The Bird Girl Guy…A Reflection

By Shannon Scott

This writing is a little something I’ve read at Jack’s grave during my tours of Bonaventure. Its fitting he’s buried near the entrance of the place that his photograph immortalized for the rest of time. I avoided telling his story grave side because it was too emotional. In fact the first time I read this, a group of 30 people basically saw me cry, pause and then cry some more. I didn’t see it coming but it was like I could process his loss doing that there. I’m sure I’ll cry again there some night. I don’t mind. I think it adds to the storytelling and is fitting of his memory to show people how he was admired and loved. I think this is the role of story teller at times. You become a vessel for such spiritual feeling and its personal but more than that too. With the recent passing of another friend and recent burial in Bonaventure, I was reminded of this writing and wanted to share it.

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I lived on Jones & Abercorn for 14 years, and Jack Leigh’s studio & home was at the corner of Oglethorpe & Abercorn Street. We shared more conversations in that stretch of city life than I can count. He was a sage soul. Quiet & reserved so it was hard to “know him.” He spoke worlds in a chuckle, nod or smile and not sure if he was conscious of that or that was just “him.” Me, I just talk a lot. His ex wife, Susan Patrice spoke to that in regard to his taking the famous photo of “The Bird Girl” for the dust jacket of “The Book.” She told me that Jack told her he “courted the fog” in order to get this shot. Yes, perhaps in his quiet reserve, he could siphon such moments with the energy he didn’t spend speaking. Anyway, Jack always showed real appreciation for other artists and people doing their thing and always wore black jeans, black shoes and a black t-shirt like some college kid in art school. Its been weird, following his death, to have watched his prolific studio go from convenience store to Thai take-out. His ex-wife, mother of his children, one aptly named Gracie and you can guess why, is a dear friend of mine & photographer too. As Jack was dying of colon cancer, the theory being the exposure to dark room chemicals, he turned very yellow and Susan, his ex, my friend, would walk with him up and down Abercorn. Of course he was dying and so the looks we all exchanged were what they were, but he seemed like same old Jack, not bothered by too much, even dying. But his eyes also said to me he didn’t want to leave the world, especially for his children. Even so, The Bird Girl became their angel and my guess set them up for life financially and has helped them go to college and much more. The memory of him evokes a big sigh from me as I sit here…. I know Bonaventure Cemetery was famous before him, but how famous would it be now without that photo? The book was good, but the photo was what sold it all the way around and everyone kind of knew that. It made Bonaventure famous in the way Jim Morrison made Pere Lachaise a worldwide, household name. I mean only so many know Jean Paul Sartre right? Anyway, Jack would appreciate us thinking of him and me bringing him back to life a little here today. I’ll tell you something that I don’t always share with folks. The magic of Savannah is that even if you don’t know the local characters in depth, like you grew up with them, or sat at their dinner tables or shared a beer with them? Doesn’t matter. What you do know of them, makes you love them like they were your dearest, and when they pass on, it tugs at you just the same as if you had done all of that and more with them. And THAT is what makes Savannah so magical. Visiting Bonaventure is kind of like getting a free moment inside of Heaven. You get to visit old friends for a minute. Sure you have to go after a bit, but its like having a pass to the place that you can use time and time again.

Jack Leigh November 8, 1948 to May 19, 2004. My friend.

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Imaginary Sleeping With You (by Gandre’)

Click To Hear Shannon Play With Words

This wasn’t written by me but a poet named Gandre from Germany. She used to have me narrate all of her poems as she said I sounded like Klaus Kinski. She was a strange bird but a mind blowing writer and poet. Scientific even. She always apologized for her English but had a command of it that few English could even match. Partly she wanted to know how her words were supposed to really sound together and so yes, she was using me. Sigh, my fate. We used to talk on the phone and she had an angelic voice and was just beautiful. But she rather liked having benefactors over boyfriends. Either the angels stole her back, a sugar daddy or the misty ether. All I have left is this funnily read poem by yours truly. I had fun adding sounds to the words and part so she could feel them in action.

A Love Note

Sometimes the universe will let me divine a little something on the human condition and I’m compelled to share it. Hope it touches someone out there…

A lesson on love. Even as soft as the human heart is, it has bones to protect it, yet even so, it remains vulnerable and exposed. Proof of your own love’s strength is knowing that even as much as we love someone, you cannot sacrifice yourself upon their ramparts. Which does not mean you do not love honestly, intensely, openly or whole. It just means you do not love tragically. This is the rub of life. We love so much at times we want to burn for someone, but to do so means the end of you. There is no honor in that. Only self sacrifice and no one is worth that, even if we love them beyond words. Love does not want pain in the end. It wants peace and joy and not eternal suffering and death. This is the real test of a strong person and where real honor lies. Those that love foolishly are really only that in the end, fools. So don’t be one. Grow and go live instead. ‪#‎CSLewis‬ ‪#‎TheFourLoves‬

 

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Shannon On National Public Radio

Click To Hear Shannon’s Interview

When I was growing up, I loved the radio. WLS in Chicago and “Animal Stories” or Paul Harvey (who once mentioned me on his show!), Wolfman Jack, Kasey Kasem and so many others. I would buy crystal radio hobby kits and build them with my solder iron and at night, move the antenna wire around my headboard to catch the signal just right. I would also play with my voice and create characters and did my best to emulate and immitate the rise, fall and other nuances of my favorite MC’s voices. All of this made more ironic later when at 15 I learned that my biological father had been a radio announcer and confirmed without doubt, I’d inherited at least his voice.

Before the video game craze

Before the video game craze

Eventually, like lots of young intellectuals and music snobs in the making, I learned there was nothing cooler than National Public Radio. Other than sugar & cream, it was the other condiment for your coffee. And I lived for this station and their relative affiliates from state to state. I couldn’t wait until announcer Karl Haas opened his “Adventures In Good Music” with his intellecutally amused, “H-E-L-L-O every-one, I’m Karl Haas.” And of course Garrison Keillor to modern day storytellers, was the Mark Twain we never got to meet. My co-pilot is Lake Wobegon Days! In High School, when public radio was still largely classical music, it was my soundtrack for artistic all nighters, and continued later in my art school college years. Sadly my affections have waned as now, NPR has just become a government control tool funded by the worst of government operators and the wildest of liberal, Leftist political circles. I know, don’t throw the baby out with the bath water, but let’s just say I savor my memories and my fingers, eyes and ears now shun the call letters. You know, Paradise Lost an’ all of that.

Karl Haas & Arthur Rubenstein

Karl Haas & Arthur Rubenstein

But “Back in the early 2000s,” a tall yummy writer with naturally licorice red hair, Heather McHelhatton, contacted me about doing an interview for the Minnesota NPR show, “Savvy Traveler.” That was also a goodie back then. The show’s announcer, Diana Nyad (Champion Swimmer) had one of those smart, sardonic, even bedroom tonalities that you just wanted to worship and take a bath in. Sticky good. So when one of her field agents, Heather wanted to interview me about Savannah’s growing paranormal reputation for the show, I was beyond thrilled. I really wanted to do a good job for Savannah and myself. Which I was all about promoting Savannah to the greater world and having my name on the marquee as such. I’ve been criticized and hated for what people have called self promotion through the years, but if that’s all people think its been, they just don’t get it. Anyway, Heather was familiar with Savannah and had lived here for brief writer meditation periods, but didn’t know much about the ghost scene of Savannah. She arrived with headphones attached to a very cool 4-Track recorder and after sitting on a bench in Monterrey Square around sunset and did a “Testing, Testing, Testing 1-2-3,” we went off into the night together as we discussed many subjects tied to Savannah’s weirdness and mysticism, real and imagined.

Heather & Her Map

Heather & Her Map

Heather’s Website (Click To See)

Heather has a very silly kind of demeanor and was a lot of fun to be around. We had a natural repoire and I just did my best to conceal that I really just wanted her job instead of my own. She made it easy really and it was kind of like we were just hanging out as friends more than as interviewer and interviewee. To our credit, the NPR folks after hearing it, told her they didn’t just want to use me in a soundbyte, but wanted me to have the whole 7 minutes of the episode. This was manna to my ears! I felt like I was following in the footsteps of my heroes or something! Joining the ranks! And yeah, as my mom was a fan of NPR, I think as her son I couldn’t wait to tell her!

On premiere night, which was around Halloween if I recollect correctly, it sounded so smooth. Diana narrated the front end and the back end, introducing the episode and to me the coolest thing of all, was the music that they used to close out the episode and not sure if that was Heather’s choice or not, but it was music after my own heart — Massive Attack. Which at that time, was the coolest kid on the block. Unfortunately my own recording version in this article doesn’t really let you hear it-hear it but to me, it was the icing on the cake. Heather also did an amazing job with the narration and of course, I bow to her for her production of it and honoring me with the participation. Heather has since become a novelist, writing several smart story books that allow the reader to kind of go their own direction with different options. Yes, like grown up Choose-Your-Own-Adventure-Books. I’ve got them all autographed. Last I heard she’s writing a novel where I’m a character driving a tour bus in Bonaventure and something about me carrying around the head of a statue but that’s that last thing I’ve heard….

One of my greatest validation moments regarding came later, at go figure, a coffee house. My home away from home was Savannah’s The Sentient Bean on the south end of Forsyth Park. Still the city’s best I think and occasionally I moonlight there reading poetry and telling an adventure story on stage. I was talking to a newly arrived barista, and while he was making up my latte, we mentioned what brought him to Savannah. He said, “well I grew up in Minnesota and years ago I heard this story on NPR about Savannah being haunted and after that, I knew I wanted to be here.” Yes, job well done and one more recruit secured for Savannah.

Massive Attack

Massive Attack

 

 

My Favorite You

by Shannon Scott (C) 2015
Click To Hear Shannon Recite This Poem

So many you to choose
So many you to know
So many you to admire
So many you to grow
The you that rises so early,
to make herself all pearly
The you that breezes the city
and makes hard work look so easy
The you that decorates, stays tidy
and keeps things so straight.
The you that wears things sassy
but keeps it all so classy.
The you that creates words of feeling,
and pushes poetry’s ceiling.
The you that brushes canvas,
and gives your soul’s color new compass.
The you that senses, sees, shoots,
and gives film unimagined roots.
The you that records ever word of every song ever heard.
The you that is there, gives much care.
while others just stare.
The you that plays, nurtures & defends,
one of man’s best friends.
The you that rolls and jams,
showing of one of the world’s toughest lambs.
There are more yous in you than there are minutes in a day.
There are more yous in you than this poem can’t help to convery.
With you, one is never bored with things to say.
You make art of yourself in every possible way.
My favorite you?
How can I pick?
Me choosing a favorite is almost sick.
Maybe the best is yet to be done.
But if I must, there is just this one.
Its my pet favorite and my secret crush.
The one I caught glimpses of and made my love blush.
Now and then I could conjure it with a joke.
Or if I said something wry.
When this you came it was so revealing and unshy.
All that was kempt, came unkempt,
and it would let fly.
High walls tumbled, muscles unrumpled,
and blood filled up.
From deep inside you this beautiful sound,
began to go eruptible.
Joyous noise completion and vibration uncorruptible.
Jarring was its witness.
But seductive none the subtle
Head rearing back, eyes gleaming lightning beams.
Tears welling up
Champagne bottles shooting streams.
Cheeks filling peak for the coming shrieks.
Lips slivering long, delivery ready,
for your heart’s song.
When it sprung on the air, it surrounded me,
and spun me like a top.
But so delicious to hear I never wanted it to stop.
When I felt of its causation?
I never felt such glad sensation!
I’d done something well in your heart’s nation.
Your body in perfection.
Your soul’s music a vexation.
Your spirit in its truest,
and suddenly on vacation.
Your laugh…
You. Laughing.
This is my favorite you.

Wellsprung Waxation

By Shannon Scott (C) 2015
Click To Listen To Shannon Read This Poetical Work

Ah, the delightful slope of heartwrench and accomplishments.

In which while sliding your feet reach the muck before the stable ground before your mind does.

Thus is life. Have minds like ours come to concur?

The fact that you’re just here is promising.

The prizefighter mentality has not seen too relinquish far enough to let that dark shadowy mixture that’s swishing in the back of your mind to claim grounds to your brain matter.

This is good.

Those abstractionary realists who tiptoe around society that suspects them to be stepped in cynicism?

Could in fact be holding the golden ticket to deeper levels of rest amongst outside clatter.

Perhaps rest came to you when you needed it…

My point is — that healing feels no rush for closure.

And while you’re being bumped or bruised as you continue sliding down or up said slopes of self acknowledgment and disparaging.

You’re not alone.

Consider yourself an experiment.

Reweave yourself with confidence that mistakes are a part of the purifying process.

Drinking My Words Is Good For You…

Yes, you literally can now….or kind of. I’m really happy to present to you 5 loose teas called AntiquiTeas that celebrate 5 amazing women who spent major parts of their lives in and around Savannah, Georgia. This is the first installation and more will arrive with different themes.
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Juliette Low – Founder of The Girl Scouts and true eccentric.
Flannery O’Connor — Author of “A Good Man Is Hard To Find” and “Wise Blood.”
Caty Littlefield Greene — Wife of Gen. Greene & co-inventor and partner in the cotton gin.
Mary Musgrove — An Indian Princess who broke all of the rules & made some of her own.
Jane DeVeaux — Visionary educator who beat the odds with her illegal slave schools.
Mary Haskell — Teacher, lover, editor & financial benefactress to poet-painter, Kahlil Gibran.

I’m a tea drinker so this was an amazing opportunity that came to me courtesy of my friend, Sharon Cobb, proprietor of Griffin Coffee & Tea Company. She desired to do this series of teas but wanted my take on who the women should be and how to orient a whisper of their life stories on the labels of the actual teas. She sent me the teas late last year in 2014 and I spent about a month drinking them and attempted to align certain teas with the women who I felt they spoke to in an esthetic way. So yes, it was more than just randomly slapping a label on a tea for the sake of and the end result left us with a greater feeling of substance and pride. I felt if I could really do the women justice in words, and paired those to the right flavor, it would become a greater sensory experience for the buyer. But beyond that, would intrigue customers to learn new things about women they’d heard of, and then entirely new things about women they’d not! I kind of took a selfish pleasure in imagining them drinking these teas while either doing that research online or hopefully, reading books about them. Or yes, even talking to each other on the phone or in groups about these great women of history. So for me, these teas have been an act of true women empowerment and made without downing men or “the sexes” or citing obvious historical adversities and certainly not latching onto the ambiguity of “feminism.” I sought to inspire people in the purest and truest meaning of the word “inspire.” Let the benevolent actions of the people speak to the seekers, not the politics. And what better way to do that then through their palates? Exactly.

THE WOMEN..

I will say that as I came up as a researcher and then storyteller in Savannah, the histories of certain women really blew my mind and spoke to me at great levels and made this tea project even more perfect. I had known about Caty Greene as this charmer during The Revolutionary War but upon discovering that she really completed the Cotton Gin and was equal partners in in with Eli Whitney, I realized history books had jilted her as much if not more than those who literally robbed her and Whitney of the machine itself.
James Frothingham (American artist, 1786–1864) Catharine Littlefield Greene Miller b
I suppose I grew up with a fairly generic and sterile concept of Juliette Gordon-Low, but years ago upon aquiring a mint condition, 1958 copy of “Lady From Savannah,” written by her nephew and niece as an almost protest act to expand the minds of the world and The Girl Scout organization itself, I was forever hooked and am only sorry I never got to court “Daisy.” She was the wild strain of the family, spoke many languages (including Native American), was a belle, but survivalist and artist. She sculpted, painted, and did wrought iron ironwork! Other than empowering girls for the future by teaching them home industriousness, also taught them how to hunt and hand to hand combat. An early Girl Scout handbook chapter was titled, “How To Disarm & Maintain A Burglar With An 8 Inch Piece of Cord.” Nuff’said.
Juliette Low in Pearls 1922
As a man, obviously when you hear women in particular, say, “A good man is hard to find,” you kind of cringe or laugh, but when I learned a young girl once famed for traveling the country with a chicken that walked backwards, coined the expression and was born in Savannah, I was more than intrigued by Flannery O’Connor. I had also seen John Huston’s incredible film take on her “Wise Blood” novel in high school. She also wore sexy nerdy glasses and walked with a limp like Lord Byron so she was unconsciously hip and to me, sexy as heck. And how many writers can be called “Southern Gothic Christian Realist” in the same sentence? She was witty, wry, and once said, “Friends don’t let friends read Ayn Rand.” What’s not to love!
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We all grow up hearing about Pocohantas, but narely and rarely, does one encounter the stories of the Indian Princess/Queen, Mary Musgrove or as she was known to her people, Coosaponakeesa of The Wind Clan. She was the highest paid non-English person outside of the crown, earning in today’s money, millions of dollars a year as official interpreter of Georgia’s founder, Oglethorpe. And by the end of her life (c.1767), was the largest land owner in the colony. She often wore the colors of war & peace in the same outfit and rabble roused with the best of them and I think of them all, Mary makes me wish for a time machine so I could lay eyes on her. She was a spirit and sight to behold is my gather!
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Savannah has a culture not unlike vodun/vodou(voodoo), called “root.” Instead of witch doctors there are root doctors. And the most famous name tied to all of that in these parts of The South is DeVeaux. Just saying the name aloud in certain corners will get you the most interesting looks. Jane DeVeaux may not have been a root lady but something tells me she cast a spell over the eyes of her detractors in order to run an illegal slave schoolhouse in the middle of the city when such things were punishable by death and banishment. But she did it and continued to raise the minds of others up well beyond slavery. Sadly no picture of her to date, but here’s a photo of her home and the school. To me she symbolizes that even while there were slaves, there were movers and shakers during the thick of slavery who found a way to break the bonds and live free. A lesson for us all. As Dick Gregory said not long ago, “We’re all on the plantation now.”
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I can say without any hesitation that the most serendipitous tea lady so to speak, is Mary Haskell. Close to the day I left Illinois for my first year of SCAD or The Savannah College of Art and Design, my English teacher walked up the drive and handed me Kahlil Gibran’s “The Prophet,” one of the 20th Century’s most recognized books anywhere in the world. The story all about a young man leaving for the world and being questioned by his town people on his understandings of certain life truths. So to arrive to the city where not only his lover and benefactress was buried, but to discover that most of his paintings and drawings were in the nearby Telfair Museum, I was beyond convinced that nothing in the universe as it happens is accidental. Mary Haskell not only offered him her love, but her translation & interpretation skills (he was Lebanese), but also paid for him to go to the Paris Academy. She was often his muse more importantly in his written and other art works. Thankfully she did not burn their 800 love letters and published them as “My Beloved Prophet.” I visit her grave in Laurel Grove Cemetery here often and I think we’re in love but you know…
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One of the neat things we’re offering is a personalized AntiquiTeas Tea Talk for your special event or women’s group. I show up with visuals and while you’re experiencing the teas to taste, I’m pouring stories over your imagination about all of these women. We can price it for small and large events. Its a perfect thing to attach to formal or casual events. Just let us know and we’ll create something teamazing!
ORDER YOUR ANTIQUITEAS TEA SETS OR INDIVIDUAL FLAVORS HERE!
Buy AntiquiTeas Here
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Bonaventure Cemetery Poster Now For Sale!

I’ve done a number of incredibly cool posters for Bonaventure After Hours & my event, Dinner & A Cemetery, but this is the first poster I’ve created for Bonaventure as itself. While I art directed, the very gifted artist, Matt Duplessie helped me once again create something great for the artistry of my business! Matt Duplessie One of the things I’m constantly making people aware of, is how every detail of Victorian cemeteries, not matter how slight, has powerful symbolic meaning to spirituality and the many disciplines. Cemeteries are full of secrets. The poster you see here was derived from a 19th century image devoted to the fraternal order of The Odd Fellows. Their credo as an order — “Visit the Sick & Dying. Educate The Orphan. Bury The Stranger.” Sounds like a real party right? Actually there were known as the fun lodge among the many “friendly societies” of the 19th Century. In the poster we find many symbols hidden in cemeteries both literal, and via the flowers you see. The Calla Lily (Resurrection, Love), the Clasping Hands (Goodbye to your earthly home, hello to your heavenly & also Masonic handshake), The Beehive (Industriousness, Community), the Heart In Open Hand (Charity), the All Seeing Eye (God Watching Over All) and The Three Links (Friendship, Love & Truth) of The Three Link Fraternity. There’s also one surprise in the poster that I’ll leave particular people to discover and when they do, it will hold very special meaning but I shan’t tell. The poster is 12 x 18 on high gloss, acid free paper and is just stunning. You can order one here on Amazon for just $10.00, $4.95 regular shipping or can upgrade expedited. I’m happy to sign them if requested. Mailed in a sturdy tube! Bonaventure Love & Truth Poster
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To Dance For A Vampyre (Feat. Shannon Scott)

WARNING: Contains Adult Subjects, Some Profanity & Sexual Situations)

In 2005 I was invited to read for film about vampyres. I didn’t care much about them or for them, but the film paid, had some talented people involved, and after a test kiss with my female co-star, Tara Rinko who had stunning eyes, I was in for the 12 weeks of shooting. It also conincided strangely with my own time spent with a vampyre house, which was more like a group of tragically deluded children. I’ll write about them at a later date as they were a true, sanguine, or blood drinking house (I did not participate). The film became a strange allegory for my own life and sorting out its demons. I was always a person tortured by lusts and passions and it was only until shooting the film that I realized this was the crux of the vampyre personality and all the more reason it was in my life as a project. I was confronting my own darknesses and torments. We filmed this in an unoccupied house in downtown Savannah, a strip club called The Gold Club, along with Bonaventure Cemetery. My life ran a regular pattern for those 12 weeks. I would film the vampyre film all day, doing one or two ghost tours, then go back to the set to do more filming. It was like while confronting my own demons, while making art, I was becoming even more like a vampyre in my own life.

The story is basically about Francis the vampyre who has been alive since The Civil War, if not before, and long before the 21st century, he had lost his lover, Bathory to the war itself. After a century and more for searching for her, he finds her working at a modern day strip club, although its from sketching her in a random way, that he begins to realize this is indeed Bathory. He becomes decided in his mission to seduce and kidnap her, realizing that she is not “awake” to her former self and that he must resurrect her unconscious vampyre mind to once more join him in their journey. She eventually does, but only after staking him in the heart (Spoiler Alert!) and he dies in her arms. Strangely, but I could relate to that actually.

One interesting character note was that instead of having my character sleeping in a coffin, they decide to use a bed that I own that is made entirely of cemetery gates from Laurel Grove Cemetery here in Savannah. The gates probably date from the 1850s but the “headboard,” are these arching acanthus vines that would have been the entrance arch to a family plot and then the “footboard” is part of the fence from the plot with running boards coming from another part of the fence’s original foundation. The bed once reposed insde of the Hamilton-Turner House of Savannah and believe it or not, was in their wedding suite! Oddly its the only time the bed was really used by me or since and is just sitting in my garage in pieces. For a time, I had it on disply in my house for ghost tours and you can see it there in the photograph in this article in a picture that was taken for ESQUIRE Japan. That’s also my dog Mina in the bed with me who ironically, I named for Wynona Ryder’s character in the film “Bram Stoker’s DRACULA.” And she was my Mina for 16 years passing on in 2007.

The Victorian House in the middle of summer was beastly hot which to some degree was fine as I knew I would be doing a sex scene and that I wanted to lose some weight before filming it. The day we shot the sex scene was beyond surreal and interesting. Probably 10 crew members in a tiny little room, all hovering around the bed, camera lights and a rather larger 35MM film camera with crane, creening down and hovering over the action. Not trying to sound too cheeky but it did give you some empathy for your every day erotic film players. I’m pretty sure we spent somewhere around 8 hours or more, filming that scene. I had decided that since I was a regular walk-around-the-house-in-the-buff type, and frequently sunbathed in the nude, that I was going to take the whole thing in stride. I just pretty much walked around in ala birthday suit and did the scene unapologetically. You pretty much have to either cast any doubt to the winds or as I did, I just told myself, “Man, you look GOOD.” And I did so there. Plus my sexy costar made it easy and I was actually shocked, but she was much more nervous than I and at times it was really tough for her to be the object of focus. Thankfully there were some libations on the set that day!

So that’s that really. The 21 minute film, which is not on video, but actually shot on 35mm celluloid, was a fun little project. It showed at the one of the Savannah College of Art & Design Film Festival events and funny, but at one of the after parties where the crowd was dominated by many Spanish girls, I got recognized and they all kept saying suspiciously, “Vampiro! Vampiro!” Sadly, they did not ask for my autograph, nor a date. I believe the test film later sold in Hollyweird for a bigger project but do not believe that it was or has been made into a longer film. I had lots of fun doing it and learned a lot about myself too. It became part of the story of self, and shaking off my spiritual darkness and am glad I have the memory…

Rose Hill Runabout!

by Shannon Scott (C) 2015

(Click to Hear Shannon Read This Poem In Character)

I don’t care about anything out there!
I don’t care about the pitch fever traffic or the unkindly stares!
I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care, Don’t care, Don’t care, Don’t care!
I’m happy right here where the dead people sleep!

Rose Hill is my pasture and I’m its happy sheep!
There are slopes to run & stone bridges to leap!
Wildflowers growing and grass beneath my feet feet feet!
Grave markers to read and new dead people I need to meet!

I don’t have time for you old world of the living!
You might be driven but you sure ain’t livin!
There’s no peace out there or rest for the wicked!
Stress is your game and your spirits are constricted!
You won’t be my misery and I won’t be your convicted!
Here in this place I’m one with me and stay uplifted!

What’s that you say? You say you laughing at me?
That’s okay because in here you’ll soon be.
Away from all of that out there where you ain’t free.
You just can’t see, can’t see, can’t see.

So you go about your business, hustle and dread.
I’ma roam round here awhile, where you think its dead.
Might even move in, I’m so partial to this stead.
Lie down awhile, take in the cool earth ‘neath my head.
Listen to the river roll by and the train on the tracks too.
I’m home in here with the breeze and the quiet.
Not out there with you in that life laugh riot.