Chapter 18 Post-production Mrs Clarke's Story

For the first two days Tess and Nelson Clarke lived as if nothing had happened.That means getting dressed for work, opening the car door, and driving to work.That night, they would sit in relative silence at the table in the kitchen, eating something. What's so great about that. The equipment rental company will call and ask them to return the rented photographic equipment. Neil was at home, with Tess, or not. By the third day, she only got out of bed to go to the toilet.She didn't call the company to call in sick.No matter what she was, her heart just kept beating.Not that she hadn't tried anything.

It's not worth the effort to start drinking, or measure the length of the car to find a leather tube long enough to run from the exhaust pipe to the window next to the driver's seat.Nor was it worth the effort to go to her family physician and invent a lie enough to get him to prescribe sleeping pills.She could have done other things, like cutting a razor blade into her wrist, and doing so would just look like another one of her stupid plans to solve all her problems. Lights and cameras are still crowded by the Clarks' bedside. Suicide appeared to be just another active plan to change her life, and if she turned on the lights and camera she used to film, she could have died on videotape.One part is a two-part death movie, and a mini-series.Another big plan, Suicide is nothing but: Tess Clark overworked her job.Another beginning, middle and end.

Going to work seemed so crazy.Another meal would be as pointless as planting tulip bulbs when the atomic bomb was dropped. That's all in the past now, but it was Nielsen who looked at their savings account and said the only way they could afford to have kids was to make a porno tape. "One day," Mrs. Clarke said, "it will happen to you that for a second your life will feel like a hundred years longer..." By their fifth day in bed, they dared to say they were going to live forever, lying in bed day in and day out, probably how a vampire would feel.Think about how many thousands of years you've lived, making the same stupid mistakes all the time.You've been going to bars and clubs for thousands of years, thinking you're having a good time, imagining you're the center of attention, you have a husband you think is handsome, and you think you're both hot enough.

The Clarks believe that many couples have made their fortunes making pornographic films.The home movie industry thrived only because pornographic videos created demand.Apart from them, other couples are making extra money in their spare time.Other married couples just don't waste their sex life unwatched, unappreciated by strangers.First, they rent a camera and an editing machine.They're looking for a distributor for the film.Because they were married, it wasn't even a crime, Nelson said. Now, it doesn't make sense to get out of bed and clean up the tape.It would be like breaking a mirror that revealed the truth, or beheading a messenger for bringing bad news.

“Just laying in bed day after day,” Mrs. Clark said, “you learn that it’s not the stake that kills a vampire.” It’s the emotional weight and disappointment that must be carried century after century. You wish you could imagine yourself getting funnier and smarter all the time.As long as you keep working hard, you are on your way to a big victory.That's what you probably felt as a vampire for the first two or three hundred years.After that, all you have is the same failed relationships multiplied by two hundred. What's so great about that. The trouble with being forever young, you really procrastinate about everything.So the Carracks learned how to make video themselves.This included Nielsen shaving his pubic hair to make his dick look bigger.Tess had her breasts augmented to give her as much as her spine could support.It only took one nap and she had big tits that can only be seen in porn movies.Her lips had foam padding sewn in, leaving her with a blowjob mouth all her life.Both the Clarks signed up to sunbathe for twenty minutes twice a day.They read the material aloud to each other and learned how to edit with the exact timecode shown on the tape.

Each moment is coded, indicating the hour, minute, second and the actual frame number.For example, the code 01:34:14:25 means the twenty-fifth frame in the first hour, thirty-four minutes, and fourteen seconds of the tape.Even editing a porn video.You also have to create a virtual reality.Arranging certain events together to present a relationship.Such a sequence of images must lead the viewer from one sexual act to the next.You have to create continuity, the illusions have to make sense. They film most of the blowjob by 10:22:19:02. Then they filmed a lot of genital intercourse in 25:44:15:17.

They took some pictures around the backyard and genitals, and they took pictures at 31:25:21:09. The last shot is the anal sex scene, ending at 46:34:07:15. Because this type of film always has the same ending, how to get to that ending, the process of reaching the climax is the most important thing.The climax scene is just an indispensable main scene. Another thing to keep in mind is that the average length of each shot in a videotape is eight to fifteen seconds.Tess and Nelson are going to do it for twenty seconds at a time.After such a long time, they have to get up, hit the "pause" button, change the camera angle, and relight for the next shot.Then take another twenty seconds.Their marriage is still in the stage where sex equals pleasure.But after the first day of filming, the only thing that kept their "sexual" interest alive was the money they might make.That money and the baby they were going to have.

"Both of us," said Clark Carcass, "were full of energy, like a dog dancing before being fed." Tess and Nelson.There's never been a better time to watch it than on film.And that's the worst part.During most of the week, they kept going back to the bedroom.Even if they were only together for twenty seconds each time, they had nearly forty-eight hours before and after sex.The scorching light soaked the sweat from their tanned skin. In order to maintain the state of excitement, they set up a TV outside the filming range, showing erotic movies that can be watched while recording, which became their cue cards, or TV samples that could be imitated. Like the Clarks, they didn't look at the camera, but watched the little movie they played.This interlocking voyeurism: The Clarkes watching other people watching other people feels good.The pornography Tess and Nelson were watching was at least five years old.The men had long sideburns, the women wore long earrings and shiny blue eyeshadow.As for how old the little movie those people are watching is, no idea.But knowing that all of them are connected to each other through history is indeed so much better.

The people in these videos seem to be about the same age as the Clarks in front of the camera, but they should be middle-aged now.They look youthful, with muscles in their legs and arms and long, prominent tendons, but they move quickly, as if they're looking at a clock off-camera. To keep each other smiling, Tess and Nelson took turns talking about what they planned to do with the money they earned. They are going to buy a house. They are going to travel to Mexico. They're going to make real movies.drama.They can set up their own independent production company and never work for anyone else.

If it is a daughter, it will be named Kathy. If it's a boy, it's called Buster.Unlike other people who make videos of the delivery process, they will let their children watch their conception process in the future.Buster will see how hot and hot his parents are.This thing seems very advanced. After that, they never have to have sex at all, never again. It gets worse and worse, the more they hope to earn more, the more their cracked skin hurts to touch, the more uncomfortable it is to lie on the cold and sweaty sheets, and the future looks brighter for them.They laughed so hard that their bodies were rubbing red and hot.As the marathon goes on, they must be getting paid more and more to the point of impossibility.

Then, as fast as a doctor pronounces you terminally ill, as fast as a judge pronounces a death sentence, they're done. This should be the fun part. The gap between how you look and how you see yourself is enough to kill most people. Perhaps the reason vampires don't die is that they never see themselves in photographs or in mirrors. "No matter how you edit it," Mrs. Clark said, "it won't save us." No amount of cardio or plastic surgery can make them look what they imagined they would look like before they saw the tape.What they saw were two nearly hairless beasts, both hairless and dark pink, and completely out of proportion.Like mutts, short-legged, long-necked, stubby, waistless, grinning at each other, looking at the camera from time to time, as if to make sure someone was still watching them.They squeezed their bellies tightly. Worse than their usual ugliness, the images showed that they were aging, their mouths like suction cups, and loose skin sagging around each opening.Their bodies rocked against each other, like terrible old machines forced into high gear until they would eventually fall apart. Nelson's hardened cock looked crooked and dirty, like it had been taken out of a cabinet in the back of a Chinese grocery store.Tess's lips and breasts looked disfigured, and the scars were still bright red. What's the big deal about that. Tess cried as they watched her from every angle, every camera.Every part of them, from the heel to the crown of their head, the secret they kept between their legs, the hair under their armpits, they saw it all, until the tape ran and left them sitting in the dark. This is what they look like. After that, even crying seemed like just another way of getting through the moment that was destined.Any emotional reaction seemed like a foolish and useless denial of what the two of them had seen.Any action is to start over with another hopeless and foolish dream. They could make another movie and start their production company.Only now, no matter what they do, they'll know it's not true, and they'll never be what they imagined they would be. And no matter how hard they try, no matter how much money they make, both of them will die. In two days, with a rented video camera, they had exhausted their lifelong interest in each other, and neither had any mystery left. Lighting equipment and cameras. ABC Equipment Rental kept calling to get it back.The leasing company kept increasing the amount on their credit card until the Clarks owed far more than they had in their savings account. Nelson Clarke got out of bed that day, packed the camera and lighting equipment and sent it home, and he didn't come home that day. The next week, Mrs. Clark missed her period either. "These big tits," Mrs. Carrack said, "could have been tax-deductible." Just some huge, motherly sign, and now there's a baby coming. Nelson Clark never came home, and in a city of this size hundreds of people go away every year.Children who ran away, wives who ran away, many people disappeared. What's the big deal about that. Tess Clark burned the tape, but every time she closed her eyes, she would see it again.Even now, nearly sixteen years later.Even now that her child was born, grown, and dead. That child, she named it: Cassandra. Mrs. Clark found Inspector Negative lying on a heavy wooden table in the Italian Renaissance style lounge. There was a nylon stocking twisted into a rope and tied tightly.A meat cleaver was sunk deep into the wooden table, and above the nylon stocking, the hand of the Negative Inspector lay pale in a pool of blackened blood. On the floor under the table, Cora Reynolds eats a severed index finger. "Honey," said Mrs. Clarke, looking at the severed, bloody base of the finger, which the Inspector wrapped in a piece of yellow silk, trying to wrap it in another.Blood seeped out of the yellow silk.Mrs. Clark stepped forward to help, and tied the silk tighter. She said, "Who did this?" Negative Inspector twisted the nylon stocking tourniquet tighter and said, "It's you!" By this time, everyone is looking for ideas. We all hope that there is some way to strengthen our characters, so that after we are rescued, our characters can be the focus of the spotlight. Plus, it's a way to feed cats too. But whoever is the most tortured and has the most scars can become the protagonist in the hearts of the public.If the outside world rushes in to rescue us at this very moment, Inspector Denial must be the biggest victim among us—showing off her severed toes and fingers, showing off for sympathy, making herself the protagonist, is all Section A of a TV talk show. making us her supporting characters. In order not to fall behind, the bony Saint Gutless borrowed a meat cleaver from the assassin chef and cut off his right thumb.A radical thumb amputation. In order not to lose to others, the godless priest borrowed a meat cleaver and chopped off the little toes of both feet. "To be famous," he said, "and later, to wear real heels." The Italian Renaissance-style lounge has green wallpaper and silk curtains, and the green is sprayed with blood, which looks black under the electric light.The floor feels sticky, as does the carpet, every step seems to stick your shoes off. The Lost Link said that losing a finger can indeed make you forget your hunger. The Lost Link wears a bishop's vestment, with black chest hair sticking out at the collar.There are flowers embroidered with gold thread on the edge of the whole white robe.He wore a powdered wig that made his square head and shaggy beard look twice as big. The Savage Duke combed his ponytail, wore a set of buckskin shirt and trousers, and there were long tassels on each seam, and he was biting nicotine gum in his mouth.Nature limped around, high-heeled sandals showing her severed toes.Biting a nicotine + nutmeg aromatherapeutic candle bit by bit. We all wore Sir Byron's ruffled poet's smocks, or Mary Shelley's dresses with multiple petticoats for warmth, and Jogule's bloodstained cloaks and Frankenstein's heavy boots. Around this time, Saint Gutless asked if he could be the one who fell in love. Every epic needs a romantic subplot, he said, holding his trousers in one hand.If we want to cover all the basic needs of the market, we have to have two young people who love each other desperately - only to be torn apart by a cruel villain. Saint Gutless and Miss Sneezy, talking in the Italian Renaissance lounge, with its embroidered upholstered chairs and green silk drapes between tall mirrored windows, is the perfect place for a romance to develop. "I was thinking I should fall in love with Comrade Tough," Saint Gutless said. Beside them, the meat cleaver hacked on the long wooden table: Mr. Whittier's ghost awaited his next victim. Miss Sneezy wiped her nose and said, did Saint Gutless also talk to Comrade Tough about their love?After we've been rescued, any two people fighting side by side must at least pretend to be in love during the period of marketing and media publicity.It doesn't matter what happens in there, but once those doors open, as long as there's a camera panning to them, they're going to have to hug and kiss.People look forward to a wedding and even a baby. Miss Sneezy blinked her bloodshot eyes and said, "Find a girl you can pretend to love for the rest of your life..." Sheng Wugut said, "How about me and the Countess of Spirit Vision?" According to Yisheng Wuchang, pretending to marry him is better than cutting off a few fingers.Any woman should wish for it. Miss Sneezy smiled, put her face in front of his eyes, and said, "What are you doing with me?" And Saint Gutless said, "How about the Baroness Chilblain?" "She has no lips," said Miss Sneezy. "I mean, she really has no lips." What about Miss America? "She's famous just for being pregnant," Miss Sneezy said.She said: "I'm not pregnant and I have lips..." The Negative Inspector had cut off the finger.The same goes for Sister Vigilante—and added a few toes, using the same knife Mrs. Bump borrowed from Killer Chef to cut off her ear.They planned, after we were rescued, to tell the world how Mr. Whittier tortured them, to cut off a little piece every day, as long as they didn't turn up a great work of art.Or—Mrs. Clarke did it while Mr. Whittier pinned the screaming victim to the long black wooden table in the Italian Renaissance drawing room. The table was already scarred with knife marks from practice chopping, nervous chopping, and successful chopping with the Killer Chef's cleaver. "Okay," said Saint Gutless, "how about nature?" It was clear that he wanted someone to massage his feet, a new way to let him vent.foot massage.Aside from the disappearing carrots, the wax sticks on the candles, and the swimming pool, another hands-free approach.It's not so much a romantic side plot as it is a sexual need. Much better, said Miss Sneezy.She said, "You know what nature has done to her nose, don't you?" Poor Miss Sneezy, still coughing and coughing from germs we all have to breathe in.But the suffering was nothing compared to nature, and she borrowed a steak knife and slit both nostrils, all the way to the bridge of her nose - and every time she laughed, the little brass bells would jingle bang, and the minced meat is sprayed all over the place. Still, we need a romantic sideplot.Any romance. Verily, it was Mr. Whittier who cut Nature's nose. "But he's dead," said Mrs. Clarke. Mr. Whittier did it before he died, Lost Link said, everyone was cutting fingers and toes and ears, there's no way anyone walked out without a scar.The wounds that can be shown on TV, Mr. Whittier did this to separate Saint Gutless and Nature, and punish them for not loving each other. In all our versions of events, every finger, or toe, has been eaten by the villain that no one believes. The matchmaker asked people around, hoping to find someone who would cut his dick off, because that would be perfect—that kind of torture fit into some old family joke. One cut, he said, and all your problems will be solved.Only one broken dick was left in the soil. "Besides, I don't need that thing anyway." The matchmaker said with a slight smile and blinked his eyes. So far, no one has volunteered to swing a knife.Not because it was disgusting or scary, but because it made him the main character.A cut dick is something none of us can compare to. However, if he did—and bled to death—that would mean that future royalties would only be divided into fifteen.If Miss Sneezy is willing to suffocate the bacteria quickly, it will be fourteen, and if Miss America is so understanding that she dies of dystocia, it will be thirteen. Everyone fed the cat their bits and pieces, and Cora Reynolds grew fatter. "If you do cut your dick," said the Negative Inspector, "don't feed it to my cat." She said: "It's not what I wish to think about every time Cora Reynolds licks my face..." We found those costumes when we were looking for bandages.Backstage we searched for clean laundry to tear into strips for bandages, and saw a lot of gowns and coats left over from opera, ballet and operetta.It was all wrapped in crepe paper, stuffed with mothballs, in big trunks and pockets, and big hooped skirts and tutus, kimonos and kilts, boots, wigs, and armor. Thanks to Mrs. Clark for breaking the plug of the washing machine, the clothes we brought in were all stinking with sweat and dust.Thanks to Mr. Whittier for breaking the stove, the place is getting colder every day.So we started wearing those jerseys and sarongs and tank tops.The duty of those velvets and brocades.A hat with a silver buckle worn by the Puritans.Elbow-length white leather gloves. "These rooms," said the Countess of Vision, hobbling around in a hood, cutting off her toes, but leaving the electronic handcuffs on her wrists untouched. "The clothes...so much blood..." she said. "I felt like I was in a really weird Grimm's fairy tale." We wore fur boas made of small animals with one butt biting, minks, ferrets, and ferrets.Both were dead, but their teeth were still clenched deeply into each other. Here, in the lounge of the Italian Renaissance, Saint Gutless kneels, holds Nature's bloody hand in his, looks up at her severed nose, and says to her: "Would you not Pretending to love me for the rest of your life?" Then, kneeling there, he took out the blood-stained three-carat diamond ring he had chopped off from Mrs. Vagrant.Put the shiny carcass of Mr. Tramp on the fingers of nature's red paint. There was a rumbling sound in his stomach. And she laughed, blood and minced meat - flying everywhere. By this time even the silk shirts and linen garments were stiff with blood.Rolled socks were tucked into shoes and boots to replace missing toes. Those fur boas, ferrets and ferrets, were as soft as the cat's fur. "Go ahead and feed that cat," Miss America said. "He'll be our Thanksgiving turkey." "Not even jokes like that," said the Negative Inspector to her, scratching the fat cat's belly. "Little Cora is my baby..." From the brown roots growing out from under her dyed blonde hair, you can deduce how long we have been trapped. Miss America, watching the cat pick the flesh off a finger, she looked up and said to the negative inspector : "If you took my exercise wheel, I want to get it back now." Miss America separated her hands a little and said, "It's made of pink plastic, about this size. You remember." The Negative Inspector brushed off the cat fur from her sticky yellow silk bandage and said, "How's the baby in your belly?" Miss America touched her little belly and said, "The matchmaker should feed me his dick." She said, "I'm the one who eats for one and makes up for two..."