Yeah, I dont know what that was all about either.
Simply woke up, 4:45 amstumbled into the living room and sat down at my writing desk. Dont know where that first line even came from, but I picked up my pen and thats what came out. Maybe I wasnt quite awake yet, not sure. Automatic writing.
The rest simply tied into the emotion behind it, it was just something I was feeling and that was pretty much the only way I could explain it.
I think, perhaps, it was a Mothers day thing. Thinking about my own mothers death, then thinking about the terrible experience of finally meeting my birth mother, and lastly, the confusion over why exactly the third one.. .the one Id had for the last 12 years was so aggressively out of my life. I really wanted to call her to wish her a happy Mothers Day, but learning from the silence my Merry Christmas email received, I opted out of putting myself up there for the let down. Perhaps thats what that emotion was based on not sure. Something about time memories.
Hell I dont know. It is what it is, I didnt really think about it when I wrote it, so theres no need to try to think about it now. I just like it.
It did, however, remind me of when I was a kid and used to have a Tommy Talker ventriloquist doll. That thing went from the best toy a 6 year old could ever have, through to about 5 years later being the scariest thing a kid could have.
The dolls body eventually fell apart from too many SCTVesque tumbles from the roof of the garage, parachuted flights gone wrong, a couple bad skateboarding accidents and a general Kneival lifestyle his little cotton stuffed form wasnt built to handle. By the time I was 11, Tommy Talker was just a head. A creepy head that stared.
Oh how 11 year old boys love to be scared. Wed go out of our way to freak ourselves out. Placing that head on top of the piano, facing the couch, then wayne and I would turn the lights almost all the way off, and put on the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour.
Sitting on the couch there in the almost black, your eyes could just make out the features of Tommys head. The painted eyes just two black holes, the mouth simply a dark possibility.
Wed crank the volume on that big wood cabinet stereo, and the power surge to the speakers would result in a slow strobe like effect on the dim lighting. The louder bits of the songs would drain the room to almost pitch black, and the quiet moments in the song would allow our brains just enough returned light to see that Tommys little mouth was actually singing along. Smiling that evil smile, staring at us, and his little plastic jaw moving along to the words:
Theres a fog upon LA. And my friends have lost their way.
At that exact point in time on this one day, a bobbin fell off the sewing machine over on the opposite side of the room, a little plastic wheel bouncing noisily across the tiles.
We bolted. Fast. Knees to chest. Beeline for the door, shrieking like little girls, covered in goosebumps.
By the time we regained our composure, we went back to the door of the recroom, quickly bolting a little arm through the entrance to crank the lights full.
Pushing the door open, we both froze. Tommys head had turned 90 degrees and was staring at the door.
Staring still, at us.
As if it had slowly kept a bead on us and followed our screaming exit with his evil little plastic eyes. The couch is across from the piano. The door is 10 feet to the side of the piano.
To this day I cant understand what happened there that day. I know wayne didnt stop and spin Tommys head and I know I sure as hell wasnt getting anywhere near that thing in the dark. Yet somehow, the things head was 90 degrees spun. Telekinesis of two fully concentrating 11 year old boys? Doubt it, but somehow..
That was enough for us, and seeing as though we were just entering into the pyrotechnic stage of adolescence, we took Tommy out to the garage, hung his head from a coat hanger, and torched him with a modified flame thrower. (spraypaint and a lighter).
Now, 20 years later, I miss Tommy. That thing was a big part of my growing up, and I want a Tommy Talker back.
Simply woke up, 4:45 amstumbled into the living room and sat down at my writing desk. Dont know where that first line even came from, but I picked up my pen and thats what came out. Maybe I wasnt quite awake yet, not sure. Automatic writing.
The rest simply tied into the emotion behind it, it was just something I was feeling and that was pretty much the only way I could explain it.
I think, perhaps, it was a Mothers day thing. Thinking about my own mothers death, then thinking about the terrible experience of finally meeting my birth mother, and lastly, the confusion over why exactly the third one.. .the one Id had for the last 12 years was so aggressively out of my life. I really wanted to call her to wish her a happy Mothers Day, but learning from the silence my Merry Christmas email received, I opted out of putting myself up there for the let down. Perhaps thats what that emotion was based on not sure. Something about time memories.
Hell I dont know. It is what it is, I didnt really think about it when I wrote it, so theres no need to try to think about it now. I just like it.
It did, however, remind me of when I was a kid and used to have a Tommy Talker ventriloquist doll. That thing went from the best toy a 6 year old could ever have, through to about 5 years later being the scariest thing a kid could have.
The dolls body eventually fell apart from too many SCTVesque tumbles from the roof of the garage, parachuted flights gone wrong, a couple bad skateboarding accidents and a general Kneival lifestyle his little cotton stuffed form wasnt built to handle. By the time I was 11, Tommy Talker was just a head. A creepy head that stared.
Oh how 11 year old boys love to be scared. Wed go out of our way to freak ourselves out. Placing that head on top of the piano, facing the couch, then wayne and I would turn the lights almost all the way off, and put on the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour.
Sitting on the couch there in the almost black, your eyes could just make out the features of Tommys head. The painted eyes just two black holes, the mouth simply a dark possibility.
Wed crank the volume on that big wood cabinet stereo, and the power surge to the speakers would result in a slow strobe like effect on the dim lighting. The louder bits of the songs would drain the room to almost pitch black, and the quiet moments in the song would allow our brains just enough returned light to see that Tommys little mouth was actually singing along. Smiling that evil smile, staring at us, and his little plastic jaw moving along to the words:
Theres a fog upon LA. And my friends have lost their way.
At that exact point in time on this one day, a bobbin fell off the sewing machine over on the opposite side of the room, a little plastic wheel bouncing noisily across the tiles.
We bolted. Fast. Knees to chest. Beeline for the door, shrieking like little girls, covered in goosebumps.
By the time we regained our composure, we went back to the door of the recroom, quickly bolting a little arm through the entrance to crank the lights full.
Pushing the door open, we both froze. Tommys head had turned 90 degrees and was staring at the door.
Staring still, at us.
As if it had slowly kept a bead on us and followed our screaming exit with his evil little plastic eyes. The couch is across from the piano. The door is 10 feet to the side of the piano.
To this day I cant understand what happened there that day. I know wayne didnt stop and spin Tommys head and I know I sure as hell wasnt getting anywhere near that thing in the dark. Yet somehow, the things head was 90 degrees spun. Telekinesis of two fully concentrating 11 year old boys? Doubt it, but somehow..
That was enough for us, and seeing as though we were just entering into the pyrotechnic stage of adolescence, we took Tommy out to the garage, hung his head from a coat hanger, and torched him with a modified flame thrower. (spraypaint and a lighter).
Now, 20 years later, I miss Tommy. That thing was a big part of my growing up, and I want a Tommy Talker back.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
Oh the fact that this is my first time seeing your user picture and it is that of Henry Spencer from Eraserhead is interesting because I just saw that for the first time about two days ago.. and it keeps being in my mind because after I saw it I was incerdibly confused and a little beffudled, but the cinematography was beautiful, and alot of it I found.. beautiful, but that is all it was to me, although I wish I could feel more about it. You say it is one of your favorites, what do you think it was about, or what is it symbolizing.. or... somethng, can you tell me.. something, about this movie. This movie has been in my thoughts alot lately.