By Marlo L. Brown
There was Lulu, of Manchurian descent, raging with the blood of G.Kahn. She wore a long braid down her back of ebony hair. That same hair she would use as a swinging club or pluck a strand to cut the throats of her enemies like fine cheese. Using the same strand to cut fine cheese, say a nice, Manchego. She was a master of turning “tricks” out, and an unrivaled mountaineer. Rumored to be having an extended affair with Marlo amongst her many lovers which she took at her pleasing/disposing of them as soon as her sexual appetites were fulfilled. If that was even possible.
Marlo Lovely Brown (Mar-lo Lov-lee Brown)
by Pipe Adams
Born into a family of fur traders working their way through the Aleutians and the Bering Strait in the late 16th century, Marlo Leelan Brown was not always destined to make films. His name, literally translated, means the universal, or invincible prince. Young Marlo’s conception was nary cause for celebration, and his gestation and eventual birth a mere insurance policy to guard against the stark, endless Siberian winter. Just another maw to feed and, with hope, hands that would eventually grow strong enough to tear and render the priceless flesh from countless seals to add to the meager family coffers.
Time however, was on Marlo’s side, and as he grew big and strong, stronger than even his own father, he came to realize that he was different. Marlo Leelan Brown was indeed different; a member of a very small and exclusive fraternity. As he watched those he cared for, those he loved, and those who loved him succumb to the cold, to the elements, to illness, to disease, and yes, even to age, Marlo soon realized that he was quite very special. For Marlo Leelan Brown, who still walks among us, is timeless.
He is immortal.
Lo how many years have passed. How many days. How many minutes. He has lost count. And as Marlo looks into the eyes of G-D that is the timekeep of all time eternal he knows that he will be looking into the same eyes one hundred or one thousand flips of the hourglass later, no matter what.
And the ennui creeps in. For how many times can one summit Everest? Hunt antelope in the Zambezi?
And so Marlo walked the earth, a being reflected in the eyes of G-D, but yet a dead man inside, until the mid 90’s. It was at this time that Marlo fell in with a bunch of like minded gents. Not immortals per say, but timeless characters nonetheless. For posterity’s sake, we shall call them hooligans.
It was with the hooligans that Marlo discovered his true passion. Slowly, the hidden embers inside his mind, cold with age, began to warm, to glow. A fire was ignited inside of him. No longer the walking dead, little Marlo Leelan was born anew. And the vehicle that brought young old Marlo back from the dead: Making Films.
But as he discovered his new found passion, changes began to occur. Each time Brown would look through his viewfinder a wrinkle would appear, a gray hair would sprout. Marlo Leelan Brown the foreverman, was now becoming just man.
Over the past decade Marlo has aged. Less like a fine cheese and more like a rusting washing machine in a dewy Bedford-Stuyvesant project courtyard, Marlo has forsaken eternal life for mortality to join the ranks of the hooligan brotherhood and make films.
So make films Marlo.
For only they will make you immortal.
Make films Marlo
So that we all may live.
Make films Marlo.
My immortal beloved.