I heard him talking, I heard him say
He wasn’t gonna kill ya, he was just gonna fuck up your pretty face
~ Motels ‘Celia' 1979
He wasn’t gonna kill ya, he was just gonna fuck up your pretty face
~ Motels ‘Celia' 1979
 |
| May Morning II ~ Gabrielle Bakker |
Mark doesn’t ask much from life and life is happy not to give him much in return. The daily slog to stay pretty much in the same position frustrates and infuriates him.
What’s the point when you get nothing in return for your labour beside food and shelter?
A man should be allowed to do his own thing, especially a young man.
Old hippy Joe’s speeches really get under Mark’s skin, not their content; which he believes are designed merely to entice the girls, but it’s the way they are delivered: as if the clave were a bunch of children who needed his fucking advice; as if he were a priest or some-such… as if he was the boss man; the alpha.
Everybody knows Daniel holds the reigns in this place, with the support of Ellie the doctor of course; and Joe is just the fucking cook.
And all these girls: they’re all like sisters to Mark, and even if they weren’t, how’re you gonna get laid when everybody knows everybody’s business; they’ll be looking for pledges before you can say ‘fuck me’…
And old Joe? they’re not like sisters to him are they Mark?
Mark knows he is not alone in his fears about Joe either; he knows the other guys agree but are too scared of Ellie to say anything.
And who’s to say how much truth is in their fears, both about Joe and of Ellie, how much of any rationale can be pivoted around the fulcrum of truth before the whole mechanism falls apart.
So, it’s up to him, Mark, to keep the old pervert on his toes.
He’d had Joe at the last speech in the kitchen, been on the verge of punching him on that stupid pointy nose of his.
It's a good thing Marty stepped in… a good thing for Joe anyway.
The witch, meanwhile, has been away for weeks now and everybody’s pretending it’s not an issue. Everybody whispering their theories on what happened? Why’d she leave? Where’d she go to?
Fuck her anyway. Not that he would. Fuck her? Not his type really; the face tattoos would put you off. Thanks, but no thanks; he’s not that desperate.
What’s the point when you get nothing in return for your labour beside food and shelter?
A man should be allowed to do his own thing, especially a young man.
Old hippy Joe’s speeches really get under Mark’s skin, not their content; which he believes are designed merely to entice the girls, but it’s the way they are delivered: as if the clave were a bunch of children who needed his fucking advice; as if he were a priest or some-such… as if he was the boss man; the alpha.
Everybody knows Daniel holds the reigns in this place, with the support of Ellie the doctor of course; and Joe is just the fucking cook.
And all these girls: they’re all like sisters to Mark, and even if they weren’t, how’re you gonna get laid when everybody knows everybody’s business; they’ll be looking for pledges before you can say ‘fuck me’…
And old Joe? they’re not like sisters to him are they Mark?
Mark knows he is not alone in his fears about Joe either; he knows the other guys agree but are too scared of Ellie to say anything.
And who’s to say how much truth is in their fears, both about Joe and of Ellie, how much of any rationale can be pivoted around the fulcrum of truth before the whole mechanism falls apart.
So, it’s up to him, Mark, to keep the old pervert on his toes.
He’d had Joe at the last speech in the kitchen, been on the verge of punching him on that stupid pointy nose of his.
It's a good thing Marty stepped in… a good thing for Joe anyway.
The witch, meanwhile, has been away for weeks now and everybody’s pretending it’s not an issue. Everybody whispering their theories on what happened? Why’d she leave? Where’d she go to?
Fuck her anyway. Not that he would. Fuck her? Not his type really; the face tattoos would put you off. Thanks, but no thanks; he’s not that desperate.
| The Motels | ||
| Celia | ||
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