Not the Battleship Potemkin

“Ahead of her, the spinning of the carriage wheels slows as they bump gently over roots, rocking the carriage arhythmically from side to side. Jess reaches out and grabs the handle of the carriage before it too goes out of frame, before it really is the Odessa steps.”

Jess, a film maker, takes a baby carriage for a walk.

“Add a small dog pissing, with muscular back legs outstretched, tiny pelvis lowered so the puddle spreads onto the dog’s own toes. The leash extends from behind a bush, attached to an invisible master, screened from view. The invisible master barks, “Come, Sergei!” and Sergei barks in response, kick-kicking hind paws, just for the MacGuffin of it, spreading his scent pointlessly on the concrete, poor beast.”

This was a fun story to write — a throwback to the days when I thought I wanted to go to film school.

In addition Eisenstein and Hitchcock, I was thinking about Carlos Castenada, The Lessons of Don Juan (Chapter 10: Journey to Ixtlan) when I wrote this story.

It is for Jess. She knows who she is.