Wednesday, 16 October 2013

Dumb Waiters: The Awakening (Bailey Johnson and Kyle Brown) in One Thousand Words

Dumb Waiters: The Awakening by Bailey Johnson and Kyle Brown is today's feature on One Thousand Worlds.

Dumb Waiters: The Awakening -

A young playwright becomes aware of many possibilities. He lives in a nightmare of success – dissatisfied – the only girl he’ll ever love, seemingly lost to something rotten on the inside.
Chris Lujan is a sailor at heart, a California vampire, one foot out the proverbial spiritual door… feeling that sting of the Otherworld, heritage and repeat routines.  
Jake Konstantine is a policeman-turned-drug-counselor’s son – an artist – faced with an identical problem: the doom of the ‘80s, his own favorite witch, the consequential need for distraction.
Tom Brinn is an Irish author, warlock, champion of enemies. He’s the old magickian, king of scribes. He knows our world is littered with angels. It’s the control of soul… 
What if Jung’s theory is right? That we’re all one person experiencing itself subjectively… as we yearn to make the right choice…
We’re all in this together.

About the authors-

Bailey Johnson and Kyle Brown are close friends who met in Atlanta and found a unique bond through this love story, called The Coagula Series. Ambitious, stubborn, passionate, full of faith, it was Bailey’s idea to make an epic serenade for one special person. The guys live in Colorado and Florida, respectively, and are currently working on their next episode.

It starts with a guy wondering what he can do. It starts with a girl overthinking and ruining a beautiful thing – the absolute very best way to describe it.
I’ve made a good choice and keep wondering. I’ll type my way to something. I’ll defy all convention and take unexplored chances.
My sole purpose – hope.
Simple, said the writer – simple enough.

Sometimes it won’t go away.
This is a love story. It doesn’t start at the grocery store – a boy and a girl reaching for the same type of cheese – metaphysical, it’s all we’ve got – nothing else matters.
So, here I am with the beard all grown out – ‘cause I know that’d get her off. She thinks I’m no good at the moment and I’m thooid – missin’ her so bad. It’s never been about that for me – not with her – but it is right now.
‘Down, boy!’ I think for a laugh.
Anything, anything to shake da loneliness tonight.
I can only take consolation – hell, who’m I kiddin’? I’ll just go about my special job and everything I feel for her is breathin’ on the paper. That’s magick, old girl, and I cannot hide it anymore.
It’s time to rethink your perception. I’ve been using that word more often. This is the urban legend of the young writer using what shakes loose – “Yeah, I can handle it.”
Yeah, he’s still tryin’ to say it.
He can hear the “friends” yellin’, “Chain his feet.”
Watchin’ people yet-moved – still deranged – we’ve given time to this, it should stand for something. I know I heard someone cryin’. Yeah, I’ve heard you scream, for peace and prosperity, for warzone acceptance and the life less-ordinary. So let me do something about it.
We’re not what they want us to be. Thank God for that. Now I’ve thought it strange, why lie when it’s the truth we saved?
Go down – on it – I’m aware of what you want.
Preservation – yeah, I want it, too.
I can’t remember – not the first time – not so well. Maybe I have changed; too many glory bowls in Vegas; too many intimate discrepancies wanting this girl who’d talk and treat me like a human. Casino shelter – meatloaf and a highlight reel: the boxer vs. my one-track mind.
What happened to your passion, Chica?
Are you ashamed… ‘cause I found it? ‘Cause I love it? ‘Cause I want it more than anything in the whole wide world? Some things will never change… thank God.
I want you, I want you, I want you.
Turns out this geezer snortin’ bets has a wife. They’re cute together. They ask me about the future. I’ll tell them about you. “Honey bear,” it’s said with despair, “She won’t talk to me now.”
The lady wears a bingo shirt – the champs of Miami-Dade.
“Don’t fret. Watch it happen. I can see dissatisfaction. I could tell you there’s another way, but the system here is torn and frayed.”
One flash and they’re gone. So what now, art student? Mashed potatoes melting, bits of green beans left unpicked, thinkin’ ‘bout the right words. Half-awake, she takes up questions that challenge the unfed head. You know… most people would give up.
(oh, don’t fall)
(it’s just a mental booty call)
I want it, I want it, I want it–
That’s magick, old girl.

She calls at midnight, my time, bragging of her self-imposed restriction. She sings, just to make a point of our humored shell – green fire, greatness. She tells me what I’ve wanted – anything – anything to get back. She said, “I’m scared…”
I said, “Don’t be.”
She said, “How could you?”
I said, “‘Cause I know.”
She said, “It’s just a lie.”
I said, “I don’t believe you.”
She cries. She hangs up.
I call her back.

Be love, son. We may have lost our way. So they say, so they say. I see deplorable vanity and equate – unfair – but I don’t see the world like that. I’ll fight it every day.
With words, we’ll find what’s missing. We’ll have it – again – with a future, kid. I walk, Strip in sight and trudging a side of the road – telecommunication.
(it will never be just one thing)

“You wanna talk about theme?”
“That would be a good place to start.”
“We need a miracle.”
“So let’s make it happen.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“You said theme.”
“The melting pot. The Red Mass.”
“Separation of church and state…?”
“There’s no such thing.”
“So… Gatsby?”
“So, it’s all an illusion?”
“Like an Atheist in search of proof…”
“Schrödinger’s cat.”
“It’s alive… It’s alive… It’s alive…”
“Sure. From these pesky brunettes and good people in Hollywood.”
“Ya still in the doghouse?”
“The silence is deafening.”
“So… Gatsby?”
“You sound jaded.”
“That’s not good.”
“You wanna talk about theme?”
“American life…”
“The duality of man…?”
“I didn’t think we mattered anymore.”
“You shouldn’t think like that.”
“You’ll go crazy.”
“Don’t be vulgar… You mentioned The Red Mass.”
“I think it’s wrong.”
Jake said, “How do you feel about empathy?”
Chris said, “It sucks.”

It’s the illusion of the objective.
It’s not that I’m impatient.
We have a job to do.
The play’s a big success, but I’m not satisfied.
Five acts – off the oil to the church to a compound in Texas. Guilty prisoners stay captive, having kidnapped our heroine for her failure – but she escapes. I end it on her knees and laughing. I kinda stole it from this western that no one remembers.

That dream I told you about – you were smiling.

I get my hands on a few bucks. I bomb and Jake flies from the hometown and follows my footsteps – forget school, forget the system – almost forget the girls, but then we get a better idea. The actress is picked up for a new pilot, we write another play.

Where you can buy Genesis - Book One of the Kingdom Come Series:

Conect with Bailey Johnson and Kyle Brown here:

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