Shooby-Doo,
blind
love
will
never
see
you.

This weekend we held our rehearsal for Ameviathan: The Green Machine in Chestertown, MD. The rehearsals went extremely well. Our cast is excellent and I can’t wait to shoot.

We also built the Green Machine according to the blueprints Dragon posted, here, on Protozoic. However, you’ll have to wait until to the movie to see it.

Finally, we scouted Camp Fairlee Manor’s facilities for the buildings we’ll be using for the shoot. Camp Fairlee is more than going to provide ample space, room and structures for the shoot.

Over the next two weeks, we’ll continue script breakdown, blocking off dialogue and deciding when and where to shoot what. The biggest hurdles to overcome in this next stage will be day and night scenes and mother nature.

In the meantime, here’s a goodie to tide you over. The music is courtesy of our producer, DJ Webb.

Click here to watch a treat in Quicktime 7

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty--

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes As apparitional as sails that cross Some page of figures to be filed away; --Till elevators drop us from our day . . .

I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene Never disclosed, but hastened to again, Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;

And Thee, across the harbor, silver-paced As though the sun took step of thee, yet left Some motion ever unspent in thy stride,-- Implicitly thy freedom staying thee!

Out of some subway scuttle, cell or loft A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets, Tilting there momently, shrill shirt ballooning, A jest falls from the speechless caravan.

Down Wall, from girder into street noon leaks, A rip-tooth of the sky's acetylene; All afternoon the cloud-flown derricks turn . . . Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still.

And obscure as that heaven of the Jews, Thy guerdon . . . Accolade thou dost bestow Of anonymity time cannot raise: Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show.

O harp and altar, of the fury fused, (How could mere toil align thy choiring strings!) Terrific threshold of the prophet's pledge, Prayer of pariah, and the lover's cry,--

Again the traffic lights that skim thy swift Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars, Beading thy path--condense eternity: And we have seen night lifted in thine arms.

Under thy shadow by the piers I waited; Only in darkness is thy shadow clear. The City's fiery parcels all undone, Already snow submerges an iron year . . .

O Sleepless as the river under thee, Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod, Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend And of the curveship lend a myth to God.

                                                           1927, 1930