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[Martin, a really good friend of mine, sent me this email after he read my script, "CannonCreep." He's in the medical field, so that's probably why he was able to get into the what ifs and the nastiness of it all. or, he just felt like the CannonCreep, which really scares me just right about now.... mama....... help]





for your blog, buddy [but its not too long]:

Look Behind. What Do You See?
by Martin Perry B. Juan

In retrospect, i have realized that butch reyes' unreleased CannonCreep has more to it than meets the eye. To the public, it shows its face as a "whodunnit" made for the screen, but to a handful of cult-like followers since its inception, CannonCreep holds deeper root. The story subtly screams inward to the abyss of what we very familiarly know as -- ME. Yourself.

Why? listen.

The story is mostly set in the restroom area of an office. At first glance, the setting seems fairly large but it closes-in as the plot develops. It becomes claustrophobic insiduously. Now while the brutal act of the killings are not graphically told, it is unmistakably felt. Discreetly, amidst what happens around it, a mirror hangs on the far wall. It is not incidental that it is suspended there. It has a purpose. Its existence in that place is frightening -- the mirror lets you in on a secret.

Though I did not see it at first, the story slowly revealed the dark information that it had been waiting to tell. Cannoncreep personified, stares back at you from the looking glass. A gnarly finger pointed at you!

As I try to catch my breath, the revelation becomes a rude awakening. Each one of us matches the profile of the perpetrator at a point or another. We unwittingly fall into the trap of becoming the cannoncreep in a blink of an eye. No, nothing of mystical nature here, just plain and simple skewed neuron-deaths that brings us to the brink of our sanity. I hesitantly let air fill my lungs for a moment while irrationally thinking that the unexplained behavior could be infectious. But of course it does not work that way, it will happen to anyone anytime. There is no escape, not unless your knuckles become white from desperately maintaining lucidity. The hum of the airconditioning system provides a temporary interval of logical reason but I fear the too-real chance of taking a single step into the beyond and seeing my own face in the mirror . . .

a horrific countenance of painful madness.









[3:29PM, March 18, 2004]