Bob arrives home to find Linda in front of the t.v., half a bottle of wine gone. She is watching some kind of reality show, her face slack, eyes glazed.

“Wanna head over to Luciano’s and have some dinner? Or would you prefer some Mexican?”

He tosses his keys onto the table and heads for the bedroom to change out of his work clothes.

“Not hungry,” Linda’s reply. “Already ate.”

“What the fuck…”

And soon they are into it. Nasty, mean-spirited, hurling insults, pushing buttons – the kind of argument only years of commingling inspire. Ferocious.

Bob ends up in the garage. Empty-nesters, they had purchased the three story townhouse last year. The previous owner finished half the garage- drywall, humidor, fridge. Linda parks her car in the other half, but this had become his space. Occasionally he had friends over and they’d smoke cigars, drink beer and play cards. But less and less often. He thinks about why he doesn’t have them over more and realizes Linda doesn’t like his friends.

He slams the door shut and from a cabinet pulls tequila and a glass. He plops into a leather chair and pours himself a drink.

He flips on the television. The Dodger game is over. Nothing but crap on. He channel surfs until he finds a reality show. He drinks his tequila. Sitting in the room watching contestants do incredibly stupid things he realizes he is probably sitting underneath Linda watching exactly the same show. He throws the remote against the wall.

On a nearby shelf he sees a box. A jigsaw puzzle. One of those white elephant gifts he’d received last Christmas. On the cover is that castle in Germany, the one Disneyland was designed after. 500 pieces. He shrugs. Nuthin’ else to do.

Day in and day out. He comes home, Linda drinks. He drinks. He builds his puzzle. Soon other puzzles follow. Underwater landscapes, then a beautiful sunset, followed by the Zodiac, a bridge in Venice, the Dallas Cowgirls. Dozens of puzzles. He works all night sometimes, completing a 750 piece puzzle in time to shower and head off to work.

At first, upon completion, he let the puzzle sit a couple days to admire it. Once, he tried to get Linda to join him.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “Just come downstairs and hang out with me.”

“What’s the point,” acidly.

“Just to hang out.”

Instead, she drank more wine.

He tries gluing the pieces together, it seems such a waste to just throw it back in the box. He even considers framing the puzzles, at least the nicer ones, the ones that were basically photos of famous paintings or places. The Mona Lisa, Starry Night, Monet’s Water Lilies. He did the Sistine Chapel, Norman Rockwell and Fenway Park. But eventually he reached the point where the night after he finished a puzzle, he tossed it in the trash and started a new one.

A flyer in one of the puzzles he’d bought advertised puzzles produced from a personal photograph. The idea intrigued him. He sent in photos of his son as a child, decked out in a fireman’s outfit for Halloween. Then came puzzles of the prize swordfish he’d caught off of Cabo San Lucas, followed by a wedding day photo of him and Linda. She laughed at this.

“Is that how you waste your time down there? Jesus Christ!” She laughed. She peered at the photo on the box cover. “You were so skinny back then.”

Searching some of the boxes in the garage rafters he found old photos. He had them put on discs so he could upload them to the computer. Soon he had thousands of pictures to choose from.

***

Linda stumbled up the front steps. She tripped on the welcome mat, her shoulder slamming against the door. In the dark she fumbled with her keys until she finally found the house key and jabbed it at the lock. Over and over again until it slid into the lock. Finally she threw the door open, the rebound nearly striking her.

“Bob,” she screamed. She tumbled into the house. “Bob! Goddamn you! I told you to fix the garage door. It won’t open.”

She walked into the living room, her hands on her hips imperiously. Quite a few moments passed before she realized Bob was not in the room. Her head swam and she considered opening a bottle of wine and just turning on the t.v., when she recalled her car parked askew, outside the garage door he said he would fix.

“He’s probably working on one of those goddamned puzzles,” she muttered.

She slipped off of her shoes- they were only and inch or so high, but drunk as she was, she didn’t want to walk down a flight of stairs in them. At the bottom of the stairs she paused to look at the space her car should now be parked in. She was angry again. She marched across the space and threw open the door. It was dark. No Bob. She flipped on the light switch.

Floor to ceiling, photos staring at her. Not photos, she realized, but puzzles. Each glued together and somehow attached to the wall. She recognized herself. On the wall facing her, maybe two feet by three, there she was. In that red prom dress, but without her date, as if he’d been clipped out of the picture. In the puzzle beside it, she posed in a cap and gown, graduation day. Next, the trip to Mexico, her and Bob wearing silly floral shirts and ridiculous straw hats; their first vacation together.

She followed the images to her right. They seemed to tell a story. Bob and her dating. Getting married. Matthew as a newborn. She felt tears fill her eyes. Then there was picture of her standing next to Alex. She paused before the puzzle and studied it. There was something wrong with this one. And then she realized. Bob had cropped this from a group picture. In the original the entire hospital staff had been pictured, with Alex standing beside her. Her breath caught in her throat. There was another, this one of Vance beside her.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “He must have known.”

The affair with Alex had been short-lived, but with Vance… she nearly left Bob.

There were pictures – puzzles – of Bob with women she knew from his work but in settings she could not place. One was definitely in another city.

She followed the puzzles around to her right until she was facing the door, now closed. Three puzzles covered the entire door. She her stomach drop and she covered her mouth. Two of the puzzles were created from photos of her- one in lingerie, the other completely nude. Years and years ago, she had let Bob take some photos of her. He had access to a darkroom where he could develop them himself, so she had let him. Besides, she had enjoyed seeing herself all sexed-up. The third photo however, she remembered from the one time they had filmed themselves having sex. Bob directly behind her and she is on her hands and knees looking directly into the camera. Two feet by three, all in color and too much detail.

Linda stepped up and furiously ripped the puzzles from the door. She pulled and tore and once they fell to the ground she stomped on the torn pieces. She cried and cursed.

Turning around she looked at the table in the center of the room. There the scattered pieces of puzzle covered the entire surface. Here and there clusters of pieces were interlocked, but not enough to make visual sense. But a foreboding overtook her as she studied the color of the pieces she could see. All flesh and pink and red. Upside down on the table was a box. She turned it over and found a pornographic image. A woman with huge breasts, her legs lasciviously stretched out. A huge, well endowed, overly muscled man pressed into her.

Long moments passed, Linda’s eyes fixed on the image, her face twisted in disgust. She gasps. Seamlessly attached to this grotesque woman is her own head, her eye closed. She appears to be in the throws of ecstasy. And Bob’s head attached to the male figure, a wolfish grin on his face.

Linda takes deep breath. She afraid she’s going to throw up. She’s certain she’s going to be sick. She screams. She turns over the table. Spinning, spinning, spinning, sick.

She finds the tequila. The lighter. She stuffs some paper into the bottle and lights it. Wait, wait, wait. The paper in flames. She opens the door, and standing there, throws the tequila bottle as hard as she can against the far wall. She rushes up the stairs and can smell the singe of her hair.

She rushes to her car. She wants to drive and disappear, but drunk and angry, she has forgotten her keys. She hears the pop and crackle of flame through the garage door. She closes her eyes.

These past few
days have been
made of secondhand teeth and
three-year-old, full-flavored cigarettes

"they're harder to find,"
he says to me,
"so I smoke less of them."

We discuss the black spots
in my vitamins
and the drugs
in his tracking number, and
while planting forget-me-nots
in pinedirt
at midnight,
he says something
along the lines of
kissing my forehead

I chase strays
around the dumpster before
lacing his rough fingers
again
well, I've discovered
the expiration date on the
bottom of the bottle, it's
six
of oh, nine.

It had promised to be a time in heaven - unsurpassed.

It was blind. I didn't mind. It was a date, alas!

I was assured the guy was great. I couldn't wait at all.
Turns out, though, this charming Joe was with himself enthralled.
He talked and talked and talked. When he was done he talked some more.
Tales of scoring with the ladies was a captivating bore.

Well groomed he was. I'll give him that, but then he couldn't miss.
The mirror was his best friend, which I'm sure he often kissed.

When all is said and done the date was not a total waste.
I gained a bit of wisdom. Narcissism has a face.

Fifth Avenue:
Umbrellas bob
down the sidewalk
like drunken
Chinese lanterns
and a cool wind
has invaded in
from the north.

Summer's anger
still seethes
below street level
but today refused
to bare its teeth,
opting to stay dry
in the warm refuge
of the train tunnels.

A week ago,
I was a stick of butter
greasing 23rd Street
on my walk to work,
and this morning
I was treated to a
coming-attractions reel
for Fall of New York.

As the production date for the filming of the What Is A Saint video grows near, life at the Michelle Mangione camp has begun to heat up at an ever-increasing pace. A boost in the numbers of phone calls, meetings, interviews and rehearsals have forced their way into the already busy schedules and numerous summer gigs of Mangione and her band.

Recently Flask and Pen was invited to a walk through/production meeting at a very cool and very gritty second hand store located a few miles south of Los Angeles.

To say that the location of the shoot has character would be to grossly understate the timeless yet historic feel the store's presence will emote in the video. One step in and you’re taken back to what a second hand store truly is. This place isn’t some wanna be cool retro shop on Melrose with items hanging from shiny racks, worn once or twice but are now, so last year.

Not at all, this shop is full of rows and isles of beat up old racks loaded down with clothes that have some miles on them. Stacks of old ‘70’s electronic equipment, vinyl records, old furniture, appliances your grandmother owned, poor lighting, a bad intercom system and everything else that you’d expect to experience in places like this.

We watched as the production crew, Mangione and members of the band walked throughout the location and discuss angles lighting and marks. We were able to meet and get to know some of the players involved with this project. One of the people we got to know was Peter Chang, one of the Directors of Photography.

F&P: What is your job on the video?

Chang: I am the co-DP along with Daniele Colombera.

F&P: How long have you been involved with this type of work?

Chang: I've been working in various aspects of film and television production for about 8 years, but I mostly work as a production coordinator and editor. As far as shooting, I also own a side business as a photographer and videographer, so I've got some experience in the field.

F&P: Is this your first music video?

Chang: I did a couple in college, but that's hardly anything to write home about.

F&P: How did you become attached to the What Is A Saint Project?

Chang: Lori (Cerasoli) had called asking if I knew anyone who would be interested in helping out, and as she described the project to me, I rattled off a few ideas, and she said "wow, do YOU want to shoot this?" It was flattering, but I didn't think I was ready for such an undertaking, so I offered support as a DP.

F&P: Anything you want to add?

Chang: Visually, I think this project is going to be pretty cool. Being able to shoot this project in HD at a fraction of what it would've cost even 2-3 years ago is amazing.

Chang, as well as everyone else we met, is truly a professional and dedicated to the What Is A Saint Project. With filming scheduled to occur on Labor Day weekend all of the final pieces are beginning to fall into place and the excitement throughout the team is very apparent.

Momentum for the song and video received a huge boost recently when Mangione was invited to join co-writer Grace Slick for what was a wonderful interview on legendary rock and roll DJ, Los Angeles icon Jim Ladd's radio show. Mangione and Slick covered a myriad of issues, which included exposing their varied taste in music, the history of their friendship, and the writing of What Is A Saint.

We will continue keep you informed as to the progress of the What Is A Saint Production.

Flask and Pen will be following the progress of the What Is A Saint video throughout the process until completion.

How the fuck
do you tell when
a mango is ripe? and
why do I have to do this
 alone?

Unsure and fed up,
I cut it open
and decide that it
tastes something
like gumdrops.

Is this how things were
supposed to play out?!

Later, I listen to songs
about hot wind
in the western sky
and watch the cat
get stuck in the blinds.

Design - creative discovery. Uncovering ideas and forms that have been transplanted from the heart. Yours for the beating repetative pleading.

Anger has its own colors. Red is the most advertised hue of rage, but there are others, too. They don't fight as vehemently to be known. Blue and white are not always clean and serene. Beneath the face of peace and purity hides another side.

The alter ego of art wears a coat of many colors.

Tread lightly on the fragile branches of the tree of art. Much screams to be revealed.

The unknown begs to be known. The known wants to hide. The astute student of art sees it all. Taking a few steps back gives perspective and lacks dominance.

I look at paintings in a new light. Now I can see the darkness as well as the light. shadows can't escape my trained eye. The eye that was taught

by life.

There was a time when I could have been deceived. Sharpness has relieved my quandry. Sceptical I have become, abandonning dumbness and
 naivity.

Art calls to me often, but I don't answer right away. You call yourself art? Show me!

On a recent warm Sunday afternoon, the editors of Flask and Pen were invited to attend a pre-production meeting for the upcoming Michelle Mangione What Is A Saint video. We joined Mangione and crew at a coffeehouse in Santa Monica, California and listened as they began the initial stages of developing the video for the title cut of her recently released What Is A Saint CD.

While observing the process and listening to the discussion about the scripting of the video, the editors of F&P noted the realization of how important the lyrics of this beautiful song are as they relate to our world today.

Are you ready to be someone
To a stranger of less fortune
Would you offer up your smile just for the love of it
What is a saint to you?

But even more astounding to this writer is, this being the 40th anniversary of Woodstock and the ties this song has to that anniversary. We’ve all seen, read and heard many pundits reflecting on Woodstock and what importance it may have had on our society. The words and music of the time spoke of who we were as a nation. The events of our world and those who performed were our voices of change.

One of the prominent voices, performers and Woodstock Participants was Grace Slick.  Recently Slick has devoted most of her time to creating beautiful visual art, but she took some time away from her art to co-write What Is A Saint with Mangione. Together they’ve created a voice that speaks to all of us and how we view our world and those we encounter daily.

The song lends itself to the making of a powerful, yet entertaining video. Those involved seem to realize what a gem they have to work with and there seems to be a really good vibe associated with this group.

Quite a bit of pre-production necessities were locked in at this meeting. The shoot location was established. All positions such as Director and DP etc. were filled. Additional pre-production, rehearsal and shoot dates were set. The script is off to a good start and should incorporate some beautiful, yet subtle, random acts of kindness.

We will keep you informed as to the progress of what promises to be a very special video.

Flask and Pen will be following the progress of the What Is A Saint video throughout the process until completion.

I remember this
one time on vacation
when my PapaPaul had
said something that made
us all pair up and
leave him
standing by the rental car,

But then
his emphazema started
to bother him and
I remember the look
in his eyes when
he just
 couldn't

get enough air

Well, the other night
after all that
clear, clear liquor and
all those H2O tears,
I caught that look
gasping into the mirror,
and I'm still
not sure
what to make of it

It is such risky business, this business of life.
From the minute we're born we're surrounded by strife.
Surrounded by strife and ambivalance, too.
The danger starts after our birthday debut.
The fact we arrive without being announced
Takes very much nerve, and the risk is pronounced.
"Here I come, world, if you're ready or not!"
The business is risky. The risk is a lot.