Night Will Fall.

Byron Callisto, March 25, 2017 

Netflix is showing this extremely powerful documentary about the suppressed Bernstein/Hitchcock Holocaust film made in 1945.

This footage is profoundly moving. I could only watch it in short segments, and never before bed. Perhaps I am moved more than most would be; a tour of Dachau as a child imprinted heavily in me a deep hatred of all things Nazi. Still, Night Will Fall is brilliantly plain, a simple presentation of truth that cannot possibly fail to move all but the least human of humans.

Netflix’s timing of this release is prescient, and an important act that reveals there is someone at home there who knows what is happening to us.

Godwin’s law is dead. Paul Ryan and Donald Trump are two sides of the same bloody coin; they are functioning psychopaths, men who would (if no one stops them) fill the world with piles of discarded human beings. Whether it is their programming or biochemistry, nature or nurture, they are of the same archetype as the string of minor Nazis that (because no one stopped them) filled Europe with corpses.

It’s a serious film. Made me cry, couldn’t help it. It rings like a warning bell. It’s a window to a possible future. Human beings who scorn empathy, who revile the concept of human brotherhood, who play with the politics of fear and death and then brag at the party of their indifference — they are the same as the men who came before.

Brace for it.

We’re In An Undeclared War With Russian Mobsters Who Bought The GOP.

Byron Callisto, March 24, 2017 

Welcome to the future.

Nuke Putin.

Google Bikes! Just for you, Max.

Byron Callisto, March 23, 2017 

Sky would love this

Max, March 12, 2017 

Impeachara.

Byron Callisto,  

Post Reality.

Byron Callisto, March 9, 2017 

The Purpose Of Consciousness.

Byron Callisto, March 5, 2017 

The crassier stretched across the sky in perspective as they drew closer, and now only the massive concrete cube of the minehead was visible beyond it. Abbot’s leg was sending massive arcing signals that he consciously forced his brain to ignore, because, he reflected amidst the flood of pain, his conscious mind could better interpret the overarching danger posed by contact with angry Scotsmen. That, he thought, was the purpose of consciousness; to correctly prioritize Scotsmen and lesser threats. A primary Darwinian truth, conferring a successful genetic variance on the survivors. The train of thought made him laugh out loud, which brought a disapproving look from Joe. Still, Abbot thought it an enlightening concept, worthy of further consideration.

From WW by Byron Cornell Bellamy

“To correctly prioritize Scotsmen and lesser threats.”

Have you heard

Byron Callisto, March 3, 2017 

about this new band The Murder Merchants?

Awesome! I love that song Brink Of Love!

It almost sounds like Missy Io! Well, no one could be that good. But still!

Cascade.

Byron Callisto, February 24, 2017 

So I’m going to shoot a short film on the 11th with a few friends. Here’s the draft script.

Cascade: Early thirties but looks older; he’s spiritually exhausted from his day job, which is cheap small-town murder for hire. He’s killed hundreds over the last ten years, but he’s starting to have bad dreams and is overmedicating with dangerous new designed drugs. He’s a man of few words, descending into his own abyss.

Simone: Mid-thirties, attractive and conscious of it, a sharp strategic thinker with no moral compass whatsoever. She recruited Cascade when he was a warehouse worker at the fireplace store she inherited from her dad, along with the central valley’s #1 cut-rate down-and-dirty wholesale hitman business. She easily charms Cascade; they’ve never slept together, but he’s never been able to resist her until his recent decline began.

Dart: The new Young Gun, brought in by Simone because Cascade’s balking at a full family execution and seems to be breaking down. His drug choices keep him clear-headed and disconnected, and his girlfriend rules his soul. He’s read everything. A nerd, a gamer, a psychopath, an excellent killer. Happy.

Lacey: Sweet, smart, crazy and very cruel childhood-abuse victim who loves to watch Dart make human margaritas. She doesn’t kill, but she thrills to the show. Her mind is a million places at once, but it always comes together the same way: bloodily. She lives in her own graphic novel, and sticks to the dangerous edge of modern pharmacology.

ON SCREEN: A DARK GREEN WASH BEGINS TO HEARTBEAT PULSE, CHANGING TO MULTIPLE SICKLY COLORS WITH EACH BEATING IMAGE —
Murder. Each pulse brings a new color and a half-seen image of P.O.V. ultraviolence — people running, people being shot, people being stabbed and beaten, people pleading — Cascade’s gloved hand holding a gun or knife entering the frame occasionally, along with quick shots of Cascade’s face in the bathroom mirror — businessmen, secretaries, clerks, bartenders. Cascade kills small people.
The images speed to a blur –

CUT TO:
INT. CASCADE’S BEDROOM – AFTERNOON
Two black cats, DEIRDRE and LELAND, watch as —

INT. CASCADE’S BEDROOM, CASCADE’S P.O.V. – AFTERNOON
CASCADE wakes up and opens his eyes to look into the smiling eyes of LACEY lying in bed next to him on her side.
LACEY: He’s having a terrible nightmare.
She smiles at Cascade, ever so sweetly.
LACEY: Hullo.
CASCADE: Who are you?
She doesn’t answer for a beat.
LACEY: I’m Laaaaaaa-ceeeeeeeey.
CASCADE: I don’t know you.
LACEY: Caaaasss-caaaaaaaadian.

Off-camera — DART speaks

DART (O.S.): Such a cool name.

read more…

Scumbags!

Max, February 22, 2017 

She just ties it all up in a nice neat bow there doesn’t she?

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