Categories
BURST / COMICS / FICTION / INTERVIEWS / LETTERS & ESSAYS / MEDIA / MISC / MISFIT DOCS
/ MUSIC / POETRY / QUEEN OF PENTACLES / QUEER TRANSLATION / REVIEWS / SATIRE / SEX
/ VIDEO GAMES
VISIT BERFROIS
HOME
ABOUT US
Search…
CONTRIBUTORS
SIGHT UNSEEN: I
STAND ALONE 2
Sight Unseen I Stand Alone 2 - Queen Mob's Tea House
Other/Gary J. Shipley/Articles/Sight Unseen_ I Stand Alone 2 - Queen Mob's Tea House.pdf
5TH MAY 2015 IN MISC
TAGS: FILM, I STAND ALONE 2, REVIEW
Like 0
Share
Post
BY QUEEN MOB
0 COMMENTS
I Stand Alone 2
I bring a gun to the film, a gun and enough money to buy the cinema I’m in enough
times over to pile each one on top of the last till I reach deep space. That’s how perfectly
moral I am. That’s how never wrong I am. But still I demand cushions for my seat from
the popcorn stand. And the girl there serving, she knows how it is my arse is still sore
from a thousand years of impecunious bending. Because I can, I plan to shoot her in the
face on the way out. The hero of the film and I both wear uniforms. The logos are all on
the back. The logos are all blood. Sometimes they spell out ‘justice’ in Frankish. It doesn’t
matter, man: no one has ever been wrong and everything comes true. After all, I’m here
for the drama of yet another butcher, here to watch his guts unfold. And it’s the same
sorry chump: born French and eating cheese. Only this time his mother loves him too
much, and his new father is the concentration camp commandant responsible for the
death of the communist one. This new father has fucked every woman he has ever met.
His semen is the stuff of legend. His son’s mental struggles begin and end with him. His
stolen innocence returned a hundredfold. He becomes a butcher that vomits at the sight
of meat. He saves up, buys himself a cow and marries it. He takes its virginity. The baby
comes fast. Being a butcher he removes the tail – but the wife goes too, out the window
in the rain. He blames the language barrier. He blames the five schoolchildren who
broke without breaking her fall. The daughter eventually learns French, but her accent
makes him sick. Her accent is meat, so he cuts till there isn’t one. She becomes a
woman, and he makes pudding from the blood. No man will look at her, so he takes it
on himself. They are illegally married and institutionalised at opposite ends of Paris on
the same day. He butchers his thighs in his room at night. She imagines escaping
through tunnels to green fields where women like her mother make cow eyes and chew.
They survive by starting over. And I have this nagging in my head like I’ve seen all this
before. And if I remember it right he’s about to blow her head off. But, no, wait! The
bullets are expensive, and he’s out now so there’s rent, a bad place, and a temporary job,
and a pregnant daughter who’s still locked up. It’s all turned out nice. Nice is what
happens when you get old and your parents are still alive, when you can sit in front of
the TV forever, and someone young and pretty is wiping your arse. I haven’t felt this
good since the cinema I was in caught fire. On the screen a woman is choking. The
inside of her mouth is dark. In the end her death is nothing special. The woman next to
me looks devastated. She must be lonely. It’s as if she knows there are only ever
memories of a life. I tell her I am afraid to die. That I want to make porn movies. That
the state killed my baby. That when I wave my dick around she’d be advised not to look
at my face. I remember how dull Paris is, how it was a cow was in a nightclub getting
fucked to pieces. I also remember how life is all just memories of afternoons, and
beautiful women in a bed you ignored. But worst of all I’m covered in pus. And I’ve too
much stamina to avoid all this pain. And I can’t beg. Not at my age. And the abattoir is
looking for people like me. I watch his daughter butchering a horse. It’s pure agony. I
have nothing left. I scream like before I was born. It’s a man thing. After all, my father
wore a crucifix. Taught me how pretending to love your wife has nothing to do with
taking her up the Eiffel Tower and throwing her off the top. On this planet I’m getting
ill. For the love of God is a death sentence. It’s why I mutilated it all like this. It’s why
extinction isn’t coming to save me.
tumblr_lyn6tuL08a1r8upkio1_r1_500
RELATED POSTS
BREAK IT DOWN, STOP FAKING AROUND:
THE MIDNIGHT GOSPEL WILL GUT YOU
6TH MAY 2020 / KELSEY MAY / MISC
‘WHITE IS THE COLOR OF DEATH’ BY TINA
PANIC NOISE
21ST MAR 2020 / J B STONE / MUSIC
21ST MAR 2020 / J.B. STONE / MUSIC
(UN)SETTLERS: ON EARTH TONGUE’S
‘FLOATING BEING’ NZ TOUR
8TH MAR 2020 / OSCAR MARDELL / MUSIC
A PHENOMENAL PLAYGROUND:
‘CHAOTICA’ BY BECCY OWEN AND THE
REFUGE
14TH JAN 2020 / WARREN J. COX / MUSIC
QUEEN MOB’S REVIEW OF 2019
28TH DEC 2019 / QUEEN MOB / MISC
BODY HORROR
4TH DEC 2019 / THOGDIN RIPLEY / REVIEWS
4TH DEC 2019 / THOGDIN RIPLEY / REVIEWS
PREV
NEXT
SUBMIT A COMMENT
ALSO ON QUEEN MOB'S
'At the risk of
bedazzlement' by …
Queen Mob's Tea House
FICTION: My Father, the
Watchmaker
5 years ago • 1 comment
5 years ago • 1 comment
5 years ago • 2 comments
[dedicated to — and with
The other day I had lunch
Next to the clock tower sits
much respect and love for —
my dear dear friends …
with my ex. We do this twice
a year, …
my father in a shop where
he sells watches. …
1
Login
0 Comments
G
Start the discussion…
LOG IN WITH
OR SIGN UP WITH DISQUS
?
Name
Share
Best
Be the first to comment.
Subscribe
Privacy
Do Not Sell My Data
Copyright © 2025 Queen Mob's Tea House
Newest
Oldest