Pornography and Martial Arts Movies continued
In this ordinary life they live, such a joy at disrobing, showing the unexpected shoulder width, cock length or, alternatively, darkness of nipple, suppleness of inner thigh, or, alternatively, such a joy at leaping up in the air, legs spread with a 'Heeee-Yah!' yell, or walking up the outside wall of a warehouse, or, alternatively, an old Chinaman rising off the cobblestones of a wet backstreet, still up in mid-air, grasshopper legs spread in his beige pajamas, as his tea cup, lowered, tink-tink!, settles back down on his tea saucer before he floats back to the dark, wet pavement to do battle, left, right, slashing, "Hoont!" and "Hent!".
We speak of the superman. Here is our hero, slapping his instep across the rope-wrapped wooden post buried in the sand, or fucking, from behind, a blonde kneeling doggy-style on a mattress, his left arm bent behind his back, fist against his spine in a show of casual self-control. I am above her, and I am above this. I am style.
We do not trust the subtitles. His lips move, but is he really saying, after so many syllables, "So I thought!"? We do not trust the grunts. Does the slide in of the rubbery cock really merit such disembodied groans?
In the ghostly twists of black tree limbs, high in the mountains, our hero goes "Hah!" as the old witch suddenly descends from top screen, lowered by invisible wires, wide hat on her head, elbows shifting, bladed hands whizzing. The battle begins. It is a battle far from the high-ceilinged luxury of the early shots of the movie, a Hong Kong hotel lobby where American whites and blacks, and Orientals, gather in Seventies suits, barking above the lobby chairs; a low-angled shot while anonymous jazzy music plays as the naked woman with a bruise on her leg dips down to the cock of the dark-haired porno star, whose parents gave him such an embarrassing name, pink tongue licking over all those veins, lips riding the upwards, downwards pull of the skin of his cock until he's straight enough for her to slap her cunt down over it.
The ridge of the hand below the pinky slams up against the tender underside of the jaw, where kisses are left, the lipstick planting red parentheses down across the fat swell of the breast to the big nipple which squirts a tiny, poisoned dart, sticking like a pin now out of the neck of the red and gold robed magician who had been sneaking up in a crouch from behind, so that now he totters backwards, hand at the side of his neck, but too late, walnut face a grimace as his painted eyelids flutter. Good-bye to you!
We walk with the camera into a darkened apartment. What will happen next? In this fake room off the hallway, Buddha statues in niches, Kali statues, with their disturbing spider multiplicity of limbs, set atop pedestals, our hero slaps elbows, forehead, ankles and ribs against the tall totem, accidentally breaking the radial bones below his wrist. The Chinese babe opens her mouth, lowers her leggy embrace onto the saddle of the blonde's face, and the actress within the embrace tastes, for the first time ever, cunt.
Big, surrounding circular lights, eight feet off the floor, shut off, dim, white to orange.
As the Assistant Director rushes over, does our hero, holding his right hand in his left, eyes black slits, cry?
Does she grow to actually, over time, after the clapboard is clapped and everyone else has gone home to their families, like it?
Once the studio is completely dark, if a pornographic film has been shot, nothing happens. If a martial arts movie has been made, insects may appear. Nothing else may happen then or, alternatively, Whum! Clong! as a little Oriental boy hoists his swinging cage, grinning at the cricket behind the bamboo bars.
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Bio: Ralph Robert Moore's fiction has been published in America, England, Ireland and Australia, and translated into Lithuanian. His story The Machine of a Religious Man appears in the current edition of The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. His novel Father Figure, originally published by Bookbooters, is now available as a free PDF download on his site SENTENCE at http://www.ralphrobertmoore.com.
