WEBSITE: —
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RECORDS: 18
LATEST RECORD: 8 months ago
JOINED: February 03, 2010
LOCATION: —
RECORDS: 18
LATEST RECORD: 8 months ago
JOINED: February 03, 2010
All Chris.Harn's RECords
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This is my homage to old school sci-fi; I tried spicing up a once popular idea from 1950's cinema with some appropriate philosophy :) I remember when it was first on the news they were calling it a medical breakthrough. History in the making, a new landmark in science; it got all of the flattery you’d expect from a discovery the likes of this. Doctors Carl Schafferman and Lou Rosenthol had apparently devised a method of splitting a brain into its two hemispheres and placing them each in different bodies. Sounds like a bad 50’s movie, I know, but they did it with pigs and monkeys and all sorts of animals- and it worked. Apparently they’d tried whole brains transfers to no avail, but for some reason splitting the brain in two did the trick. They showed these two happy pigs running, eating sleeping, and you know…being pigs, and they shared just one brain between them. Obviously the next logical step was humans, but the legality of such things, let alone morality, seemed to keep the idea at just that- an idea. That is until Pete Fleming, a leathery guy in his sixties, came along some five years later. He had cancer, stage III pancreatic, and since he had only weeks left according to doctors he decided to donate his body to science. He made a special request that got him in the news, however, and I bet you already have a fair idea of what this request entailed. He wanted the procedure done post-mortem. As soon as he was declared dead, they’d have less than ten minutes to cut him open, perform the procedure, and “revive” the two new Pete Flemings. A wave of terminally ill patients followed suit, and the two celebrity doctors soon found themselves with enough brains and bodies to go forward. That’s not to say that it was smooth sailing from there. Obviously there was a lot of protest from a lot of people. Senators and congressmen tried to get new legislation passed prohibiting such things in a mad rush of paper and debate. Hundreds of requests were sent to the Supreme Court. Religious organizations across the globe spoke out in fury and disgust. The thing was, these issues had been tackled starting day one of the coverage on the doctors’ work on animals. These arguments had already been made, the rants and raves endured, and the various political opinions made clear. The truth was that even if it was completely amoral, nobody knew what to make of it. It was so unlike anything anyone had ever had to deal with that most of the strong opinions, for and against, came from either imaginative scripture interpretations or ignorance. Well, the protests didn’t do much good, because come early December Pete hit the bucket. Schafferman and Rosenthol were waiting in the room next door when it happened, and with a team of doctors at their side they scrambled through the door with machines and tables and monitors. A corpse lay on either side of Pete’s body, the hosts for what would soon be “Pete One” and “Pete Two”. Each was connected to a web of tubes and electrodes, not to mention respirators and the like. There were pictures in magazines later on, and it looked beautifully unnatural…still, it scared the shit out of me and everyone else. The operation went forward, and although only one hemisphere survived, it was considered a success. Pete Two has been soaking up sun at the beach for the last ten years now, and although he’s got his own set of troubles- speech issues, weird ticks, etc.- he’s not dead. Of course, it didn’t end there. There were still dozens of terminally ill patients interested in taking part in the procedure, whether as the brains or a body, and the two pioneer doctors were more than happy to oblige. They became like the Apollo missions in their media coverage, and each one was just as controversial as the next. After procedure number four, a strange pattern started to emerge. Only one hemisphere had survived each operation- not any hemisphere in particular- but if Jo Schmuck went in, only one Joe Schmuck came out, granted with half a brain. After ten operations, not once had both hemispheres survived. Then came the twenty mark, but still to no avail. People didn’t seem to care though because regardless of how little brains they had, they could still cheat death for at least a little while longer. After sixty operations, each with the same result, Schafferman and Rosenthol officially put their procedures on hold. Not once had both hemispheres survived, and scientifically there seemed to be no explanation. Religious groups, once revolted by the nature of the work, declared that it was tactile proof of the soul’s existence. “You can split a body” they'd say, “but you can’t split a soul”. The scientific community was stumped. The procedure had been successfully performed hundreds of times on animals. Research and biopsies began, and soon a small army of medical experts had been mounted in Harvard Medical Center to determine the cause of this phenomenon. Quickly dubbed the “Schafferman Rosenthol Complex”, it mesmerized not only the medical community, but every academic community in the world. Philosophical battles were fought ruthlessly, and new battle lines were constantly being redrawn between different schools of thought. The whole thing was just a giant brainfuck. Not surprisingly another news frenzy came along, this time centered around seven year old Michael Wheeler. Like the others, he was terminal and wanted the procedure. This time, the government leaped in and set measures to prevent the procedure on the kid. Even Rosenthol was put off by it, and after a month of fighting he and Schafferman split ways. Schafferman was determined to go through with the operation, and so with the consent of the kid’s parents, he and his team left for London. The procedure was completed a week later when Michael’s body died. To the surprise of the world, both Michael Wheelers awoke two days later. There were pictures everywhere- while the two kids looked completely different, they shared the same memories, the same preferences, the same mannerisms. While they each had their own set of mental hurdles to overcome, they looked rather normal as they stood next to each other side by side. Like Pete and like most of the patients to undergo the procedure, the two Michaels are still alive and kickin’ today. It’s been seven years since they performed that operation on Michael Wheeler, and he was the last of them. Technically the procedure should have been replicated for the scientific community, but most countries put up bans on the procedure after the kid. Some religious folks say they split the kid’s soul, others say the kid lost his soul altogether. I don’t know how it matters, really. The two kids seem happy, and that’s all that matters. No one understands why it worked on Michael any more than they did the day after the two kids woke up. Millions have been poured into research, but no dice. I don’t know where I stand on all of this…whether there is a soul, whether that had anything to do with the results of the procedures; I just don’t know enough. I’m not even sure if I think it’s moral, what happened. Is Michael Wheeler still alive, or did he die on the operating table? It’s a brainfuck, it's just one big brainfuck. |
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A really short, short story. With this in particular I'd be interested in some constructive criticism, so if you've got the time and interest, I'd love to know what you think! I found an old job application yesterday. It was crumpled on the floor of my closet, reshaped into abstraction by the tidal forces of daily humdrum. I unfolded it, unsure of what it was at first, and found it was half filled out- I had stopped mid-sentence while explaining what my previous work at a fast food joint entailed. Though the firmly set creases obscured some of the letters, I could still make out most of the words as I squinted with fascination. I could tell that this was from my high school years even before my gaze had reached the education section, because of the handwriting. Was it really that bad? The similarities are too many to deny that it could be anyone but me, but really? The letters are squeezed together tightly, jumbled in all directions, inconsistent in their appearances. Looking at it now I feel the same as I did yesterday- amused and a little sad. It’s a strange combination, amusement and sadness. Perhaps the word I’m looking for is nostalgia, a collection of syllables stolen from the Greeks that roughly translates to “pain for home”. It surprised me, I’ll say that. I’ve never missed high school in the slightest- those years were some of the most banal and frustrating that I can remember. Self-righteousness and arrogance stampeded through the halls of Middleton High School eight hours a day. To miss it, or to pain for those times, was new and…surprising. I hadn’t even bothered to look at what the application was for- hold on, I forget even now…it was Wallace Brothers’ Unfinished Furniture. In retrospect, stocking wooden furniture doesn’t sound too bad given that I ended up working at a diner as a fry cook during my senior year. I burned my hands so badly from all that hot oil, but for better or worse it became the norm and I got used to it. The tiny round scars it left on my hands are just starting to fade years later. Lifting wooden furniture around would have been nicer. Looking down at the paper now, I don’t have that same reaction as yesterday. The nostalgia is gone, whisked away after so much contemplation in the wake of its discovery. Then there’s- wait, what’s that? Down near where my signature should have been, a small, yellowish, translucent blot stands front and center. I know exactly what this is, having seen it so many times my senior year: a grease stain. I don’t know how I didn’t notice this earlier…the nostalgia blinded me. I must have already been working as a fry cook when I filled this out- already burning and scarring my hands, the air saturated with the filthy reek of hot oil. Why did I stop? Why was I filling it out at the very place where I was working? And WHY did I STOP? I was always a pretty complacent kid, but this, this is embarrassing. I can feel nostalgia’s melancholy sister trickling from my shoulders down into my chest: regret has come for me in full swing. I’m not like this still, am I? Am I still so complacent that I'd throw aside opportunity to prolong what was essentially the daily burning of my flesh? I was a stupid kid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I just hope I’m not soaking up a new kind of grease now, filing papers for some accounting firm. Perhaps one day I’ll see my life now just as I see this job application, and look upon the new scars that I could be making as I speak. Deeper scars, far worse and far more crippling than the dermal indentations from my youth. Scars on my back when I ease myself into a corner and then refuse to move, convinced that I can see any opponent in my stagnant outpost. This is my fear, this is who I am. Only time will be the judge of whether these terrible scars come into fruition, and whether I’ll ever be able to see them if they do. |
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This is a really strange experimental script I wrote about cinema and its audience. If you're not familiar with the biblical character Legion, he (or it) is a man possessed by many demons, and happens to be the center of this script. I'm not the most religious guy, but this character works perfectly for what I'm aiming at. I've been changing this around for over a day and I don't know if I'll ever be perfectly happy with it, but I think it's good enough to release at least. We are situated in the passenger seat of a car, looking out the window towards the rural road at night. We hear a Man and as his voice fades in, we turn our attention from the window to him. We see that he is a younger, shady looking man with an unshaven face, talking directly to us. MAN “…leads me to your weird place in this world that I live in, where you…wait, wait I can see it in your eyes. There’s more of you paying attention now. That’s what’s so terrible about you Legion, there’s so many of you that I never know how many are actually paying attention. How many of you are there? Hundreds? Thousands? All I know is 'you are many'. Alright, well I don’t know where you all jumped in, so I’m going to just start over. My apologies to those of you who have been paying attention. Alright, so I was talking about you actually. Or “y’all”, I dunno. I was wondering how you move your body around with all those minds inside you, because you’ve got all those individual outputs going into something with one input. It’d be nice if you just told me, but I really don’t see that happening. I figure though that just by showing up and paying attention, you’re each directing what happens here in some respect. You have expectations, and if they’re met you’ll keep an interest. If they’re not, then you zone out and one of you eventually pushes the rest on to something new. That’s where I’m not sure though: how do you decide what’s interesting? There’s only so many stories in this world, only so many things you can do. What is it then? The mindset? The context? Like here, watch this.” Man pulls over to the side of the road, next to a pub. We see him reach over our lap to the glove compartment and pull a gun out of it. Upon stashing it in his jacket, he smirks and coolly walks into the bar. Seconds later we hear gunshots, and Man bursts out of the bar, sprinting to the car. He slams on the gas. MAN “Now I bet some of you are disgusted with this act, am I right? What was the point of that? But I know that some of you would’ve zoned out in the next minute if I hadn’t done that. And more than that, you’re used to this, right? You’ve been around- you’ve come to appreciate the finer aspects of human brutality. In fact I would wager that often, quite a few of you come back to this world just to see the screwed up things humanity is capable of. Is that the context I was talking about earlier? It’s hard for me to say any of this with certainty because I’m an outsider looking in. You’ve got a lot more perspective on this than I do. I mean how do I come across to you? I just went into a bar with a gun, smiling I might add, and now I’m talking to…I don’t know. Do you even care? What if I died right now, would you care? Or would you savor it after that stunt I just pulled? I bet you just don’t care. Hell, even if YOU died right now, all of those minds inside would just wander away, looking for something new. I wonder if you even have a moral compass. Or even of you do, whether this world applies to it. I mean if you followed someone around for a while, and say they die or end up broken and miserable or whatever, will you really care the next day? Will you, months later, think back on that person and think, ‘wow, I still can’t believe this person died’? Nope. I bet not. And that leads me to your weird place in this world that I live in, where you… wait, wait I can see it in your eyes. There’s more of you paying attention now. That’s what’s so…" FADE OUT |
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I took this with an early 1950's Beltica a while back. I'm still not great with it- I don't use it too often- but this came out somewhat nice. This is Bass Harbor on Mt. Desert Island in Maine, if you were curious.
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I always seem to have some weird intro to my scripts, but I promise that this one is (kinda) short. This script is not intended to be remotely realistic. The reason I chose these characters was to push the theme of "why we deal with all the crap that comes with being in society"; I needed a character on the fringes of society who chose to enter into its guts and see it in a fresh light. This certainly has some comedic elements, but I hope they are taken in the right way because I'm not trying to be demeaning, in fact if I'm demeaning anyone it's the fully functioning members of society. BACK ALLEY- NIGHT We see a drunken man stumbling though an alley in a large town. The drunk finds himself behind a building, and sees a large cardboard box. Laughing, he pours a great deal of alcohol on the box and lights it aflame, urinating on it as the flames grow. The drunk then begins to shuffle away but then stops and decides to sleep, right then and there. Enter WILL, a twenty-something year old homeless man in a ratty jacket and jeans. WILL (upon seeing the now smoldering box) NO! Oh my God my box! Will sees the drunk lying only feet away, and nudges the man repeatedly with his foot WILL Hey! You! Asshole! DRUNK What? Whosaidthat? WILL You burned down my box! I lived in there! Everything I owned was in there! Now I have nothing! DRUNK What? No I don’t want your cookies… The drunk’s speech turns to babble, and he quickly returns to sleep. WILL Hey! HEY! I had some fantastic red blankets in there that were irreplaceable! I can’t believe you…you ASSHOLE! Will marches away furiously INT SULLY’S APARTMENT We hear a knock on the door. SULLY, a twenty-something year old with gelled hair and a polo, opens the door with a beer in his hand and sees Will standing in the hallway. SULLY Will, you were just here like twenty minutes ago. What’s up? WILL Some drunk asshole burned down my box. SULLY He burned down your box? Dude what about those amazing red blankets? WILL Sully, they’re gone. The blankets are gone. All burned up. (pause) I can’t believe it! They were such nice blankets! SULLY The blankets dude! The blankets! It’s a travesty. The two pause in solemn silence, nodding in agreement. SULLY Well listen, if you need to crash here for a few days, be my guest. The couch is all yours. WILL Hey, thanks a lot. SULLY Yeah don’t worry about it. You want a beer? WILL No I’m good. SULLY Alright, well I’m going to drink a little more and then call it a night. Sully beckons Will inside before wandering to his bedroom and closing the door behind him. Will lies down on the couch, shifting into the fetal position before falling asleep. SULLY’S APARTMENT-MORNING Will wakes to the sound of sizzling bacon. He stretches and looks over the couch to see Sully cooking bacon and eggs with oven mitts on. Sully hands him a plate, and the two of them eat on the couch watching morning television. SULLY So I think you should go see a lawyer about this. WILL Really? SULLY Yeah dude, you need to see a lawyer. WILL Alright, what should I do then? SULLY You don’t need to do anything, because I already called one. WILL You already called a lawyer? SULLY Yup. You’re going to see him tomorrow. WILL Wow…thanks. SULLY I got you back, bro. So listen, I’m going to be at work until like five. You gonna be good? WILL Yeah I’ll be fine. Will plays old video games, twisting and turning as he mindlessly navigates through the digital worlds. He breaks for lunch, consisting of a sandwich, before turning to a daytime TV soap opera. He momentarily scoffs before he becomes completely sucked into the show. SULLY’S APARTMENT-15 MINUTES LATER WILL Don’t pick the dick, don’t pick the dick… The female character on the show is about to choose between two men. Will is visibly anxious as to what will happen next. WILL Oh come on! Really? You picked HIM? What are you thinking? I thought you knew better- Kate taught you street smarts, and this is what you do with them? Pshhhh SULLY’S APARTMENT- 5 HOURS LATER Will is in the midst of avidly watching a Spanish soap opera when he hears Sully at the door, and quickly changes the channel. Sully walks in, grabs a beer, and collapses next to Will. WILL So how’s things? SULLY Things are alright. I don’t know, not a lot to say. WILL Alright, alright. What do you want to do? SULLY Well I was thinking, you want to get some better looking clothes for tomorrow? WILL I mean I don’t have any money, man, and I’d feel really weird using your money. SULLY Dude, you need to look better for tomorrow, and it won’t cost me a lot to make you look presentable. WILL I guess. What are you thinking? DEPARTMENT STORE-EVENING Sully is holding up two different polo shirts for Will to choose from. SULLY Alright, those jeans are nifty. You need a nice shirt though, and these are nice. Just pick one dude. WILL (pointing at a simple long-sleeve T shirt) What about like that? That looks nice too. SULLY Ah, Will, you’re killing me. I mean if that’s what you want, we’ll get it. WILL Yeah I’m going with this then. SULLY’S APARTMENT- NIGHT Will sleeps in his new shirt and jeans on the couch. SULLY’S APARTMENT- NEXT MORNING SULLY Dude! Dude get up! WILL (groggily) What? SULLY Dude you’ve got to be over at the law office in like 10 minutes! Get up! It’s like a 20 minute walk from here, halfway up Brentwood Ave. Will jumps off the couch and shoves his feet into his shoes. WILL Halfway up Brentwood you said? SULLY Yeah, you’ll see it on your left. It’s Shearer and Shearer. WILL Shearer and Shearer, alright thanks. Will begins to head out the door. SULLY Hey! (hands Will a piece of toast) Toast. WILL Thanks Sully. SIDEWALK Will sprints down the street towards his destination. He progressively slows as he makes his way over, and by the time he arrives he is gasping for breath. After composing himself, he enters the reception room and approaches the secretary. RECEPTION ROOM WILL Hi I’m here for my appointment with Mr. Shearer. SECRETARY Alright, Mr.…Will Vickman? He’ll be with you in a moment. WILL Thank you. Will sits in a chair and grabs a magazine. He sees the secretary glance over at him several times with interest, and is at a loss over what to do. He waits only very briefly. SECRETARY Mr. Shearer will see you now. WILL Thank you. LAW OFFICE Will enters timidly, peeking around the door to see a large, middle aged Mr. Shearer. SHEARER Hi there! Will Vickman is it? WILL Yes Mr. Shearer, it’s nice to meet you. SHEARER Call me Dave. It’s nice to meet you too. Now what can I do for you? WILL …Well, I’d like to sue a man for arson. SHEARER Arson? Why haven’t you gone to the police? Didn’t you file a police report after the fire broke out? WILL Well, this is a little different (pause) I’m homeless. SHEARER Well your house just burned down, I would think that- WILL No, you don’t understand, I have been homeless for a while now. The asshole burned down my box with everything in it. Shearer starts laughing hysterically, and twists in his seat uncontrollably. SHEARER Teddy put you up to this didn’t he? Oh my God that Teddy’s something. WILL …I’m going to go now. SHEARER No! Wait, wait, wait, I’m going to call him up! You’ve got to stay! But Will walks away and closes the door behind him slowly. SECRETARY Hey, so it didn’t go well? WILL No, I’d say it didn’t go too well. SECRETARY Well hey, I’m not one to normally do this, but I’m going to give you my number. Don’t think it’s out of pity, because it’s not. I just think you're hot. The secretary places a folded piece of paper in his hand. WILL Oh! Wow…thank you. Listen, I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry, I’ve got to go. SECRETARY Alright. Call me though! WILL (walking through the door) I will! SHEARER (OS) Teddy! Teddy you sonofabitch! That was hysterical! Amazing! (pause) What do you mean ‘what are you talking about’? SIDEWALK Will walks out the door and leans against the wall next to it. His jaw open, he stands in shock. SULLY What the hell happened to you? WILL What? Nothing. I don’t have a case, the guy said. SULLY That’s crap. Well what do you want to do? You want to go hunt for a new box? WILL (holding onto the piece of paper in his pocket) No, you know what? I’m gonna look for a job. I could still get a job, don’t you think? SULLY You serious? I mean yeah, I’ll look around for you. You’re not picky, right? WILL Really? What do you think? No. Not at all. SULLY Alright good. …You’re really serious? WILL Yeah, yes, I am. SULLY Alright. There’s a seafood shack we’re gonna hit then- I’m gonna call them right now, give me a sec. Sully wanders off on his cell phone, leaving Will alone. Still leaning against the wall, he pulls out the piece of paper with the secretary’s number on it and smiles. |
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First thing's first, if you haven't read Marke's "Split Personality Collective Soul" collaboration, this will confuse you. I suggest you jump on down to the bottom of the page and check it out. If you have read said collaboration, you still need a bit of a heads up. For one, to make it easier on the eyes I made all pronouns feminine, thus avoiding dozens of him/her, her/his, etc. Also, I tried to make a lot of things rather ambiguous. If we want a good number of people to record this, we need the script to be accommodating. I've done my best to make it so without sacrificing a clear narrative. Finally, you'll notice that this is a rather strange format for a script. This was VERY tricky to write, as this lacks both a voice-over and any meaningful dialog (I decided to take both of your pieces of advice, Jules and Meta!). Because of this atypical format, I'm not really sure how many minutes it would be if it were actually recorded on video, but given its flexibility I think there's quite a range here. HOME We see Character groggily rise out of bed in her pajamas. She grabs her glasses case from a dresser, only to find that the glasses are missing. She looks throughout the bedroom, searching in every crack and crevasse before giving up. She fixes a bowl of cereal, peeking into the refrigerator to see it empty save for milk and mayo. She sighs, grabs the milk, and closes the fridge door in frustration. She eats her cereal while reading the newspaper, which she has to squint to read. After finishing her cereal she puts the cereal in the fridge and the milk on the shelf, and it takes her a second to realize her mistake and correct it. SIDEWALK Character exits her home, having changed and showered, and begins her walk towards the grocery store. She approaches a crosswalk, but can’t see whether the light says to go or not thanks to her poor eyesight. There is no one else around, and so she quickly hurries across. She hears a car honk at her as she does so, and the man in said car rolls down his window and yells at her for some time. She apologizes profusely before she continues her walk, a little more dispirited. GROCERY STORE She finally arrives at the grocery store, and again has to squint as she looks at the various items on her food list. She then has to squint at the various boxes/cans/labels etc. of food, and slowly collects her groceries. SIDEWALK She exits the store with a large bag of groceries in each arm. She begins the awkward return journey, and eventually reaches the dreaded crosswalk. As she takes the first step across, one of the top-heavy bags of groceries spills half of its contents across the sidewalk. Character stares in frustrated silence before she puts down her bags and collects the fallen food. Once she has reorganized the bags, she sprints across the road and breathes a sigh of relief- no angry drivers this time around. HOME Character returns home and begins unpacking her groceries. She fixes herself a hot drink and sits down, already exhausted. She takes her first sip and burns her tongue, rushing to the sink to get a cold glass of water. Scowling, she places several ice cubes (or lots of milk, depends on the drink) in the drink and sips the now unsatisfying lukewarm liquid. Character looks out the window- it’s sunny outside- she sighs, and decides to get out while it’s nice. SIDEWALK Character wanders down a street with various shops, and comes upon a street musician. She smiles as the musician plays through the rest of his/her song before clapping, tipping, and receiving a charismatic high-five. Uplifted, she gets a cool drink for her burnt tongue before returning to the street musician, dancing and sipping simultaneously. Now equipped with a big smile, she browses the various windows of shops before stopping dead in her tracks. She rushes into the shop in front of her, emerging moments later with a pair of old funny looking glasses with their five dollar (or your currency of choice) tag still dangling on a string. She enters a park and sits under a tree, watching children play, lovers wander, and an old couple sitting on a bench (basically anything of interest in the park). Character takes off her newly acquired glasses and marvels at them, removing the price tag while doing so. She places them back on her face and continues people watching. After a short while she decides to revisit the street musician- upon seeing her with her new glasses, the musician gives her another high five and they begin to chat. After a short while, they nervously trade numbers. With a smile on her face, Character marches back home- she can see the crosswalk light in front of her, the little white walking person illuminated. |
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I had originally written this on ntheon's second chapter of "Everything I Need to Know About HitRECord I Learned in Kindergarten", but after being encouraged to make it a record, well, I have: I'll be honest- I've never been in an artistic community before, and I've always been hesitant to show people my work. I've been frustrated quite often with this, because I had no one to go to if I had just written a new short story, or a script, or I wanted to rave about French New Wave cinema, or anything else artistically inclined. My friends are great, no, the best I could ask for, but I don't lump my obsessions on them when they're not half as passionate about these things as I am. HitRECord changed my outlook entirely. I can put out any kind of art that I can think of, I can inspire others to make their own incredible work, and I am constantly inspired myself from the art I see from others. On top of all that, I don't know anywhere else that fosters raw, unpolluted creativity like this community does. The satisfaction that I get from every aspect of this is dizzying, and watching all of this art morph into new works literally overnight is absolutely spectacular. I am so glad I found this place. |
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