius, Mother Theresa, Cleopatra, Queen Victoria, Sir Isaac Newton, William Shakespeare, Carl Jung, John Lennon, Count Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy and Abe Vigoda.The room in which the man who is sometimes a woman sits is at the top of a rather lengthy staircase. Inexplicably, the man who is sometimes a woman is able to greet Blue every night to tell him what they are going to study that evening.
The subjects are just as varied as are the personas of the man who is sometimes a woman, and contrary to assumption, not all lessons are taught by the most likely persona. For instance, Confucius was preparing a lesson on applied physics while Karl Marx planned to show Blue how to make home-made ice cream. Planned is truly the operative word here and this is, ultimately, the source of the frustration.
Between Blue and the accumulated knowledge of humankind's existence stands a seventy-five foot tall, living peanut.
Anyone would be terrified of a seventy-five foot tall, living peanut if it could breathe fire, fly around or smash things up a bit.
Blue's peanut simply blocks the doorway to the man who is sometimes a woman. There is nothing simple about it, really. Blue has been trying to reason out why he has been blocked, night after night, for years. He has asked the peanut and the peanut has responded.
The peanut doesn't know. The peanut only knows that Blue is not allowed to pass him, Blue is not permitted to reach the man who is sometimes a woman. The other piece of information that the peanut was able to provide would have been great news if Blue hadn't already tested it to his own dissatisfaction. The peanut told him that he is not allowed to hurt Blue. Hurt is defined as "to cause bodily injury to; injure". Blue felt that the giant peanut hurt him. To this day, you could not convince him otherwise that being scooped up, ingested and eventually vomitted to the location from which you had been previously scooped, could be viewed in any way other than that of being hurtful. Blue told the peanut that shortly after pulling himself up from a pool of extra chunky bile. The giant nut asked him if he had any broken bones. Blue said, "no". The nut asked whether Blue had any cuts or bruises. Blue said, "no". The nut asked Blue if he felt as though he may be suffering from internal bleeding, light-headedness or blindness. Blue said, "no". "Then you are not hurt", the peanut informed him.
Blue stared at the nut in quiet desperation. "You threw me up! You could have just swallowed me for good. It would all be over. This whole stupid thing would end!" Blue cried out in disgust. "I am sorry," the peanut frowned,"I think I am allergic to you."
"Allergic to me?! You CAN NOT be serious," Blue moaned through clenched teeth,"then why eat me?" The peanut sat dejectedly in front of the doorway. "I have to stop you, I cannot hurt you, I have no shoebox to keep you in, I must eat you."
Friday, June 11, 2010
Artist - Writer's Note
Dear Reader,
This format is an exploration of the media available on the web to tell a story over twenty-five years in the making. Sudden leaps in time, graphic styles, sound and video quality inconsistencies and even points of view are essential elements of the presentation. This “illustrated novel” will utilize the tools available within the blog site and may even leap away to other sites.
I may post only a picture one night and follow it with a text only post the next. Many times the art will be full sheets, photographed from an original drawing, painting or mixed media work. Some may be full pages or two pages together (without the seam), while others may be details of pages, individual frames or other supporting media. I will be posting rough sketches from time to time even if they were never fully realized as final drawings, particularly where they fit the story, but sometimes just because they are cool to look at.
If at any time you feel bewildered, wondering what is going on, which time, who’s life, how many or why?... I assure you, it is intended. Eventually, it will all make sense, or at least my kind of sense! I believe you are going to like this whether you are a fan of comics, novels, movies, art or all of them. Feel free to post any comments regarding the format or content of “Blue, an illustrated novel”, thanks,
Barry
This format is an exploration of the media available on the web to tell a story over twenty-five years in the making. Sudden leaps in time, graphic styles, sound and video quality inconsistencies and even points of view are essential elements of the presentation. This “illustrated novel” will utilize the tools available within the blog site and may even leap away to other sites.
I may post only a picture one night and follow it with a text only post the next. Many times the art will be full sheets, photographed from an original drawing, painting or mixed media work. Some may be full pages or two pages together (without the seam), while others may be details of pages, individual frames or other supporting media. I will be posting rough sketches from time to time even if they were never fully realized as final drawings, particularly where they fit the story, but sometimes just because they are cool to look at.
If at any time you feel bewildered, wondering what is going on, which time, who’s life, how many or why?... I assure you, it is intended. Eventually, it will all make sense, or at least my kind of sense! I believe you are going to like this whether you are a fan of comics, novels, movies, art or all of them. Feel free to post any comments regarding the format or content of “Blue, an illustrated novel”, thanks,
Barry
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Chapter 1 continued
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Blue an Illustrated Novel Chapter 1
He turned and thrust the lifeless form into the arms of a nurse too slow to back away as the others did, terrified that they might be given the unseemly task of disposing of the corpse. "Run", Sam directed, "NOW, he added with urgency as he pulled his 4G from his pocket, too committed to trust any hospital technology to get the bodies he needed assembled in Emergency. The nurse responded quickly, a cute young woman who made the uniform look like it was a costume from a fantasy shop, altogether far too hot for prime time while being absolutely decent in every way. If Sam wasn't busy trying to get the first breath out of this tiny little baby he would have offered to share his last with Nurse Neitzel. "Hurry," he urged her once again as they rounded the corner at the end of the hall. A passing gurnee split the caregivers in two, blocking the doctor behind as Nurse Neitzel continued around the corner bumping directly into a thin, quiet, deeply-wrinkled, African man in colored dress, accidentally pressing the baby between herself and the old man.
The old man looks at the baby, then into the nurses eyes which bespeak the newborn's condition. He places his hand upon the baby, looking kindly at the nurse who pauses. With his other hand he gently strokes the hand of the woman who lies still upon the gurnee. She looks up at him from eyes that have not opened in days and smiles. As she does, the man falls to the floor, nearly tripping Nurse Neitzel. He is dead. So is the old woman. The nurse regains her balance, Dr. Morgan shouts, "we have to keep going!", then instructs the other nurse who is pushing the gurnee to attend to the fallen man. Nurse Neitzels' eyes finally move to the baby who is now awake, alive and smiling up at her.
The baby is named Blue.
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