This spec documentary treatment was written for Radical Media in 2013.
On July 21, 2013, Yusuf Islam turned sixty-five – according to the solar calendar. On the Islamic lunar calendar, he turned sixty-seven.
Yusuf has long straddled two worlds, sometimes working to reconcile them, sometimes working to keep them apart. His latest project, the musical Moonshadow, attempts both. Part autobiography, part fantasy, part Steven Georgiou, part Cat Stevens, part Yusuf Islam, the musical reflects the yearning and searching that is Steven and Yusuf. Continue reading ““Yearning Steven, Searching Yusuf””
“WHO ARE YOU?”
Pancho’s eyes flew open. What in the world? He looked around, but didn’t see anything.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
What was that? Sounded like it was coming from the barn aisle outside his door.
“WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”
An enormous block head briefly appeared over the top of Pancho’s stall door. He caught a glimpse of brown brindle ears and an accompanying eye patch over a white coat. Then the block head disappeared. Continue reading ““The Adventures of Pancho the Pony: The Joerimeter” (Story 3)”
“You could hardly hear the announcer over all the cheers,” Pancho said breathlessly. “As I galloped into the stadium, everyone went wild. They were screaming, ‘Pan-CHO! Pan-CHO!’ and U-S-A! U-S-A!’ It was amazing.”
Al, who had been engaged in a post-breakfast cleaning, wasn’t really listening. “You don’t say,” he responded distractedly. He threw in a few, ‘Ohs,’ and ‘Mhmms,’ for good measure.
“The pressure was so heavy, I thought for a second I’d never get off the ground. It was down to me, after all. I was the team anchor, and I was the only one from our side who had a clear round, so I was jumping off for the gold! And you know, I’m pretty much golden-colored, myself, so, you know.” Continue reading ““The Adventures of Pancho the Pony: Pancho’s Dream” (Story 2)”
The morning sun peeked over the distant trees, stretching its rays through the top half of the open barn doors. It wasn’t long before Pancho felt the relaxing warmth work its way through his shaggy golden coat, all the way down to his skin. He sighed with pleasure and stretched out on his bed of fresh shavings.
Ponies like Pancho – all horses, really – don’t lie down very often. They sleep standing up, since they need to be ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. But Pancho got tired easily, and he had learned that lying down was a respite from the pain he felt in his left front hoof when he stood for long periods of time.
He was just thinking about how lovely the sunshine felt on his neck when the warmth suddenly disappeared. He had a feeling someone was watching him, and he was right. As he opened an eye, a small black and white blob came into view. It was a cat, perched on the lip of Pancho’s Dutch stall door – and this cat was deliberately hogging up his sunspot!
Pancho snorted and gingerly raised himself up. “Hey”! he called out. “Hey, you.” Continue reading ““The Adventures of Pancho the Pony: A Brand New Day” (Story 1)”
You must change your life.
—Rilke. “Archaic Torso of Apollo”
I’ve changed, but I’m in pain.
—Morrissey, “Dial a Cliche”
You’ve caught me at a bad time, so why don’t you piss off.
—New Order, “Your Silent Face”
and then the time will come when you add up the numbers,
and then the time will come when you motor away
—Guided by Voices, “Motor Away”, Alien Lanes
I speak in monotone, “Leave my fucking life alone.”
—GBV, “As We Go Up We Go Down”, Alien Lanes
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the attendant says, averting his eyes. He reaches awkwardly for my mother’s elbow, then points down the hall. “This way.”
Mother looks dimly perplexed, as if trying to remember what she’s forgotten. Perhaps where she misplaced her purse or some other item indispensable to functioning outside the house? She does not notice that everything about her person is, as always, intact: muted paisley suit with matching hat and bag, sensible but stylish heels — no sling-backs for Mrs. Anderson — and short, fixed coiffure. She turns slowly in the attendant’s direction, an index finger lingering on her coral lips as if deep in thought and about to point out the result of her deliberation.
Continue reading “Incognito”