Shining

A focused 'psyche-writer' and Ivy-grad begins a hotel-room confined writing-project and begins to mentally unravel, swayed by a superstition-expression.

Closing out a rather 'heavy' workload/day of Saturday-writing(s) with this dark adaptation of The Shining (Stanley Kubrick). Hope you like it (and Happy Holidays), 

DISCLAIMER: This work of cinematic 'adaptation' offers no intersection/tie with the original work/writing and images/references to the city of Chicago and the loosely-cited Courtyard (hotel) offer no legal/formal views or claims regarding the expression(s) of Stanley Kubrick or Stephen King and is therefore presented as only/purely a personal exercise in 'creative' extrapolation. 

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Amlan Satan resolved himself to work on his great American psyche novel while creating a 'sabbatical' like environment inside the Windy-City Courtyard hotel and was determined to apply his college education in literature and psychoanalysis and use his inherited fortune(s) to fund his own investment in creative-writing while developing his special model concept of a man 'trapped' inside his own claustrophobic mind inside a given hotel in the United States and losing control of his sense(s) of brain-choreography and giving way to feelings of disestablishmentarian consciousness, all the while 'sharing' these newly discovered 'chess' ideations on social-media with his college alumni pals in America.

AMLAN SATAN: I'm taking my Draculia-chess set to the Courtyard and playing against myself to hone my psyche for writing-IQ.

He decided to spend lots of time first in a forest outside the state of Illinois, where he grew up, in a special magical smalltown called Haddonfield, following his graduation from Dartmouth (New England). When he returned to civilization, resolved to begin his special psyche writing-project closed-up in his Courtyard room in the Windy-City, he thought about the capitalism amenities that made life on Earth treasure-centric and reflective of consumerism convenience intelligence/imagination, and he thought about his love of 'pepperoni-quiche' and what it illuminated to him about the 'nature' of the human exercise(s) of 'pure' comfort...or worry!

AMLAN SATAN: Inside my 'fine' Courtyard room, I'll use my digital-typewriter to compose my 'opus' on the forays of the psyche.

CONCIERGE: We've given you that 'special' room to invest in writing in complete isolation, the 'fabled' writer's room (209)!

SATAN (Amlan): Wow...that's really generous/considerate of you, good man; are there any special 'tales' about Rm.-209, sir?

CONCIERGE: Since you asked, Mr. Satan...there were strange 'tidings' regarding a writer's suicide (or bloody-murder!) for 209!

SATAN: Tragedy/murder...wow...is that just a hotel magic-superstition lore/gossip, or is there truth to any of it, man?
CONCIERGE: We're really not 'certain' about that 'matter' entirely, but we've also numerous 'happy' reports (writers/209).

SATAN: That's fine; I'll take the room, thanks so much, good man/sir.

CONCIERGE: Good tidings, Mr. Satan!

AMLAN SATAN: That concierge was so courteous/considerate; and I have to wonder if he's a chess-fan like me and knows art!

So, Amlan Satan, the great Earth-prince and Ivy-grad, began to write/type his special 'psyche' novel inside that Courtyard (Chicago) room he 'purchased' for a long-term period, and he began to think about all the capitalism/commercial securities and worries on Planet Earth that facilitated all the 'stranger' thoughts regarding encounters with danger or corruption or luxury and fortune in the 'set' of capitalism/consumerism consciousness in the United States and just how/why a modern investor in the world-market might just feel like a 'James Bond' analyst of the flow/ebb/eddies of treasure-IQ and the 'chess' of any asset-organization. He started to naturally wonder about the 'darkness' of the human mind, in regards to the 'shadowlands' of fortune/comfort exercise(s). That's when his mind began to fragment, giving way to indulgent pseudo-obsessiveness over those 'stranger' thoughts regarding the 'tragedy' rumored to be 'linked' to Rm.-209, the room he'd been given by that affable/advising Courtyard concierge.

AMLAN SATAN: Thoughts about the Qatar Cup (soccer) and the stranger withdrawal of a French-star gave me worry (isolation).

CONCIERGE: Why don't you take a nice walk in the forest right on the outskirts of the Windy-City, Mr. Satan, to feel better!

SATAN (Amlan): Why, that's a rather 'cool' idea, good man; I just might accept such advice; I'd been dwelling on darkness.

CONCIERGE: Your housekeeper told me you started to ramble to her about your 'worry' about a French soccer-star's dismissal?

SATAN: Yeah, well, the Qatar Cup (soccer) had opened up, and a major French athlete withdrew; made me worry (isolation).

CONCIERGE: I think it's that Rm.-209 and its 'superstition' that's getting the 'better' of you; you need time away from there!

SATAN: Yeah...that's why I'll take your advice...go to that forest and walk around; clear my head (or what not!); thanks again.

CONCIERGE: Of course, Mr. Satan...anytime...of course.

When he returned from his forest-escape, Amlan Satan, the Earth-prince set to write his great American 'psyche' novel, sat in the lobby, for many hours into the late-night, and started to brood about the 'quality' of the human mind, and what leads just about anyone, even a seemingly 'content' Ivy-grad fond of chess and food and travel and art, to start 'brooding' about the 'reality' of a stranger darkness pervading the Earth, discoverable in the crannies of everyday places...even in a Chicago hotel of 'fantastic' proportion(s).

AMLAN SATAN: I'm starting to think of that 'fool' who was tied to a 'tragedy' rumor (Rm.209) while in the hotel-pool; I worry!

AMLAN SATAN: I've ordered a set of futuristic intelligence-communications/espionage themed robot-cassette toys (eBay).

Well, it seemed now more than ever that any intention to use world-stimuli or forest-escape plans or toys or idle imagination indulgence would not free this fated Earth-prince/writer (Amlan Satan) from a 'certain' spiritual burden of becoming a witness to darkness, in its strangest form(s). You see, as his mind unraveled, and he began to contemplate all the windings of that 'tragedy' rumored to be tied to Rm.-209, and Satan (Amlan) began to ponder if his work(s) and study of the 'psyche' drew tidings of insanity and the loss of his own personal 'chess-intelligence' confidence, which had bred in him since youth a profound sense of self-determined decision-making strength or prowess; and therefore he'd began to become truly insane. He then 'witnessed' the passing 'ghost' of the writer-man rumored to be tied to that Rm.-209 tragedy the affable concierge told him about earlier; he saw the 'specter' look like a shadowy figure of haunting intelligence pass-by, and he decided that the clear evaluation here was that he himself, Amlan Satan, was to become a 'witness' to the 'pure horror' of the mind's encounter with a 'stalemate' in structured exercise(s). He realized he was himself becoming some kind of literary apparition (wow).

CONCIERGE: So good to see you today, Mr. Satan...though I must say, you look a 'tad' edgy or somehow paler than usual now!

SATAN: Thanks, good fellow; you know, I saw the 'specter' of that writer-man of tragedy-lore tied to Rm.209 last night?

CONCIERGE: What...are you being facetious, sir?

SATAN: Of course not, good man...in fact, I'm heading to the forest now to seek out a new 'specter' --- a vision of beauty.

CONCIERGE: I don't understand, Mr. Satan.

SATAN: Good fellow, I intend to 'encounter' the vision of a hauntingly gorgeous 'Lady-in-Red' out there in that forest of escape.
CONCIERGE: Sir...do you want me to find you some (psychiatric) assistance (now)?
SATAN: No, good man...just pretend I was being facetious; maybe there's no such thing as a 'Lady-in-Red' in that forest (ha)!

REPORTER: So, Mr. Satan committed suicide in his hotel room, and you've no inkling to his unraveling, good fellow?
CONCIERGE: All we really understand is that he'd intended to be a 'normal' writing 'athlete' in Rm.209 and began to unravel.

REPORTER: What did he mention (to you)?
CONCIERGE: Only that he'd been 'fascinated' by that 'tragedy-lore' tied to Rm.209, and that he'd felt strangely 'drawn' by it.

REPORTER: Then, you say, he started to report 'stranger' thoughts?
CONCIERGE: Yes...well, yes...he claimed he saw the 'ghost' of the writer-man of lore and then 'sought' some woman-vision.

REPORTER: A Lady-in-Red, good fellow (ha)?
CONCIERGE: Yes, that's quite funny, but ironically, that's what he did (indeed!) claim.

REPORTER: Wow; that is a stranger story (indeed); my condolences to your staff.

CONCIERGE: Thank you...thanks so much; Mr. Satan shall be missed (indeed).

REPORTER: Good.

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)