The Natty Ice Diaries

The Beast in the Jungle (Part 2)

2011-12-26T17:25:00.000-08:00

"THE EDGE, there is no honest way to explain it...because the only people who really know where it is, are the ones who have gone over."
- Hunter S. Thompson

In 'Part One' of this blog, I defined "the beast in the jungle" as being a potential reality that exists as an abstraction in the future. I emphasized the importance of living in the present and not worrying about anything that may or may not happen in the future, because the present is the only true reality that we should be concerned about (read the previous blog HERE).

I also talked about how the above philosophy could be applied to my financial situation, which always seems to be on the verge of disaster but never actually IS - in my present reality - a disaster. Even though I would often go into a month not knowing how I was going to pay my bills in a couple of weeks, somehow the money would come and I'd always end up OK. All I had to do was keep my faith, trust that some higher divine power would come through and make everything OK.

Well, for the last two months of 2011 my trust in this "higher power" was put to the absolute test; and in the process, I basically came face to face with the beast in the jungle. In fact, I think it's safe to say that I touched the beast, even kissed its forehead tauntingly. And you know what? Ultimately, the beast turned out to be not so bad after all. The beast actually turned out to be one big, giant pussy. Of course, you might be asking yourself what the hell I'm talking about. So allow me to explain myself:

In October of 2011, I actually arrived at the end of the month and realized I had absolutely no way to pay any of my bills. This was the first time that this had ever happened. All my videography and digital editing work had dried up. There was nothing coming at me from any paying source. No wedding videos. No dance recitals. No corporate gigs (PetEdge - a company I had done a lot of work for earlier in the year - didn't have anything more for me). There was literally nothing and all my funds evaporated like a pond in late July. I didn't worry about it at first. Technically, I still had until November 2nd before the actual due dates for the bills, so I thought I would figure something out in the meantime. But I didn't. Nothing came at me. I mean, there was literally no money to pay my bills with. The due date came, and for the first time EVER, I did not pay any of them. Not one single bill.

At first, I really freaked out about the situation. I was late paying my bills! What a disaster! How could God leave me hanging like this? Why did he help me out all those other times but totally forsake me right now? What an asshole. "Lord! I don't want to be part of your creation anymore! This is flawed!"

But then I was washing my hair in the shower one day and I realized that things weren't so disastrous after all...not in the present, that is. I mean, nobody was going to bother me that day about not paying my bills, as there would likely be some sort of a grace period. I was probably OK for the next day as well. And the day after that. Maybe even for a good, full week. So I decided to take things day by day...like, literally. The actual financial ruin was still in the future. Maybe I'd get the money in the next day or two or three and everything would be swell.

In fact, it wasn't that long before I came to the conclusion that this was likely one giant test of faith (of course, it also occurred to me that I may have been delusional and stupid and completely out of my mind). But, yes, I really thought I was engaging in one, gigantic trust fall, like what we used to do in drama club. The question was how long could I go without letting the fear get to me; how long could I go strictly living in the present reality and having no concern about the financial collapse that seemed so frigging imminent it wasn't even funny?

Of course, all rationale and logic told me that I needed to go out into the world and secure some other paying job, abandon what I enjoyed doing with my life and find a more financially stable lifestyle in an office or maybe a holiday retail job. And let me tell you: I was basically on the verge of doing this. But when I thought about going this route, it didn't feel right for me...like, at all. The main reason was because I knew I would be lacking sufficient stimulation and forced to be uncreative for long periods of time, which is something that would make me miserable. And why should I be miserable? I mean, if I had to be miserable to survive in the world, then, well, I didn't want to be in the world, and it was as simple as that. I basically said to God, "Hey, man, if you want me to be miserable, then go screw yourself and your creation and please throw a lighting bolt my way that'll take me out. But if you DON'T want me to be miserable, then you better help me out of this situation. I will show you my full faith and trust, but - in the end - you have to make everything OK."

So I left it at that and I managed to get through November 3rd...and November 4th...and the 5th, and the next day and the next day. To tell you the truth, I don't think I heard from any of my creditors until a few days before Thanksgiving, and it came from a non-threatening letter that suggested I pay one of my bills as soon as possible. The week after that I think I got a phone call with an automated message and then maybe a week later I got another letter. In the meantime, no money had come my way. But no disaster or ruin came my way either. I actually made it to about halfway into December before things got a little hairy, and after that, well, things quickly escalated into a very scary situation.

The first phone call I got from a living person was from my bank on December 15th. During the two months that I had been broke, my checking account became overdrawn because of the monthly fee the bank subtracted from the zero dollars I had in the account. The lady on the phone was very nice, and she basically just said I had to take care of the situation in a couple of days or they would be forced to close my account. I thought I wouldn't be able to pay them, because I thought they'd fined me twenty dollars for each overdraft; however, it turned out that there were no fines and I owed the bank much less than I thought (only twelve dollars). So I was able to roll some coins I found and I actually came up with the twelve dollars I needed to balance out my account. Problem solved.

But then the next phone calls came, almost one after another, like Pandora's box had been opened. First, it was my credit card company. Then, it was an agency collecting for PayPal's "Bill Me Later" division, which I also owed money to. Then came the student loan people. Needless to say, I started feeling very overwhelmed and very stressed.

Now, I'm not sure if you've ever dealt with bill collectors and collection agencies before, but if you never have, it's certainly not an experience I would ever wish upon anybody. To be honest, I don't know how anybody can actually have a soul and also be a bill collector. To say these guys are persistent would be a gross understatement. On the week before Christmas, it got to the point where I was receiving about three phone calls per hour from whatever agency was collecting for Bill Me Later. I eventually turned off the ring to my phone and tried to ignore them. But they were pretty vicious. They would keep calling and never leave a message. Apparently the law says if they talk to you in person or leave a message they're not allowed to call again for a significant period of time. But if they don't leave a message, then they can keep calling as much as they want, and harass the shit out of you.

The week before Christmas, I was literally ready to have a breakdown. I felt so stupid for letting my financial situation get so out of hand. I mean, was I even taking a leap of faith or was it all in my head? Was I just being incredibly stupid and completely fucking myself over for life? To be honest, I was just about ready to accept the latter as the truth...

But then God finally intervened.

A very well-paying gig basically came out of absolutely nowhere. An old friend of mine had a wedding video that he needed done by Christmas Eve but he didn't have time to edit. He was willing to pay me very good money to get it done. So, boom, there it was. My leap of faith had possibly paid off.

I took on the project and for the next week I worked day and night getting the wedding video done so I would meet the deadline. The calls from the bill collectors kept coming, but I tried to stay sane, sweet-talk them on the phone and basically dodge them as best as I could. In the end, I got my money and, well, I was fine. Although things got very scary, nothing very bad had actually happened in my present reality. I mean, I basically had the shit scared out of me by the harassing bill collectors, but I was fine in the end. God had come through and saved my ass from anything truly bad happening. I stared financial ruin right in the face - eye to eye with the beast - and what I realized is that it wasn't as bad as I thought it was. I went much further than I ever thought I could, pushed my faith to the limit, and just when things were getting a little too hairy, I was saved. All was still fine. All was swell. There was absolutely nothing to be worried about. I didn't have to compromise my joy, become miserable and get some boring office or retail job that I hated going to every day. I did what I wanted to do, every single day - what kept myself happy and my soul at peace - and I was fine in the end.

So I would encourage people to do the same. Go eye to eye with the beast and see that there is nothing to fear at all. Do what you want to do with your life. Don't get scared into doing something that sucks or that makes you miserable. Take the leap of faith. Go the distance. Hit rock bottom. Let yourself fall and your world collapse. How bad does your present reality actually become when you do this? Do things ever become truly disastrous? Or do you get helped through each day, one waking hour at a time?

On a side note, I feel the need to mention how similar my financial situation during the last couple months of 2011 was to the situation I had in Poland during my (alleged) past life (read about this life HERE). It was around 1939 in German-occupied Poland, I had a family of nine to feed and I was experiencing extreme financial difficulties. The Nazis came along and offered me a very well-paying job; I was an excavator and they wanted me to clear some land and dig some "anti-aircraft trenches". I was afraid of financial ruin, so I took the job, even though I didn't have the best feeling about working with the Nazis. I cleared the land and dug the holes, but I eventually discovered that I wasn't digging anti-aircraft trenches; I was digging mass graves that would be used to bury hundreds of Polish intellectuals that the Nazis wanted eliminated. Even though I immediately knew partaking in such evil was wrong, I still went along with it, because I was afraid that I would be killed and my family would starve.

Of course, a lot more was at stake while I was in Poland (i.e. a family of nine to feed), but the basic situation was very similar to what I experienced during the last two months of 2011. In Poland, I compromised my soul (in perhaps a very extreme way) out of fear of financial ruin. In my life now, I was on the verge of doing the same. I wasn't considering working for the Nazis or anything like that (obviously), but I was about to get some boring office or retail job and that was a path that I wasn't at all comfortable with, a path that was going to make me absolutely miserable. Where in Poland I had more faith in easy money than God, in my current life I like to think that I placed more faith in God. Where in Poland I feel like I kind of failed my test of faith (however difficult it was), in my current life as Matt Burns I was put to the test again and, this time, I really think I passed. I mastered my fear of financial ruin, hopefully once and for all.

On Christmas night 2011 - when I finally realized I had passed my "test of faith" - I had a really strange dream. I was floating through Space or the universe or something, and so weren’t a bunch of other people...or maybe it was their spirit selves, souls or whatever you want to call it. All I know is a bunch of us were floating towards what-I-identified-as Source Intelligence, the Divine father of the entire universe (i.e. God). Some people were struggling to get to Source, but couldn’t quite get there. Something would pull them back. Others would hit a point where they simply couldn’t go any further, like they were hitting a brick wall or something. But I was basically locked into Source and being sucked in like I was caught in a magnetic field. Where everybody else was struggling, I didn’t have to put any effort into getting there at all. It was like I was going on cruise control. I got closer and closer to Source and, eventually, I became one with it and then I suddenly became aware of being back in my bed and feeling this awesome sensation come over me. I think the best way to describe it is to say it was a feeling of ascension, and I’m not quite sure I know what I mean by that.

Looking back on it, I think this dream could have meant a number of things. I think it may, in a sense, mean that I finally found God...or, in a sense, became one with God after taking an enormous, seemingly never-ending leap of faith (these past few months have been the grand finale, but the 'leap' has actually been going on more then seven years, since I finished college). In fact, I think that's the whole point of taking a leap of faith: to find God and become one with Him in the sense that you are as fearless as He is.

I also think the dream was symbolic of me passing the test that I failed to pass in my past lives. I finally overcame my fear of financial ruin and finally showed that I have one-hundred-percent trust in God and Source, the Divine Father, or whatever you want to call that highly intelligent energy. I certainly can't go so far as to say I am an ascended master now (i.e. that I have mastered one-hundred percent of the human condition), but I may have - perhaps - made a major accomplishment, ascended to some degree (on a spiritual level) and for that I'm kind of proud of myself.

A Parallel World

2011-12-03T15:00:00.000-08:00

Well, I recently dug up a documentary I made a couple years ago and made some minor tweaks to it. It's called A PARALLEL WORLD and it's about a haunted house on Cape Cod that my aunt and uncle were renting in the winter of 2009.

One thing I wanted to add to the documentary (that I hadn't included in the original cut) was how 'something' allegedly follow me home from the house after I was there investigating its paranormal activity. This 'thing' was a man who actually appeared in my dream about two or three nights after I had been at the house. The man had pinkish eyes and was very pale, basically to the extent that he lacked any pigmentation in his skin whatsoever (think Darth Vader when he removes his mask). I hate to say it, but this man actually looked like the victim of a drowning, which is really strange because somebody related to the house on Cape Cod - a young man named Tom - had drowned in a boating accident (halfway through the documentary we find a letter informing family members of the drowning).

The dream itself didn't last for very long, but I could tell for some reason that it was more than just a dream. All I remember was that the man was very desperate and full of despair. He was creeping towards me and I got the sense that he wanted my energy. But I backed away from him. I didn't want him to get near me at all. Then I woke up.

For the next three months after the dream, I experienced some strange paranormal activity in my bedroom. I would wake up in the middle of the night and the light over my bed would be turned on. Another time, I woke up and saw that the power to my Playstation had been switched on. Then there would be mysterious electrical issues - outlets not working or being temperamental - things of that nature.

It wasn't until a year later that I spoke to a psychic medium about the haunted house and she said, "You know, Matt, something followed you home that night!" Needless to say, I was a little unsettled when I heard this, but it explained the weird dream I had, not to mention the paranormal activity in my bedroom.

Fortunately, another medium taught me how to do a "spiritual cleansing" and I eventually cleared myself of all foreign and unwanted energies. After the cleansing, all paranormal activity ceased.

Anyway, without further adieu, here is the full-length documentary "A Parallel World". Check it out if you haven't seen it already. It may give you the creeps, so snuggle up with that special somebody before you press 'play':

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

Thoughts about the Occupy Wall Street Movement

2011-11-28T08:46:00.000-08:00

Over the past few months I've had a lot of mixed feelings when it came to the Occupy Wall Street Movement. On one hand, it was a breath of fresh air to see people interested in making a difference and wanting to change things that they don't like happening in America. In fact, it was only a handful of months ago where I was watching a documentary on the band Nirvana and there was an interview with Curt Cobain talking passionately about certain issues he had with media, politics etc., and it made me realize that there weren't many people like that anymore. Nobody seemed to give a damn in this day and age. With the economy in the shape it was in, everybody seemed to be more concerned about financial survival and holding on for dear life to what was left of the American Dream. Saving the world wasn't anywhere close to being on their list of priorities; indifference and apathy seemed to be rampant; dissent and discourse seemed to be dead. But then the Occupy Wall Street movement happened and it reminded me that there are, indeed, still people out there who want to save the world. It rekindled some of my hope in humanity.

That all being said, I didn't necessarily feel the need to join the movement myself. I feel like I protest in my own ways (mainly through writing) and going to an organized protest for me would be like a spiritual person feeling the need to attend Church for no other practical reason than to show off his spirituality. But I can understand why others would want to go to the protest. And it gives Washington, Wall Street, corporate America and the wealthy "one-percent" a good wake-up call - basically, that Americans apparently aren't as complacent as previously thought. They're not going to just allow Wall Street to get away with stealing billions of dollars from taxpayers in bailouts, run their shady credit default swap schemes, purposely destroy the economy to eliminate the middle class etc.

One thing I've found most fascinating (and frightening) about the Occupy movement is how the 'elite' have been responding to the protesters. The first thing they tried to do was demean the people by painting them as bums, misfits, menaces and outright criminals. I was recently watching an interview on TV where Newt Gingrich said - with the signature Republican smirk - that the protesters needed to "get a job and take a bath". Frankly, I can't believe that anybody would ever take a politician seriously who makes such childish, immature, negative and hateful remarks. What kind of America are we living in when protesters embracing their American right to change things and make a difference are made to feel like absolute shit? Bullying leaders like Gingrich are about as anti-American and unpatriotic as they come. At some point in his life, Gingrich made the cowardly choice NOT to be free and - out of sheer insecurity - he's now ridiculing those who actually choose to be free. This is a man who is a bigger "enemy of freedom" than any terrorist out there in the world.

But demeaning the protesters ultimately proved ineffective, so Gingrich and the rest of the elite then tried to lay a guilt trip on them. They started scolding the protesters because all the police presence at the protests was supposedly costing the taxpayers millions of dollars. This may very well be true but it's important to remember why the protesters are there in the first place. Maybe if Wall Street didn't swindle the American people out of billions of dollars in bailouts, run their Ponzi schemes, hand out all their bogus loans, bet against these loans in the futures market and generally fuck up the economy in an inexcusably malicious way, the protesters wouldn't have to be on Wall Street to begin with. Besides, what kind of America are we living in when protesters are made to feel guilty for simply wanting to change things and make a difference? A true America cannot exist if protesting is depicted as being something that's too costly. That's basically like saying freedom is too costly so you better shut up no matter what's going on, be complacent and save the taxpayers' money. If there's anything the taxpayers SHOULD be funneling money into it's freedom, not into "bailouts" for banks that are supposedly "too big to fail".

I guess the point I'm trying to make here is that true freedom is something being battled against by the ruling powers, whether it be Wall Street, Washington, corporate America or the wealthy one-percent. With the help of the media, they constantly chant "Never Forget 9/11!" and remind us about Al Qaeda and Bin Laden and Zawahiri and underwear bombers and "homegrown terrorists" and "lone wolves" to take attention away from themselves and their own hatred of freedom. The truth is that the only "homegrown terrorists" we really need to be afraid of are morons like Newt Gingrich who ridicule people for simply being free, tell them to get a job and take a shower etc. Gingrich talks a big game about loving freedom, but the truth is that the only kind of freedom people like him love is the kind that secures his position as rich and powerful while the other ninety-nine percent struggles every month to pay its bills. He is part of a larger movement to essentially redefine freedom as something that only serves the wealthy elite, destroys the middle class and prolongs a society where wealth is distributed in an absurdly disproportionate manner.

Whether you're for the Occupy movement or against it, one thing we can hopefully all agree on is that protest and dissent are essential to a society that is going to be truly free. Once we become hostile towards this kind of freedom or try to guilt-trip those who embrace it, we might as well be living in 1930s Germany.

A Psychic Vision

2011-11-17T13:45:00.000-08:00

I just thought I would post this brief video clip of a psychic medium describing a vision she had of me. I'm not quite sure what the vision means, but it sounded kind of cool, and it reminds me of the Karate Kid and Mr. Miyagi for some reason, though you may not agree with me.

The vision...

Danielson and Mr. Miyagi. You see the parallels, right? Of course you do.

SHOUT OUT TO A GERMAN GIRL

2011-11-17T11:57:00.000-08:00

NOTE: I wrote the blog below sometime in 2007, but never published it for reasons I don't remember. It's a little tongue and cheeky, but worth posting. Some strong language/sexual content. Don't read if you are easily offended.

SHOUT OUT TO A GERMAN GIRL

This is a letter from me to a German girl I had a weird, two-hour “moment” with at a bar in Boston on Fat Tuesday 2006. I write it in hope that one day the girl will remember my name, look me up on the Internet and find me here. So if you're not the German girl, you shouldn't be reading this, as things are going to get really erotic and steamy. If you are the German girl, then, "Hey, how's things going? Remember me?"

February 2006. Fat Tuesday. I was experiencing the blues. Only days earlier I discovered that all four of my wisdom teeth had cavities and needed to be removed. Bad news for a man with no dental insurance. Certainly a date with Mr. Anheuser-Busch was on the bill.

A friend from college was going to be in town for a few days, visiting his sister. We decided to get together and do a good old-fashioned bender. We started at a bar called the Pour House on Boylston Street. It was 11am. We got hamburgers and several mugs of beer. The hours began to blur. The buzz began to set in...

By early evening, we ended up at a bar formerly called the White Horse Tavern. I'm not sure what it's called now but I'm sure it's something stupid. I was sitting at the bar, going off on my usual loud, drunken rants:

“No, Paris Hilton is really, really smart.”

“Ok, Burns. Sounds good.”

“No, dude, Paris Hilton is, like, really bright. People don’t understand her.”

“All right, Burns. I believe you.”

“No, Paris Hilton’s REALLY smart. I’m gonna marry her and have her babies.”

“Ok, Burns. Good luck with that.”

“No, you don’t understand...”

When suddenly, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I glanced to my four o' clock and saw this girl sitting alone in a booth, looking in my direction.

I didn't think much of this at first. It wasn't unusual for me to draw attention to myself when going off on my drunken rants. But the glances kept coming and soon I began to realize that, "Holy shit, that girl over there wants my balls!”

Yes, it appeared to be the case. But should it have really surprised me? I mean, who wouldn't be attracted to a guy who sticks up for such misunderstood celebrities as Paris Hilton? Duh!

The question was what to do about it, as I wasn't in the mood for bullshit. All I really wanted to do was go over and ask, "Are you into me or what?" None of this, "Hey can I buy you a drink?" mumbo jumbo. But I was too afraid. Sure, I was drunk and more confident than usual, but when it came down to it, I was still my usual, nervous self.

Ten minutes or so passed. My friend had to meet another friend and had no choice but to take off and leave me. "This isn't good," I thought. My buzz had reached its peak and I was feeling really swell. I sure as shit didn't feel like calling it a night and riding back to the suburbs on a train full of boring commuters. I wanted to party. But there was no one to party with.

I looked back over to the girl who only minutes ago was giving me all sorts of eye-action. "Should I talk to her?" I asked myself. "No, bad idea," I thought. I didn't know her. What if she was a sex addict and wanted to go back to her place and she had Aids? "Aids wouldn't be a good thing to have," I realized. So I packed up shop and left the bar.

Stumbling down Boylston Street in a drunken haze, I started hearing an infuriated voice in my head: "You fucking pussy, Burns! That girl wanted your balls and you just ran away from her! She wanted to take you back to her place and give you Aids! How can you live with yourself, you...you pussaaay?!" I knew the voice was right: I wanted that girl’s Aids.

I was back to the bar in ten minutes - maybe less - and, to my luck, the girl was still there. But I was still too scared to make my move. Where would such an action lead me? What road could it take me down? What radical changes could it possibly bring to my life? But, most importantly, would the girl really have Aids?

All the questions freaked me out, so I made a quick beeline to the bathroom and tried like hell to muster up a leak. I eventually managed to shake a few drips into the urinal, flushed, took about three minutes to wash my hands and, finally, came to the point where I looked in the mirror and said...

“All right, Burns, you hot shit. Let’s do this!”

I reentered the bar, immediately put the girl in my cross-hairs and took a deep breath: “That girl over there is gonna get it so hard and ya know what? I’m the one who's gonna give it to her!!!”

I strutted closer and closer and closer to the booth...shoulders up, chest out - I had never looked so jacked. And, then...

I sat.

"Can I buy you a drink?" I asked in a voice reminiscent of a pubescent Peter Brady.

"Um...no, I'm all set," she said in what I soon realized was a German accent. That’s right: she was German, which, by the way, did not disappoint me in the least. She actually looked a lot like Lola in that movie Run Lola Run, except with bigger boobs and nicer thighs...oh, and she had brown hair, I think - not red.

“Why’d you come back?” she asked.

“I needed to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh...but why’d you sit down?”

“Oh, um, you know, I saw a pretty girl here and, thought, ‘what the heck?’”

Damn, I was smooth. Hell, Humphrey Bogart himself should’ve been taking notes...if, you know, this was 1946, not 2006.

But the Bogart-like charm I exuded was a stark contrast from what was going on in my head:

“Holy shit, is she gonna ask me back to her place, god, I need rubbers, well there’s a C.V.S. a couple doors down, Aids isn’t really too bad of a disease, do you think we’re gonna do it in the shower?”

Clearly my brain had mutated into a bottle of Budweiser.

But the question was how the transition was going to take place? How was I going to go from the booth in the bar to the hot German girl’s shower? I didn’t know the answer to this...

So once again I panicked and struck up a conversation with her! Yes, I know, I know. Stupidest fucking move a horny dude could make, right? But I did it and, goddamn, I had to follow through.

I learned she was a singer studying music at Berklee College of Music...

“...I’d get HIV first, maybe I’ll never get the Aids...”

That Johnny Depp was her favorite actor...

“...I’ve dealt with strep throats, certainly I can handle the Aids...”

That Guinness was her favorite beer...

“...Magic Johnson’s still alive, right..?”

And that she had a mom and a dad back in Germany. They were both worried sick about her.

Eeeeeeeerrrrrrrcccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhhh!!! Crash!!! Hubcaps rolling on pavement.

And that was that: my buzz was killed.

It was like suddenly snapping out of an acid frenzy and finding yourself in the middle of a desert...a whining wind shivering your bones...vultures circling your head. “What the hell am I doing?” I asked myself. “Where am I?” “Why am I here?” The recollection of rubbers, CVS’s and showers flooded back into my mind, but it seemed like these memories were all part of something that happened years ago - not minutes.

It was the image of her “Mom and Dad” that killed the buzz. Why were they worried sick? Among other things, because of horny drunkards like myself, prowling the streets of Boston. Their daughter was Little Red Riding Hood and I was the Big Bad Wolf - the sleazy guy in the Lifetime movie, the guy at the truck stop in Thelma and Louis, the dog trying to piss on the new fire-hydrant, the…well, you get the point. Yes, I was all those and more. And it made me feel like a horrible person.

So I decided to continue the conversation and pretend like I never had any thoughts of going back to her place and contracting her Aids. And, I must say, it wasn’t that bad of a conversation, though I couldn’t tell you what it was about because I don’t remember any of it.

Two hours later we decided to call it a night. I walked her a little ways down Boylston, asked for her email, and gave her a hug. Part of me still wanted some first base, but by that time I had stale booze breath and figured it would be better to part on a higher note (my hugs are irresistible). Besides, now that the booze was almost completely out of my brain, I realized I didn’t like her that much, anyway. She was just somebody to fill the space before I found Paris Hilton and had her babies.

Anyway, as fate would have it, I ended up losing her email, so this is just my shout out to her. If you read this, I enjoyed the conversation, even though I hardly remember any of it, and good luck with the Aids! Magic Johnson’s done well. You will too!

Love Always,

Matt Burns

Crossing Over

2011-11-14T18:33:00.000-08:00

On March 18, 2010 I witnessed something very fascinating that I think people will also find rather fascinating. A circle of mediums congregated at a place in Easton, Massachusetts to cross a woman's (her name is Linda in the video) grandmother over to the "other side". Linda's grandmother had been pestering her for two years after passing and refused to "go into the light". She was afraid of having to face God and look back on what she had done during her time on earth.

I was fortunate to be able to videotape the 'crossing' and I share it here for others to view. Among other things, the video begins to answer our questions about what happens to us after we die. It also explores concepts such as "life reviews" and "life contracts", the importance of forgiveness, and the soul versus the body.

The 'crossing' is conducted by a renown medium named Liam Galvin. His voice may sound strange at times because he is actually channeling his spirit guide who is helping with the ceremony. Enjoy!

PART ONE

PART TWO

Soul Mates

2011-11-13T18:08:00.001-08:00

I just thought I would post the interview below for anybody currently having relationship troubles or for anybody who is currently pissed off at an ex-girlfriend/boyfriend. If you're anything like me, you can get really worked up about certain issues, sometimes get absolutely irate, and have trouble letting the negativity go.

I stumbled upon the interview recently and I had actually forgotten that I had it. It was recorded in early 2010 for a documentary I was trying to do about a psychic medium named Ava. She says some really interesting things here about soul mates and reminds us that we need bad relationships in order to learn how to be treated and how to treat others. It's this learning process that eventually prepares us to be with our "soul mates".

This means that it's kind of stupid to get so pissed or worked up about a relationship-gone-sour. It went sour for a greater purpose, not because of bad luck. Learn to forgive the girls/boys who back-stab, betray you and act insensitive to you; they teach you how you want to be treated and how not to treat others. Also, learn to forgive yourself for being insensitive/selfish in a past relationship; move forward and know how to treat your significant other better the next time. Remember that it's all a learning process and - like with anything else - you can't learn unless you make mistakes.

So, without further adieu, here is a brief clip from the interview. It may brighten your day or at least allow you to let any beef you have - with either your ex or yourself - go.

The Beast in the Jungle

2011-11-08T18:57:00.001-08:00

Over the years I have to confess that I have been a bit of a worrier when it came to my financial situation. In fact, I guess I've been a worrier ever since I graduated college about seven years ago and got spat out into the "real world". To my misfortune, the economy seemed to get a little worse every year that went by and then in 2008 it completely tanked and, well, it hasn't gotten much better since then.

Needless to say, I felt very anxious about the uncertain times and my uncertain future. It also didn't help that I chose the life of an artist, writer, wedding videographer, freelancer and overall odd-jobber. With few exceptions, I rarely had a dependable income coming my way. Financial ruin always seemed to be imminent, lurking around the corner like a beast in the jungle. However, to this date, it has yet to come, and even though my financial situation today is probably more fragile than ever, I'm starting to wonder if it will ever come at all.

Looking back at the past seven years, I can't tell you how many months I went into not knowing how the hell I was going to pay my bills that were due by the month's end. Sometimes I wouldn't have the money until a week before or sometimes even a few days before the bills were actually due. At first, I'd spend most of the month worrying how the hell I was going to pay the bills, but, one way or another, the money would come and I'd realize that all my worrying was needless. Over time, I would worry less and less and, eventually, I hardly worried at all.

Anyway, the conclusion I've drawn from this entire seven-year experience (and see if you can follow me with this) is that the future is a beast, but it's a beast that only exists as an abstraction in our minds. After all, the future doesn't exist. It never exists. It is only a potential reality, but never an actual reality. So if we work ourselves up about something that may or may not happen in the future (like, in my case, financial ruin) then we are becoming a victim of something that doesn't even exist to begin with, which makes no sense whatsoever.

When people say they are in financial trouble, what they usually mean is that financial ruin seems imminent, but the fact of the matter is that - at the present point in time - they are living and breathing and they've been fed, clothed, sheltered etc., so, technically, they are in no financial trouble; the only trouble that they have is in the future, but the future doesn't exist, so there is no trouble.

Most people who actually do experience financial ruin in their present reality are experiencing it because they deserved it. They spent way more money than they have...on things like widescreen TVs, ridiculously large homes, nice cars, vacations etc. They basically got what was coming to them for being materialistic and living outside their means. I truly believe that as long as you're living as decent/modest/humble a life as you can, then you will never experience financial ruin in the present; and even if you do, it's not worth worrying about it for every day leading up to it. If you do this, then your worrying becomes the "beast" that ruins you, not the actual event of experiencing financial collapse. You end up panicking and doing something rash like getting a job you don't like, doing something unethical, screwing somebody over, stealing etc. You sacrifice happiness and maybe even morality for financial security.

If you haven't made the connection already, much of this blog was inspired by a short story by Henry James I recently re-read entitled THE BEAST IN THE JUNGLE. The story is about a man named John Marcher who is convinced that he's been singled out by God to experience some sort of catastrophic event in his life. He doesn't quite know when the "event" will take place, but he constantly feels that it's imminent and he hardly does anything with his life other than put all his time and energy into worrying about what the "event" will be.

Among other things, the moral of James' story is that worrying about an event that may or may not happen in the future is actually worse than any actual event that may or may not occur. The so-called "beast in the jungle" is, essentially, the uncertain future, but it's up to the person whether they want the uncertainty of the future to frighten the life out of them. If the beast ever strikes, then that's unfortunate, but worrying about the beast striking isn't going to make things any better. In other words, it's better to live life to the fullest - without worry - up until the beast strikes, instead of living a paralyzed life of fear.

Overall, James' story is a rather philosophical tale about ignoring the future and concentrating only on the present, which is the only true reality. This is a life philosophy that can not only be applied to things like financial fears, but to just about all of life's worries, whether it be in relationships, love, jobs, travel, school...yes, just about everything. The bottom line is that the future is a cunning little devil that tricks us into thinking it is real when it is only an illusion. If you remember that, then you will worry less and your life will be better.

---

Read the second installment of this blog (THE BEAST IN THE JUNGLE PART 2) by clicking HERE.

The Importance of Being Happy

2011-11-08T18:02:00.000-08:00

At the risk of sounding like Wayne Dyer or some other New Agey positive-psychology guru, I just wanted to share a minor revelation I had recently about the importance of being happy. Up until recently, I saw happiness as...well, not very important, in the sense that it was up to me if I wanted to be happy but as far as anybody else was concerned it was none of their business how I felt. I also felt kind of selfish about wanting to be happy, which is a feeling that quite possibly stems from my Catholic upbringing where the insinuation is that one needs to make unpleasant personal sacrifices to please a God that is superior and external to ourselves.

Lately, however, I have seen "God" in a much different manner from which I was taught in my CCD classes. With the help of the author Caroline Cory (and her book The Divine Plan: Beyond 2012) I have come to understand God as a tremendous intelligent energy that we all stem from and that we are all a part of. Every single thing in the universe is an extension of this "God" and, although we all possess our own individual free will, it can be said that WE ARE ALL GOD. As my mentor Ray Carney once said, we are "God's eyes and ears, his arms and hands and fingers, his taste buds and nostrils, his consciousness..." - in other words, our experiences and actions in the world (good or bad) comprise the massive universal experience that is God.

In this light, "happiness" takes on a whole new importance to me, because it is no longer a personal issue that only affects the individual, but it is actually something that affects God and the harmony of the entire universe. If we aren't happy, our souls are not at peace, and if our souls are not at peace then there is a small piece of God that is in pain as well, and, if there is a small piece of God that is in pain, then there is a disruption in the universe (a 'disturbance in the force' to use Star Wars terminology) and universal harmony is damaged.

Therefore, we basically owe it - not just to ourselves - but to the entire universe to be happy in our lives. Contrary to what I used to believe, it is not at all selfish for us to want personal happiness but it's actually a selfless desire to keep God and the overall universe in a state of peace. Whether it's a job we despise going to every day, or a group of friends we don't feel comfortable being around, or a marriage we don't feel is right for us, or a religion we don't really feel comfortable following, or a lifestyle we lead that isn't true to ourselves...we owe it to the people around us and every other single being in the universe to change our lives in a way that makes us more happy.

Now, when I talk about being "happy" I don't mean to imply that people should have a big Jack-Nicholson-like smile on their faces 24 hours a day. And I don't think people should spend their free time frolicking through a meadow shouting "Wheeeeeee!" All I mean when I say 'happiness' is that our souls should be in a state of comfort. We should be doing what we WANT to be doing in our lives, not what outside influences (whether it be religions, corporations, politicians, celebrities, media, family, friends, grandparents, dogs, cats) want us to do. As selfish as it may sound, we should live to please ourselves and nobody else and in doing this we are selflessly pleasing God.

BLOWTORTURE - my new screenplay

2011-09-07T17:24:00.000-07:00

Here are the first 30 pages of my newest screenplay BLOWTORTURE. It is a horror movie with philosophical content that you don't normally find in most high-concept horror movies.

The story is about an ex-child-actor grown up to become a psycho who's going around burning big celebrities' faces with a blowtorch. With their images literally deformed, the celebrities can no longer find work in Hollywood and their careers are over. But instead of being bitter or jealous, the "Blowtorcher" claims he's doing the celebrity a favor, opening his or her eyes to the conditional love that pervades Hollywood and the image-obsessed American culture.

On the surface, BLOWTORTURE is a 'slasher film', but in its subtext the film asks a very important question: is a celebrity anything without an image?

NOTE: please disregard the poor formatting - pasting the script into the blog doesn't translate very well.

BLOWTORTURE
by Matt Burns
WGA Registered # 1244505

"There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit."

- Romans 8:1

Ext. Hollywood. evening

It's an aerial view of Hollywood.

The sky is an orangey-purple, a combination of smog and light pollution.

The bright lights flicker in the valley below - billboards, marquees, headlights, store signs and saggy traffic lights. There's the Capitol Records Building. And the Roosevelt Hotel. And the Scientology Building. The Knickerbocker. Pantages. The Egyptian...

Browning palm trees reach high into the sky and droop their way back into the valley. They look tired and sick.

In the far distance is the Hollywood sign. It grows in size as we move closer to it.

And closer...

And closer.

Soon, the Hollywood sign is all that we see. It looks browned and weathered. Some of the letters are vandalized with graffiti.

We move even closer to the sign.

There is a ghostly shadow in the first 'O' of the sign.

The SHADOW is a DARK FIGURE.

The DARK FIGURE is a MAN.

This MAN is extremely creepy-looking. His face looks like it suffered horrible burns at some point in time - there is nothing but hideous deformity and scar-tissue. The man's hair is long and greasy and unkept. His clothes are dark and old and completely unstylish. This is ADONIS.

ADONIS - late 20s - sits inside the 'O', gazing down to the bright valley below. His eyes burn with a mixture of sadness and rage.

After a few moments, he sits up and gets onto his feet. His movements are quiet - almost like a ghost's.

He takes one last look at the valley below...

...and leaves the Hollywood sign.

Int. Kodak theater. Night

It's the Academy Award ceremony (or something very similar, depending on whether the Academy allows itself to be portrayed in this movie).

Hollywood's brightest STARS are all in attendance - the most gorgeous people on the earth in one room at the same time. The ACTRESSES wear the finest designer-dresses by Oscar De La Renta and also the most expensive jewelry they could get their hands on. The ACTORS wear the most fashionable tuxedos and the finest hair-styling oils.

A gorgeous actress - the PRESENTER - stands at a podium on the Kodak stage and opens a manila envelope.

presenter

(into microphone)

And the Oscar goes to...

She opens the envelope.

presenter (cONT'D)

Christopher Hawthorne...for ANGEL'S WINGS.

The AUDIENCE erupts into applause.

CHRISTOPHER HAWTHORNE is one of the most beautiful actors in Hollywood. Everything about him is perfect. Perfectly-styled hair, symmetrical face, blue eyes, broad chest, tan skin, shiny white teeth...

He is absolutely shocked by the announcement. So shocked...that it takes him a moment to move from his chair.

Int. Adonis' mansion. same time

It is huge and dark and empty. There is a haunting eeriness to it.

ADONIS sits in a dark corner of the room, watching the Oscars on a giant plasma television.

CHRISTOPHER HAWTHORNE is on the screen.

ADONIS eyeballs the image of him. His face looks eerily stoic.

Int. Kodak theater. night

CHRISTOPHER HAWTHORNE stands from his chair and hugs the PEOPLE around him, especially his MOM (his date), and also all the producers/actors that worked on the film with him.

He eventually makes his way to the stage.

Int. KoDAK THEATER - the stage. night

CHRISTOPHER steps his way onto the stage - drunk with shock and dripping with tears of joy.

The PRESENTER hands the Oscar to CHRISTOPHER. He accepts the trophy and gives the PRESENTER a gentleman's kiss on the cheek.

The AUDIENCE applause fades.

CHRISTOPHER leans into the podium and tries to gather his thoughts.

CHRISTOPHER

(into microphone)

Oh my God...wow...just wow...

He wipes the tears from his cheeks.

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

...oh my God...

Various members of the AUDIENCE are in tears themselves.

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

...this is amazing. I can't believe this is happening.

Int. AdONIS' MANSION. same time

ADONIS sits in the shadows, watching the giant plasma television.

His breathing becomes heavier. There is rage in his lungs.

Int. Kodak THEATER - the stage. Night

CHRISTOPHER finally gathers his composure.

CHRISTOPHER

(into microphone)

I'd like to thank everybody at Hollywood 'N Highland productions. Everybody at Worldwide Pictures. My agent Richard Weinberg. God...and, most importantly, my mom who worked three jobs and raised my five brothers all by herself.

Int. Adonis' MANSION. NIGHT

The TV cuts to a shot of CHRISTOPHER HAWTHORNE'S MOM looking a lot like Elizabeth Taylor. She mists with tears of joy and blows CHRISTOPHER a kiss.

The shot of the mom sends more rage into ADONIS' face. His breathing becomes heavier.

Int. Kodak THEATER - the stage. NIGHT

CHRISTOPHER continues his speech.

CHRISTOPHER

(into microphone)

My mom never stopped supporting me, the entire time. Through it all, she was always there by my side. She's amazing.

He holds the Oscar high in the air.

Christopher (CONT'D)

Thank you so much! Support your troops!!!

The audience applauds and the pit orchestra swells into a melodramatic theme that is sure to manipulate the emotions.

Int. Adonis' MANSION. NIGHT

ADONIS' breathing gets heavier...and heavier...and heavier.

His eyes burn with rage. The rage crescendos...

Cut TO:

Ext. the hollywood hills - mulholland drive. night

A limo weaves its way up the serpentine road.

Int. Limo - on mulholland drive. Night

CHRISTOPHER sits alone in the backseat of the limo, cradling his Oscar in his lap.

He peers out the window, over the cliffs and down to the bright-lighted Sunset Boulevard below.

CHRISTOPHER

(to himself)

I did it...

His eyes mist with tears of self-satisfaction.

Ext. CHRISTOPHER HAWTHORNE'S mansion. night

The mansion is guarded by a tall, stucco wall covered with vines and palms and juniper trees.

An enormous wrought-iron gate opens.

CHRISTOPHER'S limo rolls through the gate and down a long, never-ending driveway.

The gate closes.

Int. CHRISTOPHER HAWTHORNE'S Mansion - living room. Night

It is huge and eerie and vacuous - kind of like the Overlook Hotel in "The Shining". The interior design seems to have been heavily-influenced by Native American culture.

There is noise in the distance. Footsteps against a Mexican-tiled floor. Keys jingling. And more footsteps.

The footsteps grow in volume. CHRISTOPHER finally enters the room, still cradling the Oscar in his arms.

He walks over to a stone mantle at the far end of the room.

He places the Oscar on the mantle and admires it for a few moments.

The mansion is silent - nothing but a dull drone from the home's air conditioning system. But, then...

Bee-alee-alee-aleep!!!!!!!!!!

There is a high-pitched chirping sound. It's the phone.

CHRISTOPHER leaves the Oscar on the mantle and goes to answer the phone.

Bee-alee-alee-aleep!!!!!!!!!!

The phone is on a lamp-stand at the opposite end of the room.

CHRISTOPHER answers it.

CHRISTOPHER

(into phone)

Hello?

There is a VOICE on the other end of the line.

CHRISTOPHER (coNT'D)

(into phone)

Oh, hi.

CHRISTOPHER'S voice is cold and distant.

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

(into phone)

Thanks. It's amazing. It's really...amazing.

There is an awkward pause in their conversation.

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

(into phone)

Are you still on set? Jeez, it must be about three in the morning there, right?

The VOICE on the other end says something.

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

(into phone)

Oh.

There is another awkward pause.

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

(into phone)

Well...I miss you.

(pause)

Huh? Oh, well, I put it on the...

He turns towards the mantle.

But sees that the Oscar is...

GONE!!!

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

...mantle.

CHRISTOPHER is puzzled.

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

(into phone)

That's weird.

(pause)

I thought I put it on the mantle, but now it's not there.

He moves towards the mantle.

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

(into phone)

No, I really thought I put it on the mantle...

He moves closer to the mantle.

The Oscar is definitely gone.

Suddenly, there is the sound of a cold breeze - a very light wind.

CHRISTOPHER stops in his tracks. He suddenly feels as though he's not alone. He may be right. He turns around...very slowly...

...and around...

He isn't alone.

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

Aaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhhh!!!

WHACK!

He gets hit over the head with the Oscar trophy and tumbles to the floor.

ADONIS stands over CHRISTOPHER'S half-conscious body, wearing a welder's mask over his face. His breathing is accentuated by the mask, kind of like he's Darth Vader. He looks creepy as hell.

CHRISTOPHER tries to crawl away from ADONIS...but he can't get very far. He starts to lose all consciousness and everything fades to black.

Fade tO bLACK.

Int. Christopher HAWTHORNE'S mansion - kitchen. minutes later

CHRISTOPHER is tied - with rope - into a chair in the middle of the kitchen. He slowly begins to nod back into consciousness.

ADONIS gradually fades into his vision. He's still wearing the welder's mask, but now also holding a blowtorch in his hand.

CHRISTOPHER is confused as to what's going on.

Christopher

What the...

But before he can get another word out of his mouth - wooooooooosssssshhhhhhhh - ADONIS fires up the blowtorch.

Christopher (CONT'D)

Wha...huh?

ADONIS slowly brings the flame closer and closer to CHRISTOPHER'S face.

Christopher (CONT'D)

Wha? No, stop! Please!!!

ADONIS starts melting CHRISTOPHER'S face with the blowtorch.

CHRISTOPHER lets out a blood-curdling scream as the pain begins to set in.

CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)

Aaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!

Title Card: BLOWTORTURE

Int. dr. abrams' office. morning

It is a comfy place with bookshelves and leather recliners. Certificates from UCLA hang from the walls and there is a window looking out to some palm trees.

DR. ABRAMS - mid 50s and bald with glasses - sits in his office with one of his PATIENTS named BRENDA DAVIS.

Dr. abrams

What is your name?

Patient

Brenda Davis.

DR. ABRAMS

Where were you born?

The PATIENT pauses a moment, but then answers.

PATIENT

I don't remember.

DR. ABRAMS

Where did you grow up?

PATIENT

I don't remember.

DR. ABRAMS jots some notes into his report.

DR. ABRAMS

Are you related to Bette Davis, the actress?

PATIENT

Yes.

DR. ABRAMS

How?

PATIENT

She is my grandmother.

DR. ABRAMS

There is no record of a Brenda Davis. No birth certificate, no social security number. Are you sure you're telling me the truth here?

PATIENT

Yes.

DR. ABRAMS

Mrs. Davis, do you realize the gravity of your offense? You've been charged with fraud, misleading your acting students into thinking you're Bette Davis' granddaughter. This does not appear to be true.

PATIENT

But it is true. I'm Brenda Davis.

DR. ABRAMS analyzes her face and writes some more notes into his report.

Int. Mental hospital - activity room. morning

A bunch of crazy MENTAL PATIENTS mill around in the room. Some of them play cards or checkers. Others dance around in their own little worlds. And others watch a small television hanging from the wall.

DR. ABRAMS talks in a corner with another doctor - DR. GRANT. They both sip on mugs of coffee as they overlook the MENTAL PATIENTS.

dr. grant

Making any progress with that Davis woman?

Dr. abrams

She doesn't show any signs of delusional disorders.

DR. GRANT

So what are you gonna tell the judge?

DR. ABRAMS

That I think she's lying. But I don't think she did it for the money. I think she truly just likes pretending she's somebody with a famous name. Gets her attention. A lot of friends. Something like that. Who knows?

DR. GRANT

Well, I'll tell ya: either way, I think she's insane. I mean, if she's that desperate to be liked by people. I'd say she was bonkers.

DR. ABRAMS

Yes, but unfortunately, that's not what will go in my report.

Their conversation is suddenly interrupted by a live news report on the television.

Ext. CHRISTOPHER hawthorne's MANSION. morning (on tv)

A Latino NEWS REPORTER named AMELIA SANTIAGO stands in front of the gate to the mansion.

AmELIA SANTIAGO

(into microphone)

Actor Christopher Hawthorne was brutally assaulted in his Hollywood Hills home last night, possibly by an obsessed fan or stalker. The intruder was allegedly wearing a welder's mask and melted much of Hawthorne's face with a blowtorch.

A file photo of CHRISTOPHER HAWTHORNE comes onto the screen.

Amelia SANTIAGO (CONT'D)

The assault occurred just hours after the international movie star won Best Actor at last evening's Oscar ceremony. Although Hawthorne's Oscar trophy was stolen from his home, the Sheriff's office has denied rumors of the attacker being a bitter Oscar contender.

The television cuts to a press conference.

The LA COUNTY SHERIFF (aka SHERIFF JOHNSON) - a rotund, middle-aged man with a mustache - speaks into a bouquet of media microphones.

SHERIFF

(reading from a paper, into microphone)

At approximately 2am this morning Christopher Hawthorne was assaulted in his Laurel Canyon home by an unknown assailant. It appears as though the intention was not to murder but rather, to burn Hawthorne's face for unknown reasons. It's clear that whoever this attacker is, he's very sick, psychotic and dangerous...

Int. Mental hospital - activity room. morning

DR. ABRAMS and DR. GRANT watch the television from the far end of the room.

dr. grant

(under his breath)

Christ...

(to Dr. Abrams)

A psychiatrist can always find work in this town.

DR. ABRAMS

Perhaps a little too much work.

Suddenly, they hear an outburst coming from the far side of the room.

Mental patient

God is angry!!!

The MENTAL PATIENT bursts out of his chair and points at the television.

The television has images of wildfires on it.

Mental PATIENT (CONT'D)

(quoting Revelation)

"Fallen! Fallen is Babylon the Great! She has become a home for demons, and a haunt for every evil spirit, a haunt for every unclean and detestable bird..."

Int. News STUDIO. morning (ON TV)

A male NEWS ANCHOR with a Botox face and super-bleached teeth reads from a teleprompter.

News anchor

Southern California's lack of rain and fierce Santa Ana winds are being blamed for the County's unprecedented amount of wildfires this season. Firefighters are doing all they can to keep the fires from spreading to heavily populated areas, but, still, an average of one home is being destroyed every four hours.

Int. Mental hospital - activity room. morning

The MENTAL PATIENT stumbles his way towards the television.

Mental Patient

(still quoting)

"...for her sins are piled up to heaven, and God has remembered her crimes..."

Ext. woods - by a wildfire. morning (on tv)

A REPORTER interviews a FIREFIGHTER. Giant flames are in the far distance.

Firefighter

(into microphone)

This is unprecedented fire behavior. In all my twenty-five years as a firefighter, I have never seen flames so angry and stubborn. It's humbling...and, to be frank, very frightening.

Int. Mental HOSPITAL - activity room. morning

The MENTAL PATIENT stumbles closer and closer to the television.

MENTAL PATIENT

(still quoting)

"...She will be consumed by fire, for mighty is the Lord God who judges her."

A team of ORDERLIES come and restrain the MENTAL PATIENT.

The MENTAL PATIENT struggles to free himself, but is unsuccessful.

Meanwhile, DR. GRANT gives DR. ABRAMS a look and waves his finger around his head in cuckoo-like fashion.

Dr. grant

Cuckoo.

Int. Adonis' mansion - living room. day

It is dark and musty and cobwebby and eerie and haunted.

In the far distance...there is a giant widescreen television mounted on a wall. There are couches in front of it.

On one of these couches sits an older WOMAN, looking almost like a corpse. Her skin is wrinkled like a grape that's been in the sun for too long. The only life in her saggy, leathery body is in her chest, which is abnormally youthful and large - probably because she has silicon implants. This is MARILYN WHITE - ADONIS' mother.

She lies on the couch, looking up to a giant image of "Inside Entertainment News" host BRIAN SEACREST on the plasma television screen.

BRIAN SEACREST stands in his bright-lighted news studio sporting a orange-tanned face and Veneered teeth.

Brian SEACREST

(on TV)

Will his face ever be the same again? Hey, folks, Brian Seacrest here for Inside Entertainment News. Rachel Demambro is live at Christopher Hawthorne's mansion where she brings us shocking new details of last night's gruesome assault...

There is noise in the far distance of the mansion - a door opening and closing. Some footsteps.

And then - suddenly - a creepy shadow appears at the far end of the room. The shadow is ADONIS. His presence is eerie and ghost-like.

MARILYN continues watching her Inside Entertainment News without acknowledging ADONIS' presence. She is like a zombie. She hardly even blinks as she stares up at the television.

ADONIS hovers in the shadows. His eyes are on MARILYN.

INT. Waiting room. day (flashback)

Young ADONIS, eight years old, sits in a chair, dressed in a white Oxford shirt and clip-on bow tie. He plays with two Lego airplanes, pretending to fly them around in the air.

MARILYN kneels at YOUNG ADONIS' feet, frantically applying some blush to her son's cheeks.

BURT BASTORACH, YOUNG ADONIS' father, paces in front of his wife and son. He seems nervous.

Burt

Now, Adonis, remember how we practiced it.

(reciting a line)

"Gee-whizz, Mr. Fizz." Say it that way, Adonis.

YOUNG ADONIS half pays attention to him. He's mostly just interested in his toy airplanes.

Adonis

(as he plays with the toys)

Gee whizz, Mr. Fizz.

MARILYN

No, you don't have the inflection right.

(saying it in a much higher voice)

"Gee whizz, Mr. Fizz." That's how you should say it.

BURT

No, Marilyn, that's not right at all. Say it this way, Adonis. Adonis...

MARILYN realizes ADONIS is hardly paying them any mind.

Marilyn

Adonis, stop that nonsense and pay attention to us.

She takes the toy planes away from him and stuffs them in her purse.

Adonis

But I don't wanna do this. I wanna go home and play.

Marilyn

Don't be an ungrateful brat. You're the biggest star in Hollywood, Adonis. You know how many children would kill to be you?

burt

OK, now, Adonis. Like this:

(speaking like a Shakespearean actor)

"Gee whizz, Mr. Fizz."

INT. adonis' mansion - Living room. day (end of flashback)

MARILYN continues watching the gigantic television.

BRIAN SEACREST moves on to a new story.

Int. inside Entertainment News studio. day (on tv)

BRIAN SEACREST stands in the bright-lighted studio and turns into another camera positioned at a different angle.

brian seacrest

In other news, Tiffany Desmond allegedly got into a little fender bender yesterday...in a West Hollywood parking lot.

Int. Adonis' MANSION - living room. day

The name 'Tiffany Desmond' immediately pulls ADONIS out of his flashbacks.

Ext. parking lot. day (on TV)

Amateur footage shot by a paparazzo shows TIFFANY DESMOND bumping into the rear of a parked car. TIFFANY is a beautiful twenty-seven-year-old actress with orange-tanned skin and bleached hair.

The paparazzi swarm her car.

brian seacrest (O.S.)

Desmond was getting extensions for her hair at Jose Eber's salon right before the accident occurred.

Int. Adonis' MANSION - living room. day

A file-photo of TIFFANY DESMOND fills the enormous television screen.

ADONIS gazes at the image of TIFFANY DESMOND. Love streams into his eyes.

brian seacrest (o.S.)

Despite the incident, Desmond is still scheduled to attend her autograph signing at the Santa Monica Galleria tomorrow...

Int. Adonis' mansion - adonis' room. day

The room's walls are covered with newspaper clippings, photographs and other memorabilia from what-appears-to-be ADONIS' heyday as a Hollywood child star. Production-stills, newspaper clippings, magazine articles and product endorsements. The photographs mostly focus on the face - most everything else is either cropped out or cut off.

There are also phrases written all over the wall, like "Set the Spirit free", "Just another pretty face", "The flesh is a prison" and other things in this vein.

Making things even more freaky, there are even quotes from The Book of Romans, things such as...

"There is now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit."

- Romans 8:1

"For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace."

- Romans 8:6

"For if ye live after the flesh, ye shall die: but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live."

- Romans 8:13

A DARK SHADOW moves into the room, carrying an Oscar trophy. It's ADONIS.

ADONIS walks over to a wooden desk, places the Oscar atop it and sits in a chair.

He opens up a fat scrapbook filled with TIFFANY DESMOND photographs cut out from Teen Bopper magazines. He clearly has a crush on this girl...or more than a crush.

He opens one of the wooden desk drawers and takes out a piece of pink construction paper. Then he takes a pair of Sheer scissors and cuts the paper into the shape of a heart.

int. santa monica galleria - in line. Day

Masses of TEENS and TWEENS are in a long, slithery line extending throughout the Mall. They're holding CDs and DVDs and T-shirts and photos of TIFFANY DESMOND.

ADONIS is among the TWEENS in the line and he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wears a baseball cap low to his face, trying to conceal his scars and burns as much as he possibly can.

He holds a heart-shaped Valentine-looking thing and it shakes in his nervous hands.

Int. santa monica galleria - at signing table. DAY

TIFFANY DESMOND sits at a table with a pile of headshots and a bottle of fancy distilled water.

An OBSESSED FAN (a thirty-year-old male with gelled hair and dark-framed glasses) is in the process of being subdued by BODYGUARDS.

Obsessed fan

Can you put me in your top eight?!

TIFFANY ignores the man.

Obsessed fan (CONT'D)

Please, Tiffy! I'll put you in if you put me in!!!

THE BODYGUARDS escort the OBSESSED FAN out of the store.

OBSESSED FAN (CONT'D)

(being lead away)

Please, Tiffany! Follow me on Twitter! I love you!!!!!!!!! Like my Facebook page!!!!!!

The voice of the OBSESSED FAN fades as the BODYGUARDS escort him all the way out of the Mall.

A LITTLE GIRL is next in the line and she steps up to TIFFANY'S table. She's wearing a pink ribbon in her hair and a Tiffany T-shirt.

TIFFANY looks down to the LITTLE GIRL and smiles.

TIFFANY

Hi there.

The LITTLE GIRL doesn't respond. She is shy.

TIFFANY (coNT'D)

What's your name?

Little girl

Caaaaaaasssandraaaaaaaaaa...

TIFFANY smiles.

TIFFANY

Oh, you're so cute.

She starts writing a personal message on one of the headshots.

Int. santa monica galleria - in line. later

ADONIS is now only a couple people away from meeting TIFFANY DESMOND.

His eyes roam his surroundings and he sees many of the TWEENS staring at him. His heart starts beating harder and faster as he feels more and more self-conscious by his surroundings.

Suddenly, he sees a very good-looking YOUNG MAN walk up to the autograph table, greet Tiffany with a kiss, and sit beside her. This is TOMMY TIMBERLAND, apparently TIFFANY'S new boyfriend.

ADONIS doesn't like the sight of this young man at all. He hears the TWEENS gossiping and chatter-boxing about him.

TWEENS

Oh my God, it's Tommy!

They refer to their Facebook on their Iphones.

Tweens (CONT'D)

He and Tiffany are Facebook-official now! Oh, they're so cute!

ADONIS doesn't like this situation at all - not one single bit. He steps out of line and gets the hell out of there.

The TWEENS notice ADONIS leaving, raise their eyebrows, but then forget all about him.

Ext. Newsstand. day

The stand is located on Hollywood Boulevard, nestled between a souvenir shop and a wax museum.

ADONIS grabs a tabloid from off the rack outside and frantically flips through the pages. There are numerous stories about a 'celebutard' being caught without wearing any panties and another story about an actress and her cellulite.

It's not long before ADONIS gets to the page he's looking for. "TOMMY and TIFFY are Facebook Official!" screams the headline. Then, there is a big, blown-up photograph of TOMMY and TIFFANY smooching at a sidewalk restaurant.

ADONIS' heart seems to snap in two as he takes a long, hard stare at the photograph.

Ext. hollywood sign. Evening

ADONIS sits inside the first 'O', like before. Tears roll down his face. They fall into the very same tabloid magazine he was looking at on the Boulevard. He tries to sniff in the tears, but he's unable to do so.

Meanwhile, the sun sets on Hollywood and up rises a full California harvest moon.

ADONIS takes another long stare at the photo of TOMMY kissing TIFFANY. Then, he tears the page out of the magazine, crumples it into a ball and stuffs it into his pocket.

He leaves the sign.

Int. club babylon. night

It is a typical trendy LA nightclub with silhouettes of girls dancing on television screens, snazzy lights, fog, hip DJs wearing Fedoras, waitresses serving shots, and girls trying to dance sexily with one hand in the air.

Int. Club babylon - by restrooms. night

There is an extremely attractive Perfect-Ten model named AUTUMN standing to the side of the bathroom entrances. She's talking to a paparazzo named RON, who has long, blonde hair and a backwards baseball cap. He has that surfer look about him, like he's from Hermosa Beach or something.

Ron

Remember, don't make your move until you're outside. It's gotta be in a public place.

Autumn

I know the drill. You got my money?

RON

You'll be paid upon completion.

AUTUMN

Bullshit.

RON

Hey, that's the deal.

AUTUMN

Yeah, well you can find someone else, then.

She starts to leave.

RON

Okay...okay.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a fat envelope and hands it to her.

Ron (CONT'D)

Here...it's all there.

AUTUMN takes the envelope, opens it up and thumbs through a thick wad of twenties. Everything looks good to her.

RON (CONT'D)

Hey, Autumn, I gotta couple extra twenties here.

He holds up a couple of folded twenties and rubs them together like sandpaper.

RON (CONT'D)

I was thinkin' maybe we could go in the bathroom real quick...

Autumn

Fuck off, scumbag!

She walks off into the club.

RON

Just a blowjob!

AUTUMN ignores him and keeps walking.

RON (CONT'D)

(to himself)

Lesbian.

Int. Club babylon - vip section. Night

TOMMY TIMBERLAND sits in a semi-circular booth with two FRIENDS named MATT and ROBBIE. They're all getting wasted off Jameson shots and Jeigerbombs.

Robbie

So, have you fucked her yet?

Tommy

Who, Tiffy? You fuckin' kiddin' me? Of course I fucked her.

Matt

How is it?

TOMmy

Dude, it's the worst sex I've ever had. She's like a corpse. Doesn't even know how to kiss the right way - it's like making out with a machine. No style, no grace. Just rolls her tongue around and thinks it's sexy. Shit, my grandma kisses me better than that girl!

Robbie

I'm tellin' ya, bro, the hotter they are, the worse they fuck.

TOMmy

You may have something there, Robbie. But, shit, it's a small price to pay. I mean, look at this...

He whips out his Blackberry and shows it to his friends.

Tommy (CONT'D)

I have more than a million likes on Facebook now. This relationship is the best thing that ever happened to me, fellas.

Matt

Wow, dude, I'm pretty sure you're goin' straight ta hell.

TOMMY

Fuck it...everybody in this town's doin' the same thing. They say they're in love but it's all lip service. It's all about careers, bro. Anybody saying otherwise is full a shit.

He reaches for his shot of whiskey.

Tommy (CONT'D)

But enough talk. Let let us drink...

He holds up his shot of whiskey and his friends do the same.

Tommy (CONT'D)

To the new relationship...

They suck the shots down like a bunch of tough guys and slam the glasses onto the table upside down.

But, suddenly, their little party is interrupted by a voice.

voice

Hey, aren't you Tommy Timberland?

TOMMY looks up from the table and sees AUTUMN, the Perfect-Ten model, smiling at him. His eyes immediately peruse the contours of her smoking-hot body.

ROBBIE and MATT know "it's on" for their good buddy.

Robbie

(to Matt)

Uh-oh.

Matt

(quietly, so Tommy doesn't hear)

I'd give both nuts to be that guy for a night.

ROBBIE

Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of being him, though?

MATT

You know what I mean.

Meanwhile, TOMMY finally gets around to answering AUTUMN'S question.

Tommy

Yeah, I'm Tommy Timberland. Wanna sit?

AUTUMN smiles.

Autumn

Sure.

Ext. Club babylon - parking lot. Night

TOMMY stumbles to his pimped-out Maserati, giggling, wasted out of his mind. AUTUMN is giggling and hanging all over him, too. But it's all an act.

AUTUMN'S eyes roam to the far, dark end of the parking lot where there is a silhouette of a man.

The man is RON. He has his 600 millimeter telephoto camera locked, loaded and ready to go. All he's waiting for is Autumn to make her move.

AUTUMN sees RON is in position and she knows what she has to do.

Autumn

Kiss me.

Tommy

No, baby. What if Tiffany finds out?

AUTUMN

(pretending to look around)

Nobody's around.

TOMMY

Oh, fuck it.

He makes out with AUTUMN, hot and heavily.

Meanwhile, across the lot, RON fires one shot after another with his camera.

Ron

(to himself)

Eaaaaasy money.

TOMMY soon breaks the kiss and AUTUMN smirks, knowing she just gave RON the best friggin' photos the sleazy paparazzo could ever ask for.

TOMMY grabs AUTUMN'S ass and tries to escort her closer to his car.

Tommy

C'mon, let's go back to my place.

Autumn

(taking his hand off her ass)

Um, excuse me? I'm not that kinda girl, mister.

TOMMY

Whadaya mean you're not that kinda girl?

AUTUMN

I mean, I don't have sex. It weathers my body.

TOMMY

You just made out with me!

AUTUMN

And that's all you're gonna get.

TOMMY - clearly getting pissed - grabs AUTUMN by the arm, and practically starts forcing her into the car.

Autumn

Don't touch me!

She breaks away from him, but he grabs her again.

WACK! She slaps him in the face.

AUTUMN

Jerk!

And she runs off.

TOMMY is infuriated.

Tommy

Lesbian!

AUTUMN disappears into the night and TOMMY is left alone, stumbling closer to his Maserati. He fumbles with the keys and tries to unlock the door, but he's not successful. He eventually collapses onto the pavement and nods out a bit.

His eyes close...and then open...close...and then open. Close...and open. He's not completely positive, but there seems to be a man hovering over him now. A shadow.

Woooooooooooosh. This man has a blowtorch! And this man with a blowtorch is currently in the process of burning TOMMY'S face off. Indeed, this man is ADONIS.

TOMMY'S not quite sure what's happening to him, but he knows it doesn't feel good.

Tommy

Aaaaaaggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!

Ext. Club babylon. morning

News Reporter AMELIA SANTIAGO reports live from outside the club.

Amelia santiago

(into microphone)

Amelia Santiago reporting live outside Club Babylon where Reality TV star Tommy Timberland was viciously attacked by an unknown assailant. Though there's no confirmed connection, the attack was strikingly similar to the Christopher Hawthorne assault that occurred only two nights ago.

The news report cuts to an interview with the SHERIFF.

amelia santiago

(into microphone)

Sheriff, is there any connection between this assault and what happened to Christopher Hawthorne?

Sheriff

(into microphone)

No definite connections can be drawn at this time. Mr. Timberland was extremely intoxicated when the paramedics arrived and he didn't seem to remember anything that happened to him. We're currently searching for some witnesses who may be able to shed light on the situation.

Int. Dr. abrams house - kitchen. same time

It's a nice Beverly Hills home. Paintings on the walls and sculptures on the shelves. Granite counters and stainless steel refrigerator. Pots and colanders hanging from the ceiling. The works.

DR. ABRAMS - all dressed up and ready to go to work - sits at the kitchen table watching the news report on a widescreen TV mounted on a nearby wall. He is completely engrossed in what he's watching.

His WIFE - sitting across from him at the table - sees her husband transfixed with the story and senses something may be wrong.

Wife

What's wrong, honey?

Dr. Abrams

Huh? Oh, it's...um...nothing. We better start locking up, though. Crazy one on the loose.

The news returns to the NEWS ANCHOR in the TV studio.

Int. News studio. same time

A NEWS ANCHOR who looks like BARBIE flashes her bleach-white teeth into the camera.

News anchor

In other news, firefighters are still battling countless wildfires today, but so far most of the fires have not been extinguished or even contained. Hundreds of families find themselves homeless as the fires burn their way through Northern LA County.

Int. Hospital - hallway. Morning

TIFFANY DESMOND comes running down the corridor and bursts into one of the room's.

Int. Hospital - tommy's room. Morning

TIFFANY busts into the room and sees...

TOMMY...in bed. He's wearing a johnny and his face is wrapped in gauze, kind of making him look like a Mummy.

Tiffany

Oh, baby!

Tommy

(unable to see)

Tiffy, that you?!

TIFFANY

I came as soon as I heard!

TOMMY

Oh, babes, I'm so glad you're here.

TIFFANY sits in a chair beside the bed and holds his hand.

TIFFANY

Who did this to you?

TOMMY

I have no idea. I don't really remember a thing. I was just out with the guys, having a cupla drinks, and suddenly I'm in the hospital with my face burnt off! I musta been drugged or something!

TIFFANY

They'll find who did this. I'll make sure of it.

TOMMY

Oh, Tiff, my face is totally fucked. What's a star without a face?! My career is over!

He starts to whimper like a baby.

TIFFANY

Don't worry, baby, everything is gonna be all right.

TIFFANY squeezes his hand harder.

TOMMY

Thanks, hun...I'm so lucky to have a girlfriend like you. I'm really gonna need your support right now during this difficult time.

Suddenly, TIFFANY hears a little chime noise in her purse. It's her Blackberry alerting her that she has a new text message.

She reaches into her purse, pulls out the Blackberry and checks the message. It's from a friend: "Go to TMZ NOW!!!" says the text message.

Tiffany

(to herself)

Oh, boy, what now???

TIFFANY hits a few buttons on her Blackberry, pulls up TMZ and all she has to do is read the first headline: "Tommy cheating on Tiffany?" She scrolls down a bit and there is a grainy photograph - zoomed in nice and close - where TOMMY'S making out with the Perfect-Ten model AUTUMN. TIFFANY doesn't have to see any more. She slams TOMMY'S hand down on the bed, grabs her purse and starts running the hell out of the room.

Tiffany

Scumbag!

TOMMY - blindfolded with the gauze - doesn't know what hell's going on.

TOMMY

Huh? Wha?

TIFFANY

Good luck with your new face!

She storms out of the room.

TOMMY

What are you talking about? Baby, wait...

She's already gone.

Tommy (CONT'D)

(to himself)

What happened?

Int. Police station - sheriff's office. day

The office is a small room with awards/certificates covering the walls, Venetian-blinded windows, and also sporadic family photographs.

The SHERIFF sits at his desk, analyzing some photographs taken at both the Christopher HAWTHORNE and TOMMY TIMBERLAND crime scenes. He's especially disgusted by the close shots of CHRISTOPHER and TOMMY'S melted faces.

Sheriff

(to himself)

Dear God. This just isn't natural.

HENDERSON - the Sheriff's deputy - suddenly pokes his head into the office door.

Henderson

We got a lead, Sheriff. Tommy Timberland was last seen with a model named Autumn Harrington.

SHERIFF

All right, then. Let's go find Autumn.

He gets up from his chair and leaves the office.

Int. photography studio. Day

AUTUMN is doing a photo shoot in some over-the-top, sexy get-up - a nurse's outfit with a whip or something along those lines. She's currently straddling a black velvet couch. She looks like a royal slut.

A flaky BRITISH PHOTOGRAPHER with pink hair and a studded leather belt snaps one photo after another.

Photographer

That's great, Autumn. Beautiful!

He keeps snapping shots.

Suddenly, the photo session is interrupted by the SHERIFF and HENDERSON who have both just entered. AUTUMN sees them and she loses all her composure.

The PHOTOGRAPHER'S back is turned to the SHERIFF and HENDERSON and he doesn't know what's going on.

Photographer

(to Autumn)

What's wrong?

He turns around and sees the men.

Photographer (CONT'D)

Oh. Can I help you, gentlemen?

Sheriff

(to Autumn)

Miss Harrington?

AUTUMN is clearly nervous.

autumn

Ye-yes.

SHERIFF

Can we have a word with you, please?

AUTUMN

Um, yeah, sure.

SHERIFF

(looking at the photographer)

In private.

The photographer gets the hint and goes into his office.

autumn

(to the Sheriff)

What's this all about?

SHERIFF

We have witnesses that said you were last seen with Tommy Timberland last night?

AUTUMN

Oh...um...yeah...

Sheriff

You do realize what happened to him?

AUTUMN

Yeah, I heard. But I didn't even know it was him at the time. He was just some guy I met. He walked me to my car, and I took off. Whatever happened, it happened after I left.

She scratches her nose, folds her arms, unfolds her arms and, overall, looks rather nervous.

The SHERIFF and HENDERSON give each other a look, knowing full-well that she isn't saying everything she knows.

SHERIFF

You're acting awfully nervous, Miss Harrington. You got something else you wanna tell us?

AUTUMN

Na-no. That's all that happened. That's the story.

SHERIFF

Hmmm...well, why don't we take a ride downtown and see if that story changes at all.

AUTUMN

Wha-why? I haven't done anything.

SHERIFF

I've been in law enforcement thirty years, Miss Harrington. I can read people like a book. Your body language alone is giving us all the probable cause we need. Please put your hands behind your back.

AUTUMN

What, no wait!

The SHERIFF and HENDERSON hold off for a moment.

Autumn (CONT'D)

All right, no, I'm not telling you everything. Look, I was paid by the paparazzi to be seen...kissing Tommy Timberland in public. So they could get some stupid photos that would make them money.

Sheriff

What else?

AUTUMN

That's it. I kissed him, he wanted to take me home, I said 'no', and I got the hell out of there. That's all I know, I swear. I didn't do anything that's illegal.

The SHERIFF looks at HENDERSON and HENDERSON seems to believe what she just said.

SHERIFF

(to Autumn)

You know...you might have a pretty face. But your soul is ugly as sin.

AUTUMN

(almost with a smug smirk)

But it's the face that makes me the money. Isn't it?

SHERIFF

(shivering with disgust)

Let's get outta here, Henderson. This place smells foul to me.

He and HENDERSON leave.

Sheriff (CONT'D)

Good day, ma'am.

He and HENDERSON leave the studio.

Ext. Photo studio. Day

The SHERIFF and HENDERSON exit the photo studio and walk to their cruiser parked on the street.

Henderson

So what now?

Sheriff

We might just have to wait 'til he strikes again. Let's just hope whoever gets it next, gets what's comin' to 'em.

Henderson

In this town, the chances of that are pretty good. Heh heh heh.

They both chuckle as they get in their LA County Sheriff cruiser and drive off.

LIFE HAS A WAY - my new short story

2011-08-13T10:59:00.000-07:00

This is the first ten pages or so of what is now my seventh completed short story. LIFE HAS A WAY is a dark tale set in a Las Vegas hotel room. Among other things, the story gets inside the mind of/empathizes with a man who has decided to become a murderer. Overall, it's a response to America's ominous economic times circa the year 2011. There is strong language, some violence and intense content. You can read it if it sounds like something you would be interested in, but I won't twist your arm or anything.

LIFE HAS A WAY
by Matt Burns

“OK. I’ll see her then. Thank you.” Click.

He sat on the edge of the bed’s swanky comforter and dropped the vintage rotary phone back into its lime-green receiver. He was still wearing the same Italian suit he had driven into town with three days ago, but now - of course - it was more wrinkled and also stained from the three-dozen or so White Russians he had consumed over the past few days. Or maybe it was more than a few days. It was easy to lose all sense of time in the dark, windowless casinos of fabulous Las Vegas.

To say he looked “together” would have been a statement that could’ve turned the most stoic poker-face into a Pinocchio. Marty looked like he was - at one time - the all-American man, but at some point got dragged through a (figurative) swamp. His face was pale and powdery-looking and he had Walnut-sized bags supporting his bloodshot eyes. The upper two thirds of his hair was still a healthy-looking brown, but the lower third was a dry gray. Like rings in a tree trunk, the gray hair was an indicator of time, the amount of time in which Marty hadn’t given a shit about how he looked (now around a couple months or so). At a certain point, hygiene and overall appearances stopped mattering to him. It had probably been days since he showered and he wasn’t even sure if he had washed his hands, or applied deodorant or even pissed. The truth was that he had lost all respect for himself and basically life in general. He didn’t give a fuck about anything anymore. What was the point when his life was in the state it was right now?

Marty took a look around the hotel room and realized that he was sitting amidst the last remnant of luxury he was going to experience for perhaps the rest of his life. And he didn’t even earn it in a respectable way! The room was a gift the casino gave him downstairs for gambling so fucking much, a “comp” as they called it. They also gave him a baseball cap, some key chains, and a free breakfast voucher he could use at whatever time he wanted to call “morning” (for most gamblers, it was around four o’clock in the afternoon). Perhaps the casino felt guilty about getting him drunk and taking all his money. At any bar or club, Marty would have been cut off very long ago. But not in Vegas. As long as nobody was causing a scene, gamblers were encouraged to get as shit-faced as possible.

But, yes, the room was nice, especially compared to the smoky carnival atmosphere downstairs. There was a mini-bar, widescreen TV and also a marble Jacuzzi near a window that had a beautiful view of the Strip. Overall, the interior design was very swanky, a tribute to Old Vegas, like around the time when the Rat Pack was doing their thing. Lots of loud patterns on the curtains and furry rugs...foam, cylinder-like pillows on the beds...square lampshades on lamps...martini glasses and large mirrors by the bar - that sort of thing. If it wasn’t for the occasional “Made in China” stickers plastered onto all of the pine furniture, Marty would have felt as though he had been transported to a better time. Or at least a time better than his present reality. That was kind of the point, though. Nobody in Vegas wanted to be in touch with reality. They were there to escape from it.

Marty popped a couple aspirin into his cotton-dry mouth and tried to shake off the sounds of the casino that were echoing in his head, mostly the tacky merry-go-round-type-sounds from the slot machines. He reached down to his leather, Brooks Brothers suitcase and pulled out a freshly-polished Glock that he’d owned for a number of years now. It was one of the very few possessions that hadn’t been repossessed by the credit card companies, or by his fucking wife...or ex-wife was probably the more technical way to put it. That traitorous bitch took everything from him, the kids included, even though she didn’t give a fuck about the kids. She just took them to piss Marty off, like they were another materialistic possession she needed in order to fill the void in her soul. And it’s not like she didn’t have another sugar-daddy lined up for herself, another guy to leech off of for the rest of her life…or at least as long as the guy was making enough money to make her girlfriends envious. If Marty were a congressman, he would be adamant about making gold-digging illegal, especially in the current post-feminist society he found himself living in. Stupid women. They totally fucked up the country. If they had just stayed in the kitchen where they belonged, the economy wouldn’t have grown so fucking big that it had no choice but to explode.

But, alas, his mind was wandering again.

Marty brandished the Glock in his palm for a couple of minutes and thought about the prospect of doing himself in. But it didn’t really seem like a satisfying thing to do. It’s true that he was depressed, but - more than anything else - he was really angry. And it wasn’t normal anger. It was a hatred, not necessarily directed towards anything specific. Just a general hatred towards all things. An appetite for destruction. And although he didn’t really like that he was feeling this way, it was undoubtedly what he felt. And he’d be lying if he said he felt otherwise.

Back when he was happier, Marty used to watch the news and hear about all these bizarre murders and he’d wonder how it was that any man could have the desire to kill, especially in the case of the random murders. But now he could empathize with this kind of man, mainly because he was there...he was actually in that state of mind. It was a hunger for destruction that he never had the capacity to fathom. But now he was drowning in it. He never thought a man like himself could be degraded to the point of feeling this way. But it happened. Amazing.

Marty stood from his bed and took a moment to fight off a head-rush. The aspirin was seeping into his bloodstream now and the echoes of the slot machines began to diminish a bit. Feeling more energy in his muscles, he stumbled his way into the bathroom, flicked on the light-switch, planted his hands into the granite vanity and took a long stare into the vanity mirror.

Looking deep into his eyes, Marty remembered how he’d always prided himself to be a man of good instincts. He’d tell people that he had a sixth sense, that he was able to take one look at a person and - within seconds - know whether that individual could be trusted. This “gift” came in especially handy when it came to making deals in the corporate world, or drawing up contracts with clients, or interviewing prospective employees. The President and CEO of his firm considered him an invaluable asset to the company, a so-called “rising star”. He made the company lots and lots of money with his good instincts...well, with the exception of that one time. He lost them a little money, an amount insignificant in the long run but looked bad on the quarterly statement. The shareholders were pissed and the CEO needed a fall-guy. So Marty got dumped. It was as simple as that. Wasn’t a man entitled to make a mistake here and there? No, not in the corporate world, apparently. The CEO seemed sad about the termination, but he reminded Marty that he had a responsibility to the shareholders. Besides, a man operating from a business mindset didn’t care about the life of one person. An employee was just a mechanism in a machine that could be easily replaced like a broken part. Yes, Marty got dumped like a colon-full of rancid Chinese food. It was gross. Corporate America could go fuck itself.

But, again, his mind was wandering. Where was he? Oh, yes, the sixth sense.

With the help of his sixth sense, Marty could sniff out something rotten like he was a bloodhound. And this is exactly what was worrying him at the given moment. Because now he could sense something unsettling in his own eyes. There was something staring back at him in the vanity mirror and it hadn’t always been there. It seemed like something foreign to his person, but maybe it wasn’t so foreign after all. Maybe this was just who he was now. After all, people can change over time - a man born with good intentions does not always have good intentions. Life had the power to change a man like himself, from something good to something not-so-good. So maybe this was his identity now. In other words, he wasn’t possessed by a demon or other entity making him angry; he WAS angry. Nothing was influencing him to hate. He WAS hate. No schizophrenic or psychotic split-schizoid phenomenon wanted him to destroy. HE WANTED TO DESTROY. And there was nothing more to it than that.

Looking back on it, Marty wasn’t exactly sure when it was his eyes had changed. He was pretty sure that it was a gradual process, not necessarily something that happened at one definitive point in time. Maybe it happened around the time he lost his job. Or when he missed a few loan payments. Or when the collection agencies started harassing him...and his family...and his wife’s family. Those bastards even started calling his neighbors, just to humiliate him, basically rubbing in the fact that he’d lost the competition with the Jones’. They figured once he was one-hundred-percent humiliated he would somehow come up with the money. Of course, he never did. He simply didn’t have the money. And no amount of humiliation was going to make it magically appear.

But maybe Marty’s eyes changed a little bit later, like when the bank took away his house. Or when his wife left him without hesitation, like he was merely a damaged commodity to be replaced. Or when he increased his daily consumption of alcohol from one beer to about six, sometimes with a little hard stuff thrown on top of it all. He started with the Bacardi, and then worked his way up to the 190-proof Everclear.

Or maybe his eyes changed when - with his wife gone - he developed a raging porn addiction, basically looking at anything with a pussy, some even interracial, barely-legal and outright twisted. He didn’t really give a fuck. It was all the alcohol, combined with everything else, turning him into something monstrous, not to mention belligerent. He’d start swearing at his children a lot more often, especially when they were always “taking mom’s side”. One time he even hit his eight-year-old son in the head with a remote control. Then he’d go out to a bar, get even more wasted, fuck anything that would spread its legs. That kind of thing.

Whenever it was, one thing was for sure: his eyes were very different from what they used to be. There was something evil inside of him now. And while part of him longed for his lost innocence, another part of him liked what he felt inside. It was a very powerful, destructive force. It made him feel stronger than he’d ever felt before. In control. A fearless force of change...

Marty stood there in the bathroom mirror and studied the look in his eyes for what-seemed-like ten more minutes. Then he turned the bathroom light off and returned to the bedroom. He opened the drawer to a pine night-stand and took out a Gideon Bible that looked brand-spanking new, or at least like it hadn’t been touched by any human hands for as long as it had been in the drawer.

He sat back on the bed’s comforter and paged through the super-thin pages of the Old Testament. The Book of Job eventually made its presence known and Marty tried refreshing his memory of the story. Everything was taken away from that Job guy, but he still kept his faith in God. How admirable. What a saint. Round of a applause and pats on the back to you, good fellow! But, really, how realistic was that story, anyway? The story of Job was...well, just a story, nothing more. It was a story that didn’t have any relevance to reality, especially the current reality that was the early 21st century. Job was merely a fictional character written by some man who didn’t really know what the world was going to turn into circa 2011. There was much more at stake these days. Worse economy. Harder to get a good job. A lot more pressure to keep up with the Jones’. Yes, if Job were living in the world today, he would never hang in there and hold onto his faith. No way. No-how. And even if he did, he’d be a sucker. OK, he’d keep his faith and then what? Happily ever after in heaven? Horse shit! Anybody who believed that was a sucker!!!

Marty slammed the Bible shut and tossed the book across the room.

“Hello, God,” he uttered aloud with a hint of aggravation in his voice. “I don’t really get it. Life, I mean. I never had anything but the best of intentions. But the life you created here has a way of pulling us in directions that we never wanted to go in. I wanted to keep working and stay married and maintain a stable family. But everything got fucked up, through no fault of my own. I was forced to go in a certain direction. I never wanted it. It just happened. And now look at me: here I am about to kill some girl I’ve never met before in my life. But this is what I wanna do. What else can I say?”

He rubbed his hand along the barrel of the Glock, like almost masturbating it, feeling his appetite for destruction grow even stronger inside of him. He got some sort of sadistic pleasure out of stroking that tool of destruction, the destroyer of God’s creations. Yes, the gun - the anti-creator - would be his new god now, the only thing in life worth putting his faith into.

“I was born a good person...really, I was. If I had died when I was eight...or even when I was thirteen...heck, maybe even when I was twenty-two, I would have gone to heaven. There’s no doubt about that. Then again, anybody who died at that age would have gone to heaven. It’s not really fair, is it? Only the good die young, they say. Well, of course only the good die young. Because they haven’t lived long enough to become bad. The longer you live, the more time there is to be corrupted by life. Life and time and reality has a way of corrupting us. But, alas, I digress.”

“It wasn’t like I made some bad moral choice. Did I? No, I don’t think so. I never stood face-to-face with the devil and gave into his temptation. At least not that I can see. I WANTED to be good. I set out to be good. But I guess life has a way. It has a way of pulling you in a direction you never wanted to go in.”

“I mean, I went to school, God, and worked hard and got good grades. I had dreams. Positive ones. Dreams of actually bringing some good into the world instead of something bad. But, like I said, life (that you created) has a way. You created a life that has a way with people like me. You did this to me. You brought me to this point. I don’t know why, but here I am, and you could have intervened and done something better. But, no, here I am.”

For a moment, Marty felt his eyes burn and he thought he was going to cry. But he managed to hold back the tears. The Marty who would have cried over shit like this was dead now. The new Marty didn’t feel emotions.

“So let’s get down to brass tacks. I’m not really well in the head, God, if you haven’t noticed. I feel something sinister in my bones and see it in my eyes. Why am I telling you this? I’m not so sure. Maybe I still have some piece of soul left over. Maybe I’m warning you...to keep people who deserve to live away from me. Or maybe I’m just explaining to you why I’m going to kill people. Maybe I’m speaking for all the murderers out there. I don’t know. Whatever it is, I want you to hear me and hear me well: it’s no longer a possibility that I’m going to kill somebody, it’s a fact. I WANT TO KILL AND DESTROY. It’s simply what I feel like doing right now. Whoever this fucking hooker is, God, I am going to kill her and, hell, I’m going to enjoy it. So either you throw a lightning bolt my way and kill me or...well...this girl deserves to die by my hand and that is her fate. I didn’t want it to be like this, God. But life has a way. You led me to this point.”

Marty’s prayer was suddenly interrupted by a light knock on the room’s door. He gave his Glock one last stroke and then hid the weapon under the bed’s pillow.

“God, I hope you have heard my words.” And with that final warning, he closed the prayer.

“Who is it?!” he shouted as he stood from the bed and crept his way towards the door.

“It’s Chyna,” said a muffled voice from behind the door, loud enough for Marty to hear, but quiet enough so that nobody else could.

Read the rest of this story here: http://www.mattburnsproductions.com/subpage103.html

I Kissed a Black Girl and I Liked it

2011-06-30T16:53:00.000-07:00

Well, I've finally done it. I've been fantasizing about "doing stuff" with a girl of the opposite race for quite some time now and finally - just a few nights ago - the fantasy finally became a reality.

It all went down at a Boston bar called The Pour House on Boylston Street. I was there with a couple friends and pretty liquored up from a forty of Natty Ice and a few Bud Lights that were thrown into the mix. It was probably a few minutes before last call and I saw a black girl dancing by the bar, kind of by herself, but I guess she must have been there with friends. She was cute and had a little frizzy Afro and seemed to be in a good mood. So I decided to chat her up a bit.

Granted, I was a little drunk, so I don't remember the details of our brief conversation. All I remember is that she was celebrating her 21st birthday and that she was from "the ghetto", as she put it - a town called Mattapan in the outskirts of Boston.

"Awesome. I'm from Walpole," I told her.

"Oh, where the Walmart is," she responded. See, Walpole is known as the closest town south of Boston with a Walmart.

"Yes, where the Walmart is."

So far, the conversation was going well and her body language was giving me all the right signals. It wasn't long before I decided that this was likely my one and perhaps only chance to ever make a move on a "ghetto" black girl from Mattapan. So I began to spin the wheels into motion:

"You're really cute," I told her.

"Oh, hee hee. Thank you."

"You have really nice skin. Looks really shiny and smooth."

"Oh, hee hee. Thanks."

"Do you mind if I - um - touch it? I mean, that's all I wanna do. I know that may sound weird. But I'm not a creep or anything."

The girl blushed and shyly shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah, if you wanna. Hee hee."

So I proceeded to caress her arm, gently, and in the most non-creepy manner possible. Damn, I have to say...this girl had the smoothest skin I have ever friggin' felt. It was incredible feeling that skin. She must have used Dove soap or something similar. I couldn't help but wonder how her naked body would feel against mine.

"Do you mind if...I dunno...I know this is really weird but I'm not a creep. Give you just a little kiss...on the cheek?"

"Hee hee hee. Yeah, that's fine."

Yes! I was thrilled to find that my plan was unraveling nicely. So I gave her a little kiss on the cheek. Very gently. And I also threw in a little tickle of warm air from my nose.

"OK, can I...yeah, I know, just can I give you a kiss on the lips, maybe with some tongue...just a little bit? That's all, I swear. I know that's bold. But I'm not a weirdo or anything."

"Hee hee hee."

She shrugged her shoulders, grabbed the back of my head and proceeded to bring her ripe, juicy lips closer to mine.

"Wow, THIS is happening right now!" I couldn't help but scream to myself as our faces coupled.

We probably made out for five or six seconds, maybe a little less. The details of the session are kind of foggy, but I know we were in pretty good sync with each other. No clashing of the teeth. A lot of well-executed tongue rolls. When I was slow she was slow. When I sped up she sped up. Our minds seemed to be one with each other. We somehow - telepathically - anticipated each other's next move. It was so harmonious. And, damn, she tasted really good.

"Hee hee. I really gotta go," she said as she broke off the kiss. "My friends are waiting."

"Can I walk you out?" I asked, knowing that if she said 'yes' then there was the possibility of making out with her again outside the bar.

"Sure."

Oh, hell yes. Her answer was a good sign. I told my friends I'd be back in a few moments, they responded with a look that basically said 'what the hell are you doing?', I ignored them and then I proceeded to walk the cute little black girl out of the bar.

"OK, well, it was nice meeting you," she said once we stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"Wait, can I just make out with you...one more time? I know what you're thinking but I'm not a predator or anything...that's all I want, really."

She acquiesced and we started making out again, like we did in the bar. This time, it lasted for maybe ten or fifteen seconds. I sucked on her lips a lot this time and tried to savor the flavors like I would with fruit. The whole experience was really surreal. I couldn't believe I was finally gratifying several years' worth of raging jungle fever.

"You're a good kisser," she said as we finally unlocked our lips.

"Not so bad yourself," I said, regretting afterwards that my response was predictable and cliched. I then caressed her cheek with the back of my hand and told her again how much I loved her skin.

"Thanks. Hee hee. All right, I better be going," she said.

"Wait, do you want my number?"

"Yeah, sure."

So I gave her my number and I was thrilled when she actually called my phone right away, so as to instantly put her number into my phone's 'missed calls' log. This meant she wanted to be sure I had her real phone number. No fake numbers. No 'give me your number and I'll call you's'.

"All right, see ya!" she yelled.

"Wait, one more quick good-bye kiss? To remember you by?"

"OK," she giggled and gave me one more wet peck.

Then she turned away, strutted her fine self down the sidewalk and disappeared around the corner. It was pretty safe to say at this point that I was in a state of bliss. Everything would have been perfect had I not found myself locked out of the bar. But after some arguing back and forth with the bouncer, I was allowed back in and I was left alone to ponder my first experience kissing a woman of the African race.

In retrospect, it's pretty hard to believe how easy it was for the whole thing to go down. When I had been fantasizing about making a move on a black girl, I kept on envisioning an incredibly awkward situation, that the difference in races would get between us and be difficult to see beyond. But the make-out session at the Pour House that night went down suprisingly smoothly and also very quickly. To be honest, I was making out with this girl about three or four minutes after I had met her. That may actually be a record in my book, with maybe one exception that involved a drunk bachelorette walking down Lansdowne street one night a few years ago.

Anyway, yes, it finally happened. One more thing to check off my bucket list. What's next? Well, I'm not so sure. I've already kissed an Asian and also a Latina (my first real makeout sesh was with a Costa Rican exchange student in middle school), so what, then? To be honest with you, I think a lesbian is next on my list, no matter how strange that sounds. I figure if you can convince a lesbian to make out with you then that says a lot about what kind of moves you have. Yes, I admit I'm insecure and I need fuel for my ego. This is the kind of thing that keeps my mojo potent. A kind of mental Viagra.

But, yes, we'll see if the lesbian thing ever happens. I shared a nice slow-dance with a lesbian once, but that doesn't really count. She wouldn't let me kiss her when I asked. I didn't pressure her. I let it go.

As always, I will keep you posted if I have any luck! Until then, I highly recommend embracing the jungle fever that (I believe) is in all of us. It's an amazing feeling.

Supermarket Zombies!!!

2011-06-14T20:30:00.000-07:00

SUPERMARKET ZOMBIES!!!

Here are the first 30 pages of my newest screenplay SUPERMARKET ZOMBIES!!! It is a horror-comedy that has everything from zombies to skateboarding to punk rock to gore and much, much more. I post the pages here for feedback and to possibly attract interest from producers or girls who are attracted to screenwriters.

The story involves a Haitian master of Voodoo in search of the American Dream. He brings a crop of zombies to America and sells them as slaves to the local "American Supermarket" for a percentage of the store's earnings. The supermarket's profits skyrocket with the help of these new employees who work long hours and for no pay, but it's not long before the zombies get hungry for brains and all the other employees gradually start turning into brainless zombies!

However, there's one skater punk cashier named Jason Hawk who doesn't give his brain up so easily. Although he finds himself trapped one morning amidst a gigantic supermarket of zombie employees, he'll be damned if he's gonna become a zombie himself. Nah-uh! No way! No-how! If those zombies want a piece of his tasty brain, they're not gonna get it without Jason putting up ONE HELL OF A FIGHT! YAAAAAAAAH! DEATH TO ZOMBIES! PUNK ISN'T DEAD!!! OI OI OI!!!

NOTE: please disregard the poor formatting, as pasting the script as a blog doesn't translate very well.

SUPERMARKET ZOMBIES!!!

By Matt Burns

WGA Registered # 1186466

Ext. haiti - Sugar plantation. Day

It's an endless field of sugarcane. There is green for as far as the eye can see.

A BLACK SLAVE kneels in the soil, chopping down a stalk of cane with a rusty machete. The SLAVE wears nothing but a pair of dirty denim overalls and a straw sun hat.

There is mostly silence...except for the buzzing sounds of heat bugs or other humming insects.

But, suddenly, the SLAVE hears rustling...

And groaning.

He lays the rusty machete on the ground and stumbles to his feet.

He swipes the beads of sweat from his forehead and hears the noise again.

He creeps towards the sound.

And creeps...

The field is dense, lush and very thick. No visibility beyond a few feet.

Soon, the SLAVE hears what-sounds-like chomping and lip-smacking, like a dog chomping the meat off of a bone.

He moves further into the cane and comes to a small, circular clearing in the field.

In the clearing there is another PLANTATION WORKER lying on the ground...DEAD!!!

The SLAVE is shocked...

...but even more shocked to see two other PLANTATION WORKERS kneeling beside the carcass, taking bites out of the head and snacking on the brains. These are no normal workers. They are...

ZOMBIES!!!

The SLAVE is horrified.

Suddenly, the ZOMBIES feel the SLAVE'S presence and look up from their tasty victim.

The SLAVE shivers in his overalls - paralyzed with fear.

The ZOMBIES grunt their way onto their feet.

The SLAVE is still paralyzed and doesn't budge.

The ZOMBIES stumble their way towards the SLAVE.

The SLAVE finally shakes the paralysis out of his bones and runs like hell!

Ext. the fields. Day

The SLAVE weaves his way through the thick, green cane. He trips! He falls! He crawls! He stumbles back on his feet! He keeps running!

The ZOMBIES stumble and groan their way after the SLAVE - nothing but the thought of tasty brains running through their minds.

ext. Further into the fields. Day

The SLAVE runs! Hops! Jumps! Runs! And trips! Over a thick stump of cane!

UMPH! He lands face-first in the soil.

Slave

Ugh!

He hears groaning and grunting coming from not too far away.

He peels his face out of the dirt, rolls onto his backside and sees what is fast approaching him...

ZOMBIES!!!

The brain-eating ZOMBIES aren't too far behind. The SLAVE can see glimpses of them amidst the rustling cane.

The SLAVE jumps to his feet! He limps! He stumbles!

He runs for his life!!!

Ext. edge of the field. Day

From this perspective, the field looks even more enormous. It goes on forever. Nothing but a horizon of cane in the distance.

All is quiet and peaceful with the sound of buzzing insects - except for three spots in the field where there is rustling.

The rustling moves closer and closer to the edge of the field.

The SLAVE finally emerges from the cane and runs like hell...

Within a couple seconds, the ZOMBIES emerge from the cane and follow the SLAVE'S trail. They salivate like Pavlov's dogs.

Ext. Sugar mill. Day

The SLAVE spots the sugar mill from a few hundred feet away and heads straight for it. Perhaps he can lose the ZOMBIES in the mill!

Int. Sugar mill. Day

The SLAVE bursts into the mill...

...slams the door shut...

...and locks it tight!

He let's out a sigh of relief, turns around, and is shocked to see...

...NO!!! More ZOMBIES - frothing at the mouth like a bunch of rabid raccoons.

The SLAVE has nowhere to run! Nowhere to hide!! He's doomed!!!

He takes a closer look at the ZOMBIES and realizes that one of them is white! It's the SLAVE OWNER!

Slave

Monseigneur!

Nothing leaves the zombie SLAVE OWNER'S mouth except for moans and grunts, like the others.

Slave (CONT'D)

Monseigneur Pierre! Monseigneur!!!

The zombie SLAVE OWNER doesn't acknowledge his name. His eyes are empty. After all, he is among the un-dead...

But, suddenly, a DARK MAN emerges from behind the ZOMBIES. He wears a black hat with a black rim, black pants and black cape. His face is pale as powder. His eyebrows are black, wiry and untamed. He looks like a cross between Bela Lugosi and The Yellow Man in the "Curious George" books (though with black - not yellow - clothing). This is MR. EVIL.

The sight of MR. EVIL horrifies the SLAVE. The maniacal look in this man's eyes is enough to make any man scared silly, let alone a slave who has just been chased by two brain-hungry ZOMBIES.

Slave (CONT'D)

Who are you?!

MR. EVIL says nothing. All he does is pierce the slave's soul with that crazed look of his.

The SLAVE nearly hyperventilates with fear.

MR. EVIL slowly locks his fingers together, conjuring some sort of black magic from hell.

The ZOMBIES moan and groan and drool! Moaaaaaan! Groaaaaaaaan! Drooooooooool!

The SLAVE eyeballs all the frothing ZOMBIES and whimpers with fear. Oh, God, what a damned sight!

Then, the ZOMBIES start stumbling towards the helpless SLAVE.

The SLAVE whips himself around to the door and tries to leave the mill. But as soon as he opens the door...

ZOMBIES!!!

Zombies

Uggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh...

They moan and groan and grunt.

The SLAVE turns the other way...

MR. EVIL'S ZOMBIES are just a few feet away from him now!

He turns towards the door.

ZOMBIES!

He turns the other way.

ZOMBIES!

The poor SLAVE is trapped on both sides by horrible ZOMBIES.

He has no choice but to drop to his knees and submit. But not before he lets out one of the most haunting...

SCREAMS!!!

...ever heard.

SLAVE

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggghh

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

Two-hundred years later. (Present Day)

Ext. america - the streets of suburbia. Day

All is quiet and perfect and boring.

The houses look like they all got crapped out of the same machine - white picket fences, sprinklers, Vinyl-siding, paperboys, flower-beds, garden gnomes and matching trash barrels.

The grass is an Eden-like green - except for the small yellow signs warning passersby of toxic fertilizers.

Birds chirping...lawns mowing...kids giggling...

But, then, commotion.

In the far distance, there is cacophony. Chaos. Disorder.

It's two TEENS...on skateboards.

They weave on and off the streets.

Grind the curbs.

Olly over trash barrels.

Pull "Burts" in the middle of strangers' driveways.

Anger neighbors.

Set off car alarms.

And generally just tear it up like dudes who know how to!

One TEEN is JASON HAWK. If you looked up 'thrasher' in the Webster's dictionary you would see a picture of JASON next to it. Wild, frosted hair. Baggy pants. T-shirt with a disconcerting skull-like logo on it. Dangling crucifix earring (a la Barry Bonds but way cooler). Finger-less gloves. Dogtags. The works.

The other TEEN is JASON'S best friend CUDDY, aka 'Cud-dog'. If you looked 'thrasher' up in the American Heritage dictionary you would find a picture of CUDDY next to it. Collared shirt only buttoned at the collar. Tan khaki pants tapered at the ankles. Black low-top Vans. Wiffled hair.

JASON and CUDDY thrash their way down the street.

They kick-flip onto the sidewalk.

Variel back onto the street.

Cut off cars.

Piss off DRIVERS.

Get honked at! Beep! Beep!

JASON and CUDDY bring whole new meaning to the art of skateboarding. They are friggin' ballerinas with boards! So graceful! So beautiful! But also so cool! So stoked!

These dudes know how to turn a boring neighborhood into something thrash-worthy!

Ext. Suburban neighborhood - street corner. Day

JASON and CUDDY meet up with a small gang of SKATER BUDS coming from a perpendicular street.

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS skate in circles around one another, do sick wheel-slides, kick-flips, heel-flips, Vari-flips and other tricks.

Skater bud

What's goin' on, fell-uhs?!

They twirl around on their boards, doing seven-twenty spins. Others hop around on the board like it's a pogo-stick.

Skater bud (CONT'D)

Jason and Cuddy, get ready to be happy.

JASON stops his tricks and looks the SKATER BUD square in the eye.

Jason

You found one?

The SKATER BUD wiggles his eyebrows.

Jason (CONT'D)

Where?!

Ext. house - driveway. day

It's the ass to a big pick-up truck.

On the bumper to the truck there is a big sticker of an American flag and another sticker right next to it that says "U.S.A. Rules!!!", also followed by another sticker that says "If you don't like it here, leave!".

The engine starts.

The truck pulls out of the driveway.

And floors it down the road. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrccccchhhhh!

Ext. hedges. Day

There is rustling. And giggling. Some voices.

JASON pokes his head out from the hedge and watches the truck buuuuuuurn its way down the street.

Jason

(to the skater buds)

Let's do this!

They chuck their skateboards over a wooden fence and then hop the fence themselves.

Ext. pool. DAY

The pool is a drained, concrete bowl shaped like a kidney. In other words, it's a skateboarder's wet dream realized!

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS take turns skating the pool.

They skate...

...and grind...

...and hand-plant...

...and rock and roll...

Air-walks!

Tail-slides!

Kick-flips!

Two of the SKATER BUDS skate the pool simultaneously, sometimes even skating in sync with each other. It is at times a truly beautiful sight - like a flock of birds moving in perfect synchronization with each other. It's like their minds and souls are operating in unison.

Ext. suburbia - outside house with pool. Day

A police cruiser rolls down the street and suddenly sees two more SKATERS hopping the wooden fence with their boards.

Int. police cruiser - rolling down street. Day

The COP grabs his radio and shouts...

Cop

(into walkie-talkie)

Calling all units, calling all units. I got one word for ya: skater punks!!!

Ext. Pool. DAY

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS continue to pull out the sickest tricks imaginable. Board-slides! Five-O grinds! Fakies! Nose-picks!

But, suddenly, they hear noise coming from the front of the house - tires screeching and, then, sirens wailing. Uh-oh.

Then, before they can even gather their druthers about them, there is a shout:

cop

Freeze, dildos!

It's the COP who was scoping out the neighborhood. And he's already made his way into the backyard, aiming his gun right towards the pool.

Nailed. Damn.

Int. Police station. Day

POLICE OFFICERS buzz in their cubicles like worker bees in a strip of honeycomb.

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS sit in chairs that swivel in place.

They amuse themselves by seeing how many times they can spin in place without using their feet. Obviously, they're not taking their arrest very seriously.

At the far end of the office appears a police captain named OFFICER DICKHEAD. He struts down the row of cubicles like he's the mayor of cool-ville - only the joke's on him, because he definitely isn't.

OFFICER DICKHEAD has a goatee and a body that has consumed one too many Ultra-fuel shakes from the local GNC. He's probably on the juice, too, because his face and neck look way too disproportionate for his size.

OFFICER DICKHEAD comes to the end of the cubicles and sees JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS.

Walking behind his desk, he shouts...

Officer dickhead

Skater punks! Not a big fan!

He plops his swampy ass into his seat.

OFFICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

And when I say I'm not a fan...I mean I HATE YOUR FRIGGIN' GUTS!!!

He plops his feet up onto the desk.

OFfICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

You punks picked the wrong pool to skate. Do you have any idea whose pool that was?! Any idea at all?!

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS shake their heads.

OFFICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

(growling)

Mine.

JASON and CUDDY gulp.

OFFICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

Let's see here...we got trespassin', breakin' and enterin', malicious destruction of private property...if it was any other day, I'd throw you punks right in jail.

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS eyeball each other.

OFFICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

But I'm headin' down to Foxwoods today and I don't wanna do all the paperwork.

The SKATER BUDS let out a sigh of relief.

OFFICER DICKHEAD takes his feet off the desk and leans in close to JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS.

OFFICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

Still had to call your folks, though.

A group of PARENTS appear at the far end of the office.

JASON catches sight of them.

Jason

(under his breath)

Shit.

A smug smirk crawls up OFFICER DICKHEAD'S face.

And then he jumps to his feet.

OFFICER DICKHEAD

And if it happens again, I'll kill ya!

Ext. Jason's house. night

It's a ranch and has Vinyl-siding and, basically, looks not much different from all the other similar-looking houses in the area.

A big, dark, gas-guzzling, hearse-like car rolls into the driveway and parks.

Int. Jason's house - kitchen. night

It's dinner-time!!! Well, TV-dinner time.

Everything on the table is labeled "American-brand", whether it be salad-dressing or ketchup or soda pop or croutons or milk or peanut-brittle or whatever.

JASON sits at the end of the table, eating out of an 'American' box filled with an overly-processed goop resembling squash and mashed potatoes.

His MOM and DAD - two middle-aged suburbanites - sit on each side of him. DAD wears a white-collared shirt with a name-badge and a pocket protector lined with pens. His appearance exudes a submissiveness relative to MOM, who clearly wears the pants in the relationship.

All is awkwardly silent. But something seems to be bothering MOM. She eyeballs DAD with a fuzzy set of eyeballs.

DAD isn't looking.

MOM clears her throat to get his attention.

But DAD still doesn't look up.

MOM gives him a little kick to the shin.

DAD finally looks up.

MOM nods over to JASON.

DAD is confused.

MOM widens her eyes and gives another nod in JASON'S direction.

DAD realizes what she wants him to do.

Dad

Um...Jason.

JASON looks up from his cruddy meal.

JASON

Huh?

DAD

This is the third time you've gotten in trouble this week, son. And the summer just started.

JASON

Yeah...AND?

Dad

Well, this isn't a good thing.

JASON

I was just havin' some fun.

DAD

Well...um...

DAD isn't sure what to say next.

MOM gives DAD weird baseball coach-like signals. A touch of the nose...a rub of the lips...a tap on the head.

DAD gets the hint.

DaD (CONT'D)

...you're eighteen years old, now.

MOM gives him a few more signals.

DAD (CONT'D)

And I think it's time you get yourself a job. Make a little money.

The word 'job' is wax to JASON'S ears.

Jason

F-that!

DAD flinches from JASON'S ejaculatory shout. He looks to MOM for a sign.

MOM turns her head to the side, pulls out her lips and wiggles her tongue like a bird of some sort.

DAD

No, Jason. Dr. Phil says this is a good time for someone your age to get a job...so...so...you're gonna have to get a job. Or...or...

He looks to MOM for another sign.

MOM holds out her hands and wiggles her head like an Egyptian.

Dad (CONT'D)

You're grounded for the summer.

Jason

What?! Dad, that's not fair.

DAD

It's firm, but fair.

JASON

Where am I gonna work? Nobody's hiring. The economy's crap.

DAD

Well...

MOM nonchalantly points to a bottle of American-brand salad dressing.

DAD sees her.

Dad (CONT'D)

Hey! Why don't you take a ride down to the American?

The word 'American' brings sourness to JASON'S face.

Jason

The American?! No way! There's no way I'm workin' at the American!

MOM bursts out in what-sounds-like bird-calls.

Mom

Yew! Yew-yew!!!

DAD seems to understand her.

DAD

Now, Jason, I know it's not the most glamorous job...

MOM

Yew!

Dad

...but it's a paycheck.

JASON hangs his head down to the table in despair.

Ext. Cuddy's house - backyard. day

CUDDY skates a sick mini-half-pipe, rolling up and down...

...rocking and rolling...

...pumping back and forth...

Cuddy

Grounded for the summer?! Shit, I just got no TV for a night.

JASON sits on his skateboard to the side of the ramp. His head is buried in his hands. He is the personification of despair.

CUDDY (CONT'D)

So what are you gonna do? Get a job?

JASON

I have no choice.

CUDDY

Well, hey, come on down to the American. They'll hire you on the spot.

JASON lifts his head out from his hands.

JASON

Yeah, maybe when hell freezes over! Only an asshole works at the American!

CUDDY skids to a stop and gives JASON the hairiest of all sets of hairy eyeballs.

JASON realizes what he's just said.

Jason (CONT'D)

No offense.

Cuddy

A lot taken, dick! Where you gonna work, then?!

JASON jumps to his feet and propels his skateboard into his hands with his foot.

He hops up to the top of the mini-ramp and plants the tail of his skateboard into the metal coping.

Jason

I got some ideas.

He drops in and skates up a friggin' storm.

Ext. Video store. Day

The "Video-Rama" store is nestled between a convenient store and a laundromat in some small plaza in some place that isn't really important right now.

JASON skates up to the front of the store, kicks his skateboard into his hand and enters the store.

Int. Video store. DAY

It is a pre-Blockbuster, independently-owned deal, complete with tacky orange carpeting, humming fluorescent lights and a sketchy adult video closet in the way back.

A small TV mounted on the wall of the store plays some ultra-violent, Tarantino-esque movie.

A pimple-faced CLERK sits behind the front desk watching the movie and stuffing an onion-packed Italian sub into his face.

A little Bee-a-leep! alerts the CLERK that a customer has entered the store.

It's JASON and his skateboard.

But the CLERK doesn't bother looking to see who it is. He's too engrossed in the movie.

JASON steps up to the desk.

Without making any eye contact, the CLERK says...

Clerk

Last name?

JASON is confused.

Jason

Um...Hawk...

The CLERK types Jason's name into the computer.

Jason (CONT'D)

But-

CLERK

-last four of your phone number?

JASON

What? No, I'm not renting. I came to see if you're hiring.

The CLERK finally un-glues his eyes from the movie...

...and laughs maniacally.

Clerk

Hahaha! That's a good one! Hiring! Hahahahaha.

JASON

So...you're not?

CLERK

Boy, what in THE hell is wrong with you? Of course we're not hiring! We're goin' outta business!

He points to a sign in the corner of the store that says "Liquidation sale".

JASON

Oh, I didn't know. What happened?

CLERK

The American's what happened!

JASON

You mean the American's renting videos now?

CLERK

No, no, no nah-no-no NO. They're not renting videos. They're renting shit.

JASON

Oh, OK...

CLERK

They're gonna have those stupid vending machine thingys that shit out the DVDs, and, oh yeah, that makes for a REAL good renting experience. You think the American's gonna carry any obscure Indie titles? No, they're gonna have all the blockbusters and all the popcorn movies and all the blah blah blah blah blah. What's gonna happen to all the art-house flicks or the foreign masterworks or experimental ave-en-garde...

JASON decides it's probably a good time to leave before this wacko CLERK bores him to death. He starts to leave the store.

But the CLERK is offended.

CLERK (CONT'D)

Hey...hey!!! Where you goin' now, hotshot? Nobody's hiring except the American!

JASON

Whatever you say...psycho.

CLERK

(miffed)

You skater punks just never learn! There are no other places! There's just the American!!!

JASON flips the CLERK the bird and quickly leaves the store.

The CLERK shakes his head at JASON'S stupidity and resumes watching his movie.

Int. music store. day (montage sequence)

JASON talks to an EMPLOYEE at the record store.

The EMPLOYEE shakes his head and points up to a sign that says, "Going out of business".

Int. Bookstore. DAY (Montage sequence)

JASON talks to a BOOKSELLER.

The BOOKSELLER shakes his head and points to a sign that says...

"Liquidation sale! Everything must go!!!"

JASON is discouraged.

ext. Clothing store. Day (montage sequence)

The store looks dark, run-down and ghostly.

JASON walks up to the window of the store, wipes some grime away with the back of his hand and peers inside.

The store has clearly been closed for a great deal of time. There is nothing but a few empty cardboard boxes and naked mannequins and a shelve or two.

JASON turns away from the window and leaves the store.

Int. bakery. Day (montage sequence)

The place is also forsaken.

The OWNER to the BAKERY stands behind the counter with his lips wrapped around the barrel of a shotgun.

He is about to pull the trigger when he hears a jingling of the bell above the store's front entrance.

JASON enters the store.

The OWNER quickly hides his shotgun underneath the counter.

JASON asks the OWNER a question.

The OWNER shakes his head in despair.

JASON turns away and leaves the shop.

The OWNER pulls the gun back out, wraps his lips around the barrel, and...

BANG!

ext. center of town. day (end of montage sequence)

The center of the town is like some sort of ghost town out of the wild west. All the stores are dark and closed and dilapidated.

JASON skates up to a graffiti-ridden newspaper bin and shoves a couple quarters into it.

He takes a newspaper out of the bin and drops every section of it on the ground...except for the "Help Wanted" section.

He pages through.

Page 1 has an add that says "The American's now hiring in all departments."

Page 2 has an add that says "The American's now hiring in all departments."

Page 3 has an add that says "The American's now hiring in all departments."

Page 4 has an add that says "The American's now hiring in all departments."

Page 5 has an add that says - well, you get the idea.

JASON crumples up the newspaper and chucks it back into the bin.

Jason

(under his breath)

This is bullshit.

Ext. road on hill. Day

JASON coasts down the hill on his skateboard - very slowly, weaving from one side of the road to the other.

He soon comes to a corner.

He creeps around the corner.

Beyond the corner, there is an open view. The view is of a man-made valley, the walls of which are comprised of huge squares of concrete.

At the bottom of the valley lies an enormous concrete parking lot filled with cars, and at the far end of the parking lot is one of the most gigantic supermarkets in existence:

The American Supermarket.

JASON rolls up to the valley's edge and kicks his skateboard into his hand.

He peers down to the gigantic American Supermarket.

Such an enormous piece of architecture - the eighth wonder of the world. Red, white and blue bricks comprise its facade, along with an enormous red, white and blue sign that reads "The American Supermarket". It is like a K-Mart, Walmart and Super Stop & Shop all in one.

There is a look of defeat in JASON'S eyes.

He drops into his skateboard and rolls down the hill...into the valley...into the bowels of the American Supermarket.

ext. cruise ship - somewhere in the atlantic ocean. Day

The multi-level ship plows its way through the choppy Atlantic waters. An enormous American flag waves from a pole at the very top of the ship.

Int. cruise ship - dining area. Day

A newspaper is open at a dining table, concealing whoever's reading it.

An unidentifiable MAN is behind it, scanning over the stock pages.

The American Supermarket stocks are doing tremendously well. They're up several points. In fact, a headline reads, "American stocks are up! Everything else is down!"

A WAITER approaches this mysterious MAN behind the newspaper.

Waiter

More coffee, Sir?

The mysterious MAN emerges from behind the newspaper and reveals his face.

O the horror! It's the sinister Mr. Evil from the Haitian sugar plantation.

His eyes swirl with craziness.

Mr. Evil

(Hungarian accent)

Please.

The WAITER refills Mr. Evil's cup with ink-black coffee.

MR. EVIL lifts the cup of coffee to his lips and takes a sip.

Mr. Evil (CONT'D)

Aaaaaaagggghhhhhhh. Tell me, vaiter...how much longer until ve arrive?

Waiter

Very soon, Sir. In fact, we're probably comin' up on the land right now.

Ext. cruise ship - deck. day

Mr. Evil steps out onto the deck and strolls down to the bow of the ship.

His eyes twinkle at the sight of something in the far horizon.

It's the statue of liberty, standing tall and proud.

Mr. Evil rests his hands on the deck's railing and gazes at the statue.

His eyes are full of excitement, wonder and awe - but beneath all these emotions there is still the underlying look of utter malice.

Ext. American supermarket - parking lot. Day

It is a jungle of cars.

Cars rolling around in every which direction.

CUSTOMERS pushing carriages.

Sales fliers blowing in the wind like tumbleweeds in the Wild West.

JASON skateboards his way through the busy lot, nearly getting hit by a dozen or so cars in the process.

Ext. American supermarket - front entrance. Day

An endless row of soda, water and juice machines creates a "fence" of corporate logos bordering the whole store.

At the very end of this "fence" and just a few feet away from the store entrance is a bench. On this bench sits a man named HENRY.

HENRY looks like he's smoked about eight packs of cigarettes a day since he exited his mother's womb. His clothes are greasy like those of a chimney sweeper and his skin is as browned and crispy as a baked potato.

HENRY sits cross-legged on the bench smoking - what else? - but a cigarette.

JASON rolls down the fire-lane running parallel to the store, kicks his skateboard into his hand and makes his way toward the store's sliding electric doors.

He eyeballs HENRY.

HENRY seems to kind of be in his own little world. He doesn't acknowledge JASON, nor much of anything else. His empty eyes lack the presence of a soul.

JASON parts the electric doors...and disappears into the mouth of the American Supermarket.

The doors slide back shut. JASON is swallowed whole.

Int. american SUPERMARKET. DAY

JASON takes his first step into the store. His ears get pierced by a cacophonous wave of 'beeps' coming from the front-end cash registers' scanners.

BEEP! BEEP! BA-BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BA-BEEP! BEEP!

JASON moves further into the store and is humbled by the enormity of its interior.

Each aisle seems to be miles long. No end to the store in sight - only a blurry horizon of commodities in the distance.

Int. American supermarket - front end. day

JASON moves his way down the front end.

He sees drones of LATINO EMPLOYEES bagging groceries at the end of the check-outs. They are of the young and old, male and female, healthy and unhealthy. Some walk with limps and others, every once in a while, allow a slight look of pain to penetrate their stoicism.

JASON looks at the wall to his left and sees a huge photograph of MR. JOE FAZIO (apparently the store manager), looking something like the portrait of Mao in Tiananmen Square. Beneath this photo are smaller photographs of the other department managers - like grocery, bakery and produce dudes. They all have a phony - almost creepy - look in their smiles.

Int. American supermarket - registers. day

There is a CASHIER at a register who looks a little familiar:

Why, it's CUDDY!

CUDDY finishes up a transaction with a customer and spots somebody in the corner of his eye.

It's JASON!

CUDDY does a double-take.

CUDDY

(to himself)

Well, if that don't be it all...

(to Jay)

Jay!!!

JASON ignores his friend.

Cuddy (CONT'D)

Hey, Jay!!!

JASON keeps walking.

CUDDY (CONT'D)

(to himself)

Has hell frozen over?

He checks the supermarket ceiling for icicles and feels around his register for anything the least bit chilly.

CUDDY (CONT'D)

Don't think so.

INT. AMERICAN SUPERMARKET - customer service. Day

JASON joins the end of a relatively short line and waits his turn to be served.

A WOMAN stands behind the customer service desk whose name-tag identifies as WANDA. She has grayed, wrinkly skin, like that of an elephant. Her greasy hair is weaved into what's basically a cross between a dread-lock and a pony tail - kind of like a floor-mat. She is an old, burnt-out hippy who probably still lives in her Volkswagon bus.

She finishes a transaction with a CUSTOMER and locks eyes with JASON.

WANDA

(in a smoker's voice)

Can I help you, honey?

Her words hawk up globs of phlegm.

JASON is a bit disgusted by WANDA'S appearance.

She smiles at him and reveals a nice set of pearly-yellows.

Jason

Yeah, I wanna fill out an application.

Hinges squeak.

WANDA steps to the side. A door flies open behind her.

MR. JOE FAZIO - the store manager - steps through the door. He is a middle-aged man wearing a cheap-looking Italian suit and a fake-looking Rolex. His hair is slicked back with waaaaaaaay too much gel.

MR. JOE FAZIO looks in JASON'S vicinity, but never makes any eye contact. His eyes are always looking over the store's activity, just to be sure everything is under control.

Mr. joe Fazio

(to Jason in a Boston accent)

Hi ya doin', boss? I'm Joe Fazio, the store managah.

He holds out his hand for a ritualized handshake, but still never makes any eye contact.

JASON shakes his hand.

mr. joe fazio (CONT'D)

Come on up to the office and we'll get ya started.

JASON

Uh...ok.

MR. JOE FAZIO opens a door to the side of the service desk and motions for Jason to walk through.

JASON steps into the service desk and disappears.

MR. JOE FAZIO never takes his eyes off the activity in the store for a second.

INT. american supermarket - mr. joe fazio's OFFICE. DAY

There are no windows, just off-white walls with a fluorescent light buzzing on the ceiling.

A desk lies directly beneath this light. Nothing is on it except for a pile of applications, a liter of Diet Coke, an extra-large ice coffee and a Red Bull.

MR. JOE FAZIO leads JASON into the room.

Mr. joe fazio

Have a seat...

He motions for JASON to sit in a chair at the desk.

JASON takes a seat.

MR. JOE FAZIO sits at the desk and immediately chugs the entire liter of Diet Coke.

JASON watches him chug the Coke in awe.

MR. JOE FAZIO finishes the Coke, licks his finger, takes an application off the top of the pile and starts filling it out.

Mr. joe Fazio (CONT'D)

US citizen?

Jason

Yes.

Mr. joe FAZIO

18 or ovah?

JASON

Yes.

Mr. joe FAZIO

Convicted felon?

JASON

Yes. I mean, no.

MR. JOE FAZIO taps his pen on the desk for a second or two.

Mr. joe FAZIO

Wanna work in the deli?

Jason

Uh...no.

MR. JOE FAZIO

Cheese shop?

JASON

No.

MR. JOE FAZIO

Sporting goods?

JASON

Um...nah.

MR. JOE FAZIO

Electronics?

JASON

I was kinda hoping for something in the front end.

Mr. joe FAZIO

We can do that.

He writes a few more things on the application.

Mr. joe fazio (CONT'D)

Availability?

Jason

Uh...any time, really.

MR. JOE FAZIO'S eyes twinkle from the sound of 'anytime'.

He grabs his super-large iced coffee and starts chugging the entire thing - right before JASON'S eyes.

JASON is amazed.

MR. JOE FAZIO finishes his last sip, licks his lips and says...

Mr. joe fazio (CONT'D)

All right...just got a little personality test for ya. We do it with all new employees.

JASON sits up straight in his chair and gets ready to answer.

MR. JOE FAZIO (CONT'D)

(reading from the paper)

You're in the break room. You overhear a cupla employees talking about starting a union. What do you do? A: immediately alert me or an assistant managah about what you heard. Or B: join the employees in organizing the union.

Jason

Well, I guess...um...

MR. JOE FAZIO isn't pleased.

MR. JOE FAZIO

Let me rephrase that question...

MR. JOE FAZIO leans closer to JASON and leers at him like an eel.

MR. JOE FAZIO (CONT'D)

A is the right ansah and B is the wrong ansah.

Jason

Uh...A?

MR. JOE FAZIO lets out a forced chuckle.

MR. JOE FAZIO

Congratulations, you passed.

He slides the application over to JASON.

MR. JOE FAZIO (CONT'D)

(pointing)

Sign here.

JASON looks down to the 'X' where he needs to sign his name.

The X gets bigger...

...and bigger...

And bigger.

JASON grips the pen.

MR. JOE FAZIO salivates as he waits for JASON'S signature.

JASON caves and finally signs his name.

MR. JOE FAZIo (CONT'D)

(holding out his hand)

Welcome aboard, boss.

JASON forces out a smile and shakes MR. JOE FAZIO'S hand.

With his free hand, MR. JOE FAZIO chugs his entire Red Bull.

Int. American supermarket - conference room. Day

MR. JOE FAZIO pops a tape into an old VCR.

INT. american supermarket. Day (orientation video)

A black HOST in his 40s walks along the front end of the store, sporting a big, bright smile on his face.

The BAGGERS in the background are mainly young, white males in their 30s. There are only a few WOMEN and a handful of other BLACKS and ASIANS thrown into the scene to be politically correct.

HOST

Here at the American we have a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to sexual harassment.

(as though somebody off-screen is asking him a question)

What's that? Not sure what, exactly, constitutes sexual harassment? Well, watch and observe...

Int. American supermarket - checkout (orientation video). DAY

A YOUNG FEMALE CASHIER whose name-tag identifies as DONNA finishes a transaction with a customer.

Donna

And two-dollars is your change. Thank you for shopping at the American.

The CUSTOMER takes the change and walks away.

DONNA has a lull in her line, so she turns to the register behind her.

An older MAN CASHIER whose name-tag identifies as ED smiles and nods at DONNA in a very suggestive manner.

Donna (CONT'D)

(with the worst acting ever)

Hey, Ed...I heard you were retiring.

ED keeps nodding his head and smiling.

Yeah, to my apartment...with YOU.

DONNA'S smile fades and she suddenly feels very uncomfortable.

INT. AMERICAN SUPERMARKET - conference room. DAY (end of video)

MR. JOE FAZIO shuts off the VCR and whips a piece of paper at JASON.

Mr. joe fazio

Just sign here saying you saw this video.

JASON signs the paper.

MR. JOE FAZIO snatches the paper away before JASON even finishes signing his name.

Mr. joe Fazio (CONT'D)

Let's go get ya feet wet.

JASON follows MR. JOE FAZIO out of the room.

INT. american supermarket - janitor's closet. Day

MR. JOE FAZIO kneels into the closet and rummages through a big cardboard box.

JASON stands behind him, feeling awkward.

After a few moments, MR. JOE FAZIO emerges from the closet, holding an "American" shirt in his hand.

Mr. joe Fazio

Yeah, this looks about your size.

He hands JASON the shirt.

JASON holds the shirt up to his chest. It must be about an XXXL because it pretty much hangs down to his knees.

MR. JOE FAZIO doesn't really seem to notice the size. He hops back onto his feet and seems to be more concerned with JASON'S grungy appearance.

Mr. joe FAZIO (CONT'D)

(speaking as though reading off a cue card)

Here at the American we have a strict policy regarding personal hygiene. All associates are expected to arrive for work freshly showered and clean-shaven. Fingernails must be neatly-trimmed and free of dirt. Uniforms must be washed after each shift and free of stains.

MR. JOE FAZIO eyeballs JASON'S crucifix earring.

MR. JOE FAZIO (CONT'D)

The earring...

He points to his ear.

MR. JOE FAZIO (CONT'D)

...it's gotta go.

JASON reaches up to his ear and fingers his earring. No! Not the earring!!!

He reluctantly removes the earring from his ear.

Thirty-Two Lives: Clearing My Past-Life Traumas

2011-04-13T11:59:00.000-07:00

This blog is the sixth (and perhaps last) installment of the ongoing story that deals with my past-life experiences. You may want to read my previous blogs for the essential back story, but I can give you a brief summary right here. Basically, in the later part of 2010, I learned that I had a recent past-life as a man in Poland and also a recent past-life as a woman in Hollywood (actress Carole Lombard). The two lives coexisted with each other, which is a phenomenon called a "parallel existence". Needless to say, it was a little weird discovering that my soul was in two bodies at the same time, not to mention the fact that one of these incarnations was as a woman. But the parallel existence and female incarnation were only the tip of the iceberg (so to speak). Recently, I discovered that the life in Poland and Hollywood were only two past lives...out of a whopping thirty-two. Yes, you heard me correctly: I have had 32 past lives!!!

Now, you may be wondering how I arrived at such a discovery. Well, last month I visited a palm reader named Jesse who suggested that I needed a "spiritual cleansing" (read about the palm reading HERE). Jesse insisted that I had a "darkness in my aura" that resulted from past-life traumas. I consequently went home and tried to conduct the cleansing myself (read how in the blog), but I wasn't sure it had been completely effective. There was a feeling in my gut that I hadn't gotten all the "darkness" out of my system.

At first, I considered going back to Jesse, because she had said she could cleanse me if I wanted her to. But she charged a good amount of money for it ($150). Plus, the cleansing methods she described to me seemed a little strange (it involved carrying candles around with me or something along those lines). I'm sure whatever she did would have probably worked, but I didn't feel very comfortable with her. I didn't really want a stranger messing with my aura and energy field. What if she ended up opening up another hole and allowed more negative energy to get in? What if an entity or demon attached itself to me? Surely I didn't want that to happen. But if I didn't trust Jesse with the cleansing of my aura, who WAS I going to trust??? Well, it actually didn't take very long for me to come up with another person.

See, for more than ten years now, I have been a client of a woman named Beverly Holt who is essentially everything from a healer to a dietitian to an allergist to a homeopathic therapist to a Reiki master to a medium and a psychic. Over the years, Beverly has helped "clear" unwanted energies out of my system, including Lyme disease, drugs (mild ones like marijuana) and even allergies. I mean, before I knew Beverly I was extremely allergic to dairy products; whenever I ate a yogurt or drank milk I would get a mean strep throat that was always difficult to get rid of. But after Beverly cleared me of the allergy I could eat dairy without any problem at all. I never got any more strep throats. It was almost miraculous what she did for me.

Beverly has also been very successful in clearing more intangible negative energies from my system, such as feelings, fears, thought-patterns and even depressing worldviews. She once cleared feelings of rejection, for example. And also feelings of failure. One time Beverly even helped clear a feeling of hopelessness, that the world was doomed.

Anyway, I figured if Beverly could clear negative energies from my current life as Matt Burns then she was probably the woman to see if I wanted to clear energies from my past lives. So I gave Beverly a call, made an appointment with her, and found myself in her Boston office only a week later.

To my surprise, I found that it was easier to explain my situation to Beverly than I had initially thought. Basically, I just told her that I recently uncovered some past-life traumas and I thought it would be a good idea to cleanse myself of any negative energy I've carried over from previous lives.

"Are you able to do this kind of a thing?" I asked her.

"Sure."

"And do you think it's something I need to do?"

Beverly asked my (spirit) guides whether this was a good idea and they gave her a definite...

"YES. Definitely."

But they said they couldn't do it all in one cleansing. All my body could clear at one time was energy from 13 lives...out of a whopping 32! Yikes.

"I see you soldiering in some of them," Beverly added. "And in others there's a lot of residual anger...at people who killed you in the past."

Yes, apparently deep in my soul I was essentially still pissed off at the people who had wronged me in previous lives. And the more I thought about it, the more this all started to make sense...because throughout my entire life, I've always had rage inside of me. Honestly, I never knew why I had the rage. I didn't have a rotten childhood. I wasn't abused in any way. I wasn't bullied in school. I got everything I wanted for Christmas. But, still, there was always rage inside of me, from almost as early on as I can remember. And don't get me wrong: I rarely showed my rage to others. In fact, I think a lot of people would be surprised to learn I had a problem with anger. I've actually always been a very peaceful person when it came to associating with people and I've hardly ever gotten into a fight. But the rage has always been present, lingering in my chest like a snake in the grass.

So maybe the source of my rage - this whole entire time - has been from past lives. Honestly, it seems to be the most probable explanation. I mean, think about it: thirty-two-lives-worth of negative trauma is bound to leave some kind of a mark. According to Beverly, I was murdered in some of these lives. Killed in battles and burned in fires. Raped in Hollywood. Manipulated by the Nazis in Poland. Fucked over in various ways. Screwed. Victimized. Et cetera. Et cetera.

So, yes, with so much trauma under my belt, perhaps it's easy to understand why I've always had repressed rage, but I think the fact that I've even held onto so much anger is a sign that I've been a rather immature soul this whole time. I mean, who am I even angry at? The schmuck who killed me in life-number-three? Or the rapist in the Hollywood life? The Nazis in the Poland life? Honestly, if there's anybody to blame for my rage it's myself. As Beverly pointed out to me, we CHOOSE our various lives and we CHOOSE to be put into "traumatic" situations. Yes, talk to any meta-physicist anywhere (see list of books below) and they all seem to agree that we "chart" our lives before human incarnation. Every single minute detail of our lives is painstakingly planned, like who we are going to meet, what experiences we will go through...who we will work with...marry...divorce etc.

So if we actually choose our entire life, how can we ever consider ourselves a "victim" of anything? And if we are never a victim of anything, how can we ever be angry at anybody? The answer is we can't. Or we shouldn't. Anger is a complete waste of time and harboring such negative feelings for prolonged periods of time is a sign of immaturity. If only people started realizing this, the world would probably be a much more peaceful place. Maybe there would be less wars. Less murders. Corruption. Retribution. Revenge. Who knows?

Anyway, Beverly eventually had me lie on a table and she "cleared" me of all the negative energy I had accumulated during 13 of the 32 past lives. The way in which Beverly conducts the clearing is a little difficult to explain and would likely raise a lot of eyebrows, especially for the average layman. It's very Shaman-like, actually. She essentially sucks the bad energy out of your aura with her hands and then discards it back into the bowels of the earth. Yes, this sounds strange as anything, but you definitely feel a noticeable difference while she does it. The place where she touches you usually gets very warm - sometimes very hot. This heat is actually the energy being released from the body. And afterward, you feel much lighter. A lot more relaxed.

During my clearing, Beverly informed me that the negative energy from the past lives had been affecting me on a physical level, as well as on an emotional one. The energy was supposedly having an adverse effect on my muscles, intestines, pituitary gland, pancreas, liver, brain and other physical components of my physiology. Who would ever think that the cause of a physical ailment could have roots in a past-life trauma? Think about how many people out there have chronic physical problems that baffle doctors? It's kind of a shame that the medical world never thinks to look in the past for answers. Maybe they will as the human race becomes more spiritually evolved.

Anyway, I feel like the "cleansing" was what I needed all along. I think this was the main reason why I was so drawn to my past lives in the first place. What started out as sheer curiosity about reincarnation ended up leading me to uncover the cause of my repressed rage and mysterious physical issues. Hopefully the cleansing gradually makes me feel better as time goes forward. Of course, I still have to go back to see Beverly so I can have the other 19 lives cleared. But in the meantime I think I'm going to notice a big change in my overall temperament, not to mention my physical well-being.

Now, one thing you may be wondering about is why I didn't just clear the traumas while I was on the "other side", before I decided to become reincarnated in another body on earth. Why couldn't I have just gotten God or whoever to help me deal with the negativity while I was in spirit form and consciously aware of all that happened in the past? Well, the problem is that when we're on the "other side", the negativity doesn't affect us at all...mainly because negativity doesn't exist. According to renowned psychic Sylvia Browne in her book The Other Side and Back, it's not until we go back into another body that the fears, anger, victimization etc. terrorizes us again. We don't realize it on a conscious level, but our subconscious mind fears that as long as we're in a body again, there is the potential for more terrible things to happen to us. So the cleansing is something that needs to be done while we're in a body. In spirit form - where there is no fear and all energy is positive - a cleansing would be absolutely pointless.

So, anyway, hopefully the cleansing works for me. To be honest, I already feel a hell of a lot better. It's like I've been wallowing in tar my whole life and now I've finally been freed from its grips. We'll have to see if the feeling lasts....

The following video is an audio clip from my cleansing session with Beverly:

For further reading about reincarnation and how we "chart" each of our lives:

Ghosts Among Us by James Van Praagh.

Life on the Other Side: A Psychic's Tour of the Afterlife by Sylvia Browne.

The Other Side and Back by Sylvia Browne.

Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian L. Weiss.

Your Soul's Plan by Robert Schwartz

Toyotaism: Efficiency at all Costs

2011-03-28T18:43:00.000-07:00

Over the past year now I have been working for a company named PetEdge on a project-to-project basis. This is a company that manufactures pet supplies, like dog toys or cat beds...crates, bones, brushes etc. What I do is provide any video production services the company may need, whether it be promotional videos for their website, how-to videos for their products or general training videos.

Just recently, I was commissioned by PetEdge to film a lecture given by a man who works for a non-profit company named GBMP (Greater Boston Manufacturing Partnership). The lecture was mandatory for all PetEdge employees to attend and participate in. Essentially, my job was to edit the eight-hour lecture down to a one-hour "training" DVD for PetEdge to show any new employees they may hire in the future.

The basic purpose of the GBMP lecture was to educate the PetEdge employees with a "Lean Manufacturing" philosophy, also known in the business world as "Toyotaism". To put the philosophy simply, LEAN is a production process companies can use to eliminate waste, 'waste' meaning any procedure within the work environment that gets in the way of a company maximizing its profit. In layman's terms, the overall objective is to make the company employees work in the most efficient way possible.

As you may expect, videotaping a boring, eight-hour lecture that discussed all the various ways in which a company could maximize its efficiency was tantamount to being waterboarded on a bed of nails. There was one part of the lecture, however, that alleviated the torture a bit. The lecturer from GBMP showed a funny video entitled "Toast", which basically consisted of some old guy making toast for his wife. The video opened with the man saying "And now I'm going to make some toast for my wife"; then, he took two slices of bread, dropped them into the toaster and proceeded to stare into space for five minutes or so while the toast cooked. Every once in a while, the man would walk over to the fridge and get the butter, but mostly he would just stand in front of the counter and wait for the toast to finish cooking.

This GBMP-produced video shows clips from "Toast":

Like many of the other employees in the audience, I found myself cracking up at the absurdity of "Toast". The lecturer from GBMP stopped the video when it was finished and asked the audience what was wrong with what the man was doing. Of course, an audience member immediately pointed out the fact that the man was just standing there - staring into space - and not making the most productive use of his time. I kind of snickered to myself as I stood behind my camera's tripod. I was basically thinking - if I were the class clown - I would say, "maybe he was just saying his prayers." Yes, I realize that's not very funny (like, at all), but I don't think that it was any coincidence that the joke popped into my mind. Although I was laughing on the surface, I think there was a voice inside my head trying to communicate something more profound.

Yes, the more I thought about the video the more I realized how potentially harmful its message was, not to mention the message behind LEAN in general. Maybe I was looking too far into it, but it seemed as though LEAN'S overall objective was to essentially turn the already-very-dehumanized company employees into even more dehumanized individuals. I mean, in LEAN'S eyes, simply taking a moment to stare into space (a very human thing to do) was considered an inefficient use of one's time. In fact, LEAN would likely consider introspection of any kind a "waste", 'introspection' meaning anything that is not a visible, outward action but still can have important value.

Take the inward process of thinking, for example. If the "Toast" video is any indication, LEAN wants employees DOING at all times, not THINKING about what they're doing. Yes, rational thought - the very thing that makes us human - is something LEAN would label 'waste', simply because it gets in the way of a company maximizing productivity and profit. Although it may not be its outright intention, LEAN essentially wants employees to be mindless robots who are always producing. Mechanisms within a lifeless machine. Zombies.

Of course, LEAN wouldn't be so bad if its dehumanization of employees was only limited to the time the employee spends in the work environment. I mean, it's true that companies wouldn't be very functional if employees were staring into space and thinking all day (but, then again, that's common sense, and you don't need preachers of a LEAN philosophy to come into your company and tell you that). The problem with LEAN is that it conditions the human mind in a general sense; that is, the employee becomes generally dehumanized in both the work environment and his or her personal life. The overall message that an individual takes away from a video like "Toast" is that introspection is a waste of time, not just while working, but when it comes to life in general. And I'm not just talking about taking the time to think either. Think about other aspects of introspection, like meditation and reflection and, yes, even prayer. Basically, in LEAN'S eyes, all of these things would be considered waste. The philosophy fails to account for the fact that a lot of important human productivity can occur inwardly, through introspective processes. Work isn't always something executed through outward action. There is sometimes value in "doing nothing".

Now, let me get back to my joke about how the man in "Toast" was possibly "saying his prayers". As I mentioned before, I feel the joke had a deeper meaning. I mean, it may sound extreme for me to say this, but I would argue that the LEAN philosophy is really a philosophy that distances the individual from God, and when I say 'God' I mean whatever higher power you may believe in. In LEAN'S eyes, introspective time with God is unproductive. It is a waste. LEAN wants people to be "on the go" all the time...doing...and producing, not standing still and praying inwardly, which is seemingly inefficient. In a world where LEAN rules, 'He' - the big guy in the sky - only gets in the way of human productivity. Or, to put it another way, God becomes the bad guy, and Productivity (measured in terms of profit) becomes the new deity to worship.

But let's give LEAN the benefit of the doubt and pretend that an employee is, indeed, able to put the LEAN philosophy aside when it comes to his or her personal life. Let's pretend that a person's introspection isn't affected negatively when they are outside the work environment - they're able to think, meditate, pray etc. Would LEAN then be a good philosophy? I mean, putting all dehumanizing aside, is LEAN actually competent in making a company more successful? In order to answer this question, all we have to do is look at LEAN'S greatest "success story": Toyota.

LEAN, after all, isn't nicknamed 'Toyotaism' for nothing. The 'LEAN' philosophy (which, at the time, didn't really have a name) is relentlessly championed for transforming the small company Toyota was in the 1980s into one of the biggest, most efficient car manufacturers in the world. But Toyota's success - as we all know - has been deteriorating over the past few years. Since 2007, Toyota has recalled millions upon millions of its cars, all because of various defects with the acceleration. The company's "runaway cars" have resulted in the deaths of several people, not to mention countless injuries. And Toyota still hasn't solved the problem. More cars were recalled as recently as last month (February 2011).

So how is it that GBMP can go around championing a philosophy that clearly doesn't do a company any good in the long run? Well, perhaps one reason is because GBMP is behind the times and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the latest failures Toyota has experienced. They'd be correct if they said Toyota experienced amazing short-term profits because of LEAN, but recent events show that - in the long term - the philosophy didn't seem to fulfill its goal of "creating more value for the customers" (unless defective cars are considered 'value'). Clearly there is a flaw inherent in the philosophy. Perhaps LEAN takes efficiency to such an extreme that corners inevitably end up being cut and manufacturing quality becomes poor, the consequences of which can be very dangerous (in Toyota's case, drivers have been killed).

In retrospect, it surprises me that none of the PetEdge employees (including myself) were astute enough to see the absurdity behind GBMP's insistence that LEAN was THE way to go. I mean, the lecture had missionary-like tones. LEAN was the answer to the struggling economy; God's gift to the corporate world; a miracle for any company that had stunted growth. But how were we supposed to swallow all this when LEAN'S biggest success story (Toyota) was failing before our very eyes? Why would PetEdge or any other client of GBMP want to end up like Toyota? Are they OK with being responsible for deaths? Do they WANT blood on their hands?

Don't get me wrong: I don't mean to imply that GBMP has malicious intentions in traveling around from company to company, professing the greatness of LEAN. They obviously think this is in the best interest of a struggling company, and also in the best interest of our economy as a whole. I do, however, feel that GBMP is misguided. They apparently viewed the 2008 financial crisis as an indication that companies simply weren't being efficient enough. They didn't want to consider the possibility that the economic collapse was a direct result of flaws inherent in capitalism, a system that operates solely according to what minimizes cost and maximizes profit, a system that is programmed (like a computer program) to value profit over anything else. No, GBMP's answer to the crisis was that people weren't using an extreme enough form of capitalism, which is what LEAN basically is. But does this make any sense whatsoever? Well, maybe it does to GBMP, because they'll never admit that capitalism is flawed. They will cling to that system until the death, even when catastrophes like what we saw at Toyota occur.

Of course, it doesn't help the situation that (according to their website) GBMP lecturers are trained by Toyota directly, which (I guess) means they consider themselves disciples or something, spreading the good news about Toyota and its amazing success. But, again, Toyota ISN'T really a success. It's failing. So these GBMP preachers are basically like false prophets, traveling around from company to company, spreading the flawed LEAN philosophy like the plague.

I don't know what the answer is to the struggling economy and struggling companies, but a super-efficiency philosophy has too many costs attached to it, and I'm not talking about financial ones. I'm talking about human ones.

My Past-Life in Hollywood (Update #2)

2011-03-15T19:28:00.000-07:00

This is a third update to my previous blog BEING CAROLE LOMBARD: MY PAST-LIFE IN HOLLYWOOD (click HERE to view). In my last update (click HERE to read), I noted some progress I made in terms of finding out who raped me in my past life as actress Carole Lombard. Unfortunately, I have no new developments about the rape at this time. But I do have some other things.

This past Friday, I was driving down a street in Foxboro, MA., and I happened to pass a sign that said "Tarot Readings". I don't know what it was about that sign but I felt it was calling to me for some reason. I felt almost as though it was sucking me in, like it was a magnetic beam or gravitational field or something like that. I thought - hmmmm - maybe I should stop and get a reading. But to tell you the truth I was kind of tired of psychics and mediums and all that jazz. Plus, I didn't want to give out any more of my money to anyone if I didn't have to.

I drove about ten minutes beyond the Tarot place, but the "magnetic pull" became even more intense. I really felt that I needed to go back and get a reading. I didn't know why, but I felt as though I was meant to drive past that place. I don't mean to sound all melodramatic or anything, but it really felt like a serendipitous event.

Anyway, the pull became so intense at one point that I said, "fuck it", turned around and headed back towards the place where I saw the sign. As it turned out, the sign was actually located at the end of a normal-looking driveway. I pulled my car into the driveway and saw a place that basically looked no different than a house, only there was a neon sign on the outside that said "Ten-Dollar Palm Readings". The thought of getting my palm read sounded interesting to me. I never had something like that done before. Plus, ten dollars sounded like a pretty good deal. I decided I would go for it.

So I parked my car, walked into the house and was greeted by an (Eastern) Indian-looking woman named Jesse. She was supposedly a seventh-generation psychic, which sounded like she knew what she was doing, but I would have to wait and see if she was any good.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Um...I guess I just want my palm read."

"OK, come with me."

She led me through a pair of open French doors and we sat in a comfy parlor with some couches and a glass case filled with crystals, figurines and metaphysical-type trinkets.

"Take a seat. Are you right handed or left-handed?"

"Right."

She took my right hand, had me say my name out loud and then had me voice one wish I hoped would come true. So I basically wished my writing endeavors would be successful or something like that, and - only within a couple seconds - Jesse started relaying information to me that (to my surprise) was very accurate. I mean, I always thought palm readings were things friends did to each other at slumber parties; I never thought it was actually a real, legitimate art.

Jesse drew my attention to various lines engraved into my palm that I'd never noticed before. One long, curved line supposedly meant I would live a long life, but at some point I would experience lower body pains (she didn't really elaborate on the nature of those pains). Then Jesse started talking about my career and how my name was going to grow and money would start rolling in, but then people would try to bring me down. She said that I needed to be in Los Angeles because I needed to "go after my dream". The only thing keeping me in the East was family and friends. She also said that California was where my heart was, anyway. "You're an ocean boy".

Jesse eventually flipped my hand over and immediately said something that scared the absolute shit out of me. Honestly, I had never been so freaking scared in my entire life.

"Who's pregnant?" she asked.

"What? Um, nobody, I don't think."

"You have a daughter and somebody's not telling you."

"What??? Uh...no I don't."

"Yeah you do, honey."

I literally started shaking in my chair. I didn't know what the hell this lady was talking about. My fear was that I had gotten somebody pregnant somewhere down the line or perhaps even very recently and I just didn't know about it. But I was pretty sure this wasn't the case. Everybody I had ever had....um...relations...with was still somebody who was in my life in one way or another, even the girls I'd had casual hook-ups with or one-night stands with. And I was pretty sure none of them ever had my child, or was pregnant with my child.

But then a question suddenly came to me, almost within a couple seconds after my initial panic. I don't know why it came into my head so fast or where the question even came from, but all I know is that it was there:

"Could the daughter have been from a past life?"

Jesse nodded her head. "Yeah, possibly." And I was a little relieved, but only a little.

I explained to Jesse that I had been "doing a lot of past-life stuff lately" and that I had discovered I was (supposedly) a famous actress in Old Hollywood.

"As to whether it's true...I have no idea."

Jesse looked me square in the eye and gave me a little smirk.

"It's true, honey."

All right, so there it was: pretty straight-forward confirmation of my Hollywood life from yet another medium, one who was completely unrelated to any other medium I had consulted with.

"OK, then. I guess it's true."

I then explained to Jesse that there was always a feeling in the way back of my mind that I had a daughter during the Hollywood life, but kept the daughter a secret for whatever reason. My 'feeling' mainly arose after I had read a book about Lombard entitled [title omitted], written by a woman named [name omitted] in 2008. The book is about how Carole Lombard secretly had a daughter when she was a teenager but gave it up to her aunt and uncle to raise before anybody other than a few close family members found out. According to [the author], the book is a "story of possibility" filled with content that is supposedly 95% non-fiction and 5% fiction/artistic liberty.

After I read the book, I was very intrigued by the story. I managed to get in touch with [the author] via email and she told me that - as far as I should be concerned - Carole didn't have any child; the plot-line of the illegitimate daughter was a figurative device she used to tell a compelling story. But [the author] also told me something really interesting that I can't repeat here because she wanted it off the record. Let's just say she had access to a 'source' that nobody else has ever had access to when it came to researching Carole's life. And this 'source' was an enormous influence in shaping her work of "fiction". In other words, there is no way to be certain that Carole Lombard ever had a child, but the "story of possibility" is certainly...well...possible.

Taking all of the above into consideration, you can probably see why Jesse's vision of a "secret daughter" lead me to seriously consider the possibility that Carole Lombard did, indeed, have an illegitimate child. I tried to get Jesse to provide more information about the daughter, but all she could say was that she saw the daughter "grown up" and she had my eyes. This was good news to me, because I was pretty sure that - if I did have a daughter in my current life - she wouldn't be very old yet. If anything, somebody may have been pregnant with my daughter (though I later checked with all recent partners and nobody was pregnant as far as they knew).

Anyway, Jesse eventually placed the whole secret-daughter-deal on the back burner and she started discussing my Hollywood life a little more. She said there was a lot of glamour and a lot of success and there were a lot of positive people around me much of the time.

"In fact, you weren't supposed to live your current life," she told me. "You were supposed to accomplish what you are doing now in the former life. But something went wrong. It was a choice you made...I don't know...things didn't unravel the way they were meant to unravel."

Needless to say, I was a little taken aback by what she was saying. "Come again? I wasn't supposed to live this life? That's a little weird to hear." But after a moment, I think I kind of understood what she was saying.

One possibility is that I died too early in the Lombard life (she died at age 33 in a plane crash). Maybe Jesse meant the crash wasn't supposed to happen. I heard that Carole's mother (who also died in the crash) warned Carole that she didn't have a good feeling about the flight and they should take a train instead. Maybe I made the wrong choice by boarding the plane despite my mother's warning. But, then again, how could you really say my death from a plane crash "wasn't meant to happen"? Just because I made a poor choice by boarding a doomed airplane I completely messed up my soul's path forever? I don't really know if that's something that can possibly happen. I mean, talk about the "butterfly effect".

But maybe Jesse was referring to my Poland life, which coincided with the Hollywood life, a phenomenon known as a "parallel existence" (read about this life HERE). In the Polish life, I was faced with a situation where I was essentially tricked - and then forced - into helping the Nazis massacre hundreds of Polish intellectuals. At a certain point during this experience, I was faced with a very tough decision: refuse to partake in the evil and die, or go along with it and live. Ultimately, I chose to go along with it (in fear of dying and being unable to support my nine children), but maybe I was "supposed" to die. Yes, maybe the Polish existence was supposed to end and the Lombard existence was supposed to go forward. But - for whatever reason - the Lombard existence had to be cut short because the Polish existence didn't unravel the way it was supposed to unravel. Maybe Lombard was destined to take her life in a completely different direction, but couldn't do it because of how things panned out in Poland.

I mean, one really has to wonder how two lives influence each other in the case of a parallel existence. Maybe what happens in one life simultaneously influences what happens in the other life. Maybe the Lombard life needed the Polish existence to end at a certain point so it could have more energy or rise to a higher spiritual level and do bigger and better things; but because that didn't happen it was better for Lombard's life to end abruptly and ultimately start up all over again in this current incarnation as Matt Burns (i.e. me). Maybe I am now where Lombard was supposed to be around 1942 when she died. Maybe she was supposed to be where I am now but couldn't be because of how the Polish existence panned out. Yes, I know this is probably confusing as hell for you right now. All I'm trying to do is raise some questions and explore some possibilities. I don't know if there is any truth to these theories.

The fact of the matter is that - according to the psychic Jesse - things didn't go according to plan in the past and I wasn't 'supposed' to live this current life as Matt Burns, but I AM living this life now and that's all I should really be concerned about. Jesse did add, however, that there was a "dark shadow" in my aura because of what went wrong in the past, and it was in my highest and best interest to get a spiritual cleansing before I moved forward with my life. She said this "dark shadow" had the potential of getting in the way of me connecting with positive people in the future. Positive people, she explained, can (subconsciously) sniff out people with negative energy in their auras and they'll keep their distance from them. In other words, the negative energy stuck in my aura could be very detrimental to me forming important relationships in both my professional and romantic life. If this sounds at all familiar, you may have read all about it in the popular book The Secret, which is all about the "law of attraction" (i.e. positive energy attracts positive energy and negative energy attracts negative energy).

Jesse said she had the ability to do a spiritual cleansing for me, but I told her I would sleep on it and get in touch with her later if I thought it was something I wanted to have her do. I actually already knew how to do some form of a cleansing and I wanted to avoid paying money for something I could conduct on my own. In fact, anybody out there has the ability to cleanse themselves if they want to - it's a good way to rid your aura of any negative energy, not just stuff that may have come from a past life. Basically, what you do is stand in front of your bathroom faucet, turn the faucet on with your left hand, let the water run and keep your hand gripped on the handle. Then, you hold a pendulum in your right hand and say the following words:

"I now ask that my high self and my helpers in the light please identify, disorganize and remove all energies within my aura that are not in my highest and best interest to have at this time."

In my case, I wanted to be a little more specific, so I added the following:

"Specifically remove all negative energies I have carried over from my past life in Hollywood and Poland."

If all goes right, the pendulum should start swinging clockwise and you basically just stand at the sink while you get cleared of all the negative energy. It may take several minutes - depending on how much energy is clearing - but you'll know that the process has completed when the pendulum stops swinging and comes to a complete stop. The theory behind this entire process is that all the negative energy from your energy field (i.e. aura) gets washed out of your field and down the drain, all the way into the bowels of the earth where it will no longer affect you. I know it all sounds wacky, but I personally find that I feel lighter and more positive after I do one of these cleanses. It's actually best to do it every couple of days so that any negative energy we pick up from the outside world doesn't accumulate and weigh us down.

But back to Jesse.

I left my "palm reading" on Friday feeling extremely overwhelmed. For one, I still wasn't sure about the mysterious daughter situation and I was still kind of freaking out that somebody was pregnant in my current life. Also, I was concerned about the 'dark shadow' that was in my aura...and whether I would ever get rid of it! And on top of everything else, I felt anxious about how Jesse said I needed to be in LA. Should I be there now? When should I go??? How am I going to make that work? Obviously I shouldn't just go to LA because Jesse said I needed to be there, but, hell, I KNOW I need to be there; I wasn't hearing anything I didn't know already.

As far as the daughter situation goes, right now I'm wondering why I even needed to know I had a secret, illegitimate daughter in the first place. I mean, I guess it's important to know, but it's not like I can try to find her and reunite with her...at least I don't think I can. First of all, it's very likely that the daughter is deceased already, though I suppose it's very possibly there is a granddaughter alive and possibly great-grandchildren. But I wouldn't even know where to start looking for them, and I think they would find me too weird anyway. I mean, what would I say to them? "Um, yes, my name is Matt Burns. I'm a 29-year-old man now, but I have reason to believe I am your grandmother from a past life." Yeah, that would really go over well.

I think the fact of the matter is that the past is the past and I can't really do much about it now. As the saying goes, you shouldn't look back unless you want to go that way. Hopefully a piece of my spirit is still with my daughter/grandchildren - watching over them - but that's as good as things can be right now. Perhaps, in the future, mankind will evolve to a point where we'll be able to reunite with our children from a past life without anybody finding it weird. But that time is not now. I can't really do much about the situation. At least I don't think I can.

Of course, I'll let you know if anything changes and whether there are any more developments in this story. Who knows what else could pop up from the Lombard life? Hopefully it's not any more bad stuff; I'm not sure I would be able to handle much more of that. I mean, to be honest with you, the whole illegitimate daughter thing gave me a feeling of sadness. I don't want to experience any more of those emotions if I don't have to. Then again, if experiencing these feelings is the only way to clear the darkness from my aura, then I guess I say bring it on.

My Past-Life in Hollywood (Update)

2011-03-07T18:02:00.000-08:00

This is a brief update to my previous blog BEING CAROLE LOMBARD: MY PAST-LIFE IN HOLLYWOOD (read the blog here for the backstory).

When Donna Ciaciarella regressed me to my past life as an actress in Hollywood, she thoroughly described a costume I wore in a film I was shooting "that had to do with a period piece". She described the costume as being a "southern belle dress" (listen to the recording at the bottom of the page from a little before 2:00).

I consequently tried to find evidence of Lombard wearing this type of a costume, but I came up dry. I researched most of her movies - read what they were about - but none of them was something I would really consider a period piece, especially one that took place in the South.

As it turns out, however, I wasn't looking carefully enough. About a week ago, I started to watch one of the most important films Lombard ever made. It was the film that essentially made her a star. The movie was called Twentieth Century.

I was only about fifteen minutes into the 1934 film when I saw Lombard wearing a dress that gave me intense chills. The dress was almost exactly what Donna Ciaciarella described to me in her vision (see the movie poster above and the photo to the right). Now, Twentieth Century itself was not a period piece, but Lombard's character (Lily Garland) wore the dress for a play she was acting in. And the play WAS a period piece that took place in the Old South. Could Donna have been describing this play within the play? After all, Donna never said the film I was working on was a period piece; she said it "had to do with a period piece".

Of course, it's possible that there was another actress from the early twentieth century that wore a similar dress and may have starred in a period piece that took place in the South; but Donna's vision was almost exactly the same as what was going on in Twentieth Century. And when you factor in all the other evidence (that you can read about in my previous blog), I can now more confidently say that I had a past life as Carole Lombard in Hollywood.

Now, does this mean I am the reincarnation of Carole Lombard? No, I don't really feel comfortable saying that, seeing that I also had a parallel existence as a man in Poland around the same time period (read about the Poland life HERE). All I know is that my spirit, soul, consciousness, higher self - whatever you want to call it - previously incarnated itself as a woman named Carole Lombard. That's all I can say and I'm basically 99.9% sure now that this is true.

The entire mystery, however, is still not completely solved. As I described in my previous blog, Donna uncovered that I was raped in Hollywood by a man I was "madly in love with". Up until now, I assumed that I was raped during the time that I was filming the "period piece" and this is why Donna mentioned the movie in her vision. But my gut feeling seems to be telling me something different; right now, I don't believe I was raped during the time I was shooting Twentieth Century. And I don't think I was raped by anybody I was working with on the film. Lombard's costar (and legendary Hollywood bad-boy) John Barrymore briefly popped up as a suspect, but my intuition tells me he was a good guy and didn't do it.

To be honest, I think Donna described my part in Twentieth Century to me for reasons unrelated to the rape. In his book Regression: Past-Life Therapy for Here and Now Freedom, Dr. Samuel Sagan reminds people that past-life regression doesn't only uncover negative traumas, but sometimes positive trauma as well. Twentieth Century, after all, was known to be Carole Lombard's career-altering movie. It was the film that officially made her a big-time Hollywood movie star. Maybe the entire Twentieth Century experience was so positive that it left a good scar on my soul and this is what Donna was picking up on.

Anyway, the fact of the matter is that I don't think anybody associated with Twentieth Century raped me. But I do have a prime suspect in my head right now. I was reading some of Larry Swindell's biography on Lombard (Screwball: The Life of Carole Lombard) and I stumbled upon a few paragraphs describing a "fling" Lombard had with Howard Hughes when she was about twenty years old. Hughes was supposedly Carole's first crush. She was very much in love with him, but Hughes kept the whole affair very hush-hush and secretive, partly because he was also dating actress Billie Dove on the side. Lombard and Hughes saw each other for a while, but then Hughes called the whole thing off when he apparently lost interest in her. Carole didn't want to let him go. She told all her friends that she would get him back eventually. But she never did.

At the time of the affair, Swindell says that Lombard wasn't acting quite like herself while at work. She was actually fired from a Cecil B. DeMille movie she was working on (Dynamite) because she wasn't remembering any of her lines. According to Swindell, there was a "detectable vagueness about her that seemed contrary to the forthright, eagerly working Carole Lombard [colleagues] would later know and direct. It was the only case of her having been remiss in application." Was there something bothering Carole that made her 'vague' and 'remiss'? Was she just hurt when Hughes dumped her? Or was there something else bothering her???

What I'm getting at is that the "affair" between Lombard and Hughes sounded very similar to the situation Donna described to me in her vision. Donna said I was madly in love with whoever raped me. It was a teenage-like crush that I blew out of proportion. I had fantasies of marrying the man and living a fairy-tale-like life happily ever after. But the man had no romantic interest in me whatsoever. Donna described him as a "womanizer", which is exactly what Howard Hughes was known to be.

On top of all these similarities, I couldn't help but remember my eerie experience at a metaphysical bookstore called "The Enchanted Fox", when a medium working there (named Rose) said she saw an image of Howard Hughes when she looked at me. We were both confused as to why she was seeing Hughes, but could it have been because he raped me in my past life? This is all too possible, but I don't have any evidence to support anything. I am currently in the process of trying to get a medium to corroborate my suspicions, but I haven't had much luck yet. I also asked my friend Jan to dowse for me, but she wasn't able to get any answers for some reason. Maybe I'm not meant to get any answers. Maybe I'm just completely out of my mind. It's very possible, I suppose.

But, yes, right now Howard Hughes is the number-one suspect. I feel in my bones that it was him, but I can't go pointing fingers unless I have some sort of confirmation from a source outside of myself (which, I suppose, has to come in the form of a medium). Of course, Hughes is long dead (he died in 1976), so it's not like I would be able to press any charges or anything. But it would still be nice to attain some closure in regards to the situation.

I will, of course, keep you updated if there are any more developments in this mystery. If you have any information that can help me out (either from the real or spirit world) please let me know. I'll take anything I can get. Thank you.

Here is the actual recording of my regression session with Donna Ciaciarella. You can listen to the other recordings at my previous Carole Lombard blog (click HERE) or at my Youtube page (click HERE).

How "ill" is Charlie Sheen?

2011-03-01T20:46:00.000-08:00

It's late right now, but I just wanted to write this quick blurb about the Charlie Sheen situation. I was going to post it as a Facebook status, but it was too long, so I will do it as a blog. The following is what I was going to post as my status:

"It's a breath of fresh air to finally have a celebrity not being politically correct, not full of BS, not purposely being humble and modest, not playing it safe in order to maintain a stable career. Part of me wants to celebrate Sheen for being a true, ballsy American but it would be naive to ignore the fact that he probably has some mental issues as well. Or maybe we're so used to lies that we've come to interpret sheer honesty as a mental disorder. It's something to think about...."

That's my thought of the day. Good night.

My Outer Body Experience

2011-02-15T20:05:00.000-08:00

A few nights ago, I had somewhat of a strange experience and I thought I should document it. I guess you could say it was like a weird dream, but I'm not sure it actually WAS a dream.

All I remember is being in some sort of white tunnel and seeing dark figures not too far in front of me. The figures were silhouettes of people. There were differences in height but no facial features or anything like that. Just shadows.

We didn't exchange any words, but I had the impression that I had just finished hugging these people and I was saying goodbye (telepathically). I got a very loving and encouraging feeling from them. I also got the sense that they were family, but from a past lifetime. I don't know why, but I felt they were from a past life I allegedly had in Poland (read about this life HERE).

Then, all of a sudden I became conscious of being back in my bedroom, but I wasn't fully in my body. I was slightly above it, hovering a few feet over my bed. But, then, slowly and slowly I started to seep back into my body. It was a very strange sensation.

At first, I shook the whole experience off as being a weird dream. But the next day it occurred to me that what I may have experienced was an O.B.E. (i.e. an outer body experience).

An OBE is basically a phenomenon that occurs when your soul, higher self, higher consciousness, spirit (call it what you will) temporarily leaves your body and goes into the spirit world. Usually we have no conscious awareness of this occurring. We wake up the next morning and don't know anything happened. But sometimes we end up remembering.

For whatever reason, I seemed to become consciously aware of my OBE at the very tail end of its occurrence. I got the impression that there was more to my experience than I remembered. It's possible that I was visiting certain people on "the other side" and I only became aware of this happening when I was saying goodbye to them and going back into my body. Why I was visiting them I do not know, unless this is something that often occurs and I don't normally recollect any of it.

Of course, the experience could have all been a hallucination or a dream. But one has to wonder whether it actually happened. Have you ever had an OBE? What is their purpose???