Marfa: Novella

By David Kreiling

Do you want a short read of a big story? Go epic and go dark. Enjoy this David Kreiling 'Novella' version of Marfa.

Epic battles pit art versus science while engaging lighthearted, eternal romance contrasted to quibbling sibling rivalry. Brothers Jack and Tom clash over beautiful Pluton, when returning home to Marfa, after their father dies. Jack creates his own world from drawings, paintings and sculptures in defiance of planet annihilation via massive black hole. Marfa invokes quantum mystery that enchants the family warehouse on a hill in southwest Texas as a home for aliens It's all here and nothing expected ever happens in the Davis Mountains at the McDonald Observatory.

Read with other KREILING NOVELLAS in the series by David Kreiling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: QUANTOPIA STUDIO
• Release date: Jan 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781948917193

David Kreiling

David Kreiling usually writes from Texas. He studies art, theology, philosophy, law, economics, psychology, math and theoretical physics. He works as a studio artist drawing, painting, designing books and sculpting while researching quantum gravity.

Book preview

Prologue

Darkness envelops the void before the beginning of time. Primordial vibrations bang energetic bubbles into bursts of something from nothing. Eventually, a strange little universe pops from this blazing hot soup of uncertainty. Baby quanta collect into gas clouds, forming stars and galaxies, and then, collapse into black holes churning chunks of creation into oblivion. Billions of years pass as supernova dust and debris collect into giant galactic super clusters with supermassive black holes.

A rather boring nondescript spiral galaxy slowly forms, with a minor sun and solar system, that slides into position on the outer arm of the spiral, and a circling bluish planet called earth. Asteroids strike as lava flows into hydrogen sulfide caves hit by lightning shows that miraculously ignite bacteria into proto life launching an evolutionary creep across the millenniums into what is now called ‘humans’.

These bipeds with brains, self-consciousness and opposable thumbs somehow discover baby quanta in a black box experiment in Germany in the year 1900. The humans invent remarkable quantum banging technology, though the nature of quanta is not even remotely understood, by even their greatest scientists.

In the midst of this creative madness stands a stupefied skirt chasing texas artist lost somewhere between big sky terrors and pretty women.  

1

BIRTH

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DAWN RISES OVER SOUTH Texas hills as shadows retreat. A faint heartbeat thumps across the barren field outside Marfa. Her birth canal expands and contracts over and over in the squishy tunnel as a little person drops from the warm canal into an open field amidst static groans only to be caught by big calloused hands. Crawlies slime nearby in the faded greenish wild grasses. Crickets chirp and cockroaches scurry through the unfenced field as Fred Astaire music lilts from an old radio in undulating waves through the light breeze.

Ack! screams the wary two year old squinting at this new born baby brother.

Ohh, ohh, my lord, groans Mrs. Bennett to her husband, honey, let’s call him Jack. I mean little Tom’s callin’ him ‘Ack’.

His tiny forefinger doodles into the air trying to grip anything at all as his father extends his forefinger for a touch between father and son.

By god’s creation, this one’s a real work of art, says Tom Bennett with a chuckle. He’s ‘Jack the Doodler’.

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NEARLY THREE DECADES PASS as the field born baby morphs into an ever ambitious but distraught artist roiling in a damp sleeping bag on a wooden floor in southern California.

He rolls over, cracks an eyelid, but blacks back into sleep amidst with determined snorts. At last, Jack rises and drags his bare feet outside onto the empty beach, where he dons his cowboy hat, drops wear, and pees into the soft morning waves before returning to the little shed attached to the nondescript condo complex. He cleans his teeth with forefinger and crusty toothpaste before gulping stale styro coffee and methodically hanging a sign on the front door, Girl Feet Painting. Free Trial, and crossing onto the baked beach with elbows up fast walking nearly a mile before Fat Man bellows out from an overstuffed misplaced bean bag, Yatch to the right! 55 degrees.

Tanned females appear on the walkway cut through foliage.

Got it, hollers Jack back to his big buddy.

Fat Man grunts as the twosome track toward the poolside musical blare. Jack circles the pool slowly filling up with sunbathing locals, and settles in by the baby pool where mothers catch rays eyeing babies splash. Jack carries a few paint tubes in his shirt pocket while twirling his paint brush.

Let me show you what I can do with these feet, proposes Jack to a burned hair, brown eyed young lady notably ignoring Jack from her recliner. I have a two for one deal, just today. He reaches for the sunbather’s ankle, Two feet for one special can’t be beat.

Kick it back Jack, growls the girl knowingly.

Can I just sketch this amazing foot? Look at that arch. Love this arch. It’s the same line, art speaking, as that hip. Your foot matches the hip. It’s a curved line. Armies die for curves like this, as Jack feigns a collapse.

Spin off Jack, orders the girl, I’m serious, and I don’t have a dollar on me.

He turns to the next lounge chair pointing at another foot, Now look at that little foot. Great bone structure. Love the nails.

You know about little things, Jack? grumbles the girl in resigned familiarity.

He shrugs in despair, squats and dangles his feet over the pool while drawing his foot on a fast food sack pulled out of the trash bin. Do you like this? Jack shows a passing woman his drawing, At all? Jus’ a little? But you don’t hate it, though, am I right? I know I’m right. Paint your foot for ten dollars or two for five? 

With her disgusted leer, Jack gives up by sliding a dilapidated mini surfboard into the baby pool and pretending to surf. Git your surf lessons here! Step into the sacred water and let ‘Jack the Doodler’ show you how to handle the big waves. Surf with the Jackman!

He wobbles, and slips, but barely catches himself before a full fall, mumbling, I’m gunna take a little break now. He gestures toward the ocean, Think about the big pool, but the bathers steadfastly ignore him as Fat Man lumbers over to commiserate.

Got feet in an hour, says Jack.

Good feet?

Low crust. Kinda petite. But the nails look a little horsey, ya know, a lil’ hoofy, but, what can you do? answers Jack.

Look, there’s a bump-and-hump party in 303. It starts at, you ready for this, yes, 3:03 sharp. 3 0hhh 3. Right on the little hand. Major ladies. Oh, I love to  love. You gotta be there bro, need my west coast wingman, insists the big guy.

Got no time bro. Artists need big sleep to grow that next big idea. I wanna go, but it’s a science fact extra sleep jazzes the inner artist, responds Jack.

But you’re Jack the Doodler. It’ll come in its time, and I promise it will be brand name time. You move and feel the feelings. Keep your eyes in the sun and limit blow to sqwackies. Need max social. It’s all there for the taking bro, but you need 'em to see you; the you you. Think of each party as brand building. You’re a trademark waitin’ to happen, but you have to party. Social media is for ugly people who can’t live, but who can afford phones. You gotta mix it up with the flesh and bloods. The people want to love you, but you have to be present and accounted for, talk up the feet, or they will never know your inner Doodler.

"Look, feet are great. Love the feet.