Steven Hunley
08-09-2011, 01:46 PM
The Stranger who Rode in Tall in the Saddle
by Steven Hunley
“An epic? Me? No way. This ain’t no Finnegan’s Wake or Ulysses or War and Peace. This is pure Californian fluff. That’s eff elle you eff eff. Fluff I tell ‘ya fluff. And that’s all the disclaimer your gonna get.”
The stranger with no name rode tall in the saddle. His cowboy hat was not a white hat, but rather a brown sweat-stained hat with a rattle-snake hat band. The rattle snake was still in it. The stranger was one tough hombre.
His face was a sweat-stained face. Many were the crows feet that ran from the corners of his eyes. His beard was not a full beard but made up of only the short hairs that had the nerve to grow on his face after ten days in the saddle.
In his mouth the stub of a cigar, always the stub of a cigar.
Over his shoulders a poncho, always the poncho.
A sweat-stained hat, the stub of a cigar, the squinting gun-metal blue eyes and the beard and the poncho. Such were the looks of the tall skinny stranger.
From the mesa he peered down at the small western town made of splintered boards, whiskey and gold dust. It made him think of Maria.
It always made him think of Maria. All men in Catholic countries think of girls named Maria.
“There ain’t a saloon girl this side of the Pecos can hold a candle to Maria.”
He ran his finger up under his neckerchief and thought,
“I am thirsty for women and drink. And besides, I feel like shooting some bad men, with my incredibly quick-drawing gun.”
His finger revealed the mark, the only mark a man like this could have, the mark of a hangman’s noose that had failed in its duty to strangle.
Slapping the dust from the rump of his pony the stranger with no name rode hell-bent-for-leather down through the dust and past rows of ubiquitous cactus and into the town made of splintered boards and whiskey constructed by the finest Italian craftsmen in the set-builders union of Cinnecitta Studios.
The studios were founded in 1937 by Benito Mussolini and his head of cinema Luigi Freddi for propaganda purposes, under the slogan "Il cinema è l'arma più forte" (Cinema is the most powerful weapon). The studios were bombed by the Western Allies during World War II. In the 1950s, Cinecittà was the filming location for several large American film productions like Ben-Hur, and then became the studio most closely associated with Federico Fellini.
His skin felt like Rawhide and his humor was both Good and Bad and Ugly.
He went there to make both trouble and money and in the bitter tomato-sauced end, have a plate of spaghetti.
Such is the tale of the tall skinny Stranger with no Name that rides tall in the saddle.
Long may he live. I say we make him president. With him in the saddle we can rule the world again, just like we did after world war two. It’s time to reclaim some glory, the glory that was Rome.
Cinema is the most powerful weapon.
©Steven Hunley2011
http://youtu.be/1hYV-JSjpyU
by Steven Hunley
“An epic? Me? No way. This ain’t no Finnegan’s Wake or Ulysses or War and Peace. This is pure Californian fluff. That’s eff elle you eff eff. Fluff I tell ‘ya fluff. And that’s all the disclaimer your gonna get.”
The stranger with no name rode tall in the saddle. His cowboy hat was not a white hat, but rather a brown sweat-stained hat with a rattle-snake hat band. The rattle snake was still in it. The stranger was one tough hombre.
His face was a sweat-stained face. Many were the crows feet that ran from the corners of his eyes. His beard was not a full beard but made up of only the short hairs that had the nerve to grow on his face after ten days in the saddle.
In his mouth the stub of a cigar, always the stub of a cigar.
Over his shoulders a poncho, always the poncho.
A sweat-stained hat, the stub of a cigar, the squinting gun-metal blue eyes and the beard and the poncho. Such were the looks of the tall skinny stranger.
From the mesa he peered down at the small western town made of splintered boards, whiskey and gold dust. It made him think of Maria.
It always made him think of Maria. All men in Catholic countries think of girls named Maria.
“There ain’t a saloon girl this side of the Pecos can hold a candle to Maria.”
He ran his finger up under his neckerchief and thought,
“I am thirsty for women and drink. And besides, I feel like shooting some bad men, with my incredibly quick-drawing gun.”
His finger revealed the mark, the only mark a man like this could have, the mark of a hangman’s noose that had failed in its duty to strangle.
Slapping the dust from the rump of his pony the stranger with no name rode hell-bent-for-leather down through the dust and past rows of ubiquitous cactus and into the town made of splintered boards and whiskey constructed by the finest Italian craftsmen in the set-builders union of Cinnecitta Studios.
The studios were founded in 1937 by Benito Mussolini and his head of cinema Luigi Freddi for propaganda purposes, under the slogan "Il cinema è l'arma più forte" (Cinema is the most powerful weapon). The studios were bombed by the Western Allies during World War II. In the 1950s, Cinecittà was the filming location for several large American film productions like Ben-Hur, and then became the studio most closely associated with Federico Fellini.
His skin felt like Rawhide and his humor was both Good and Bad and Ugly.
He went there to make both trouble and money and in the bitter tomato-sauced end, have a plate of spaghetti.
Such is the tale of the tall skinny Stranger with no Name that rides tall in the saddle.
Long may he live. I say we make him president. With him in the saddle we can rule the world again, just like we did after world war two. It’s time to reclaim some glory, the glory that was Rome.
Cinema is the most powerful weapon.
©Steven Hunley2011
http://youtu.be/1hYV-JSjpyU