August 2007

Life of Mann, Chapter 5 "The King of Losers"

A brief story about the reality of failure and the needlessness of happy endings.

> Idee, Produktion, Illustration

"Life of Mann" was created by Josef Lee

Making-of: "King of Losers"
Project site: "Life of Mann"

Text: Norbert Tomasi
Fotografie: Michaela Riess
3D-Modeling: Andreas Jalsovec
Translation: Travis Kirton

Klient: Josef Lee, Museum of Modern Fiction - Singapure

Mann and St. Elvis thought they'd saved their asses... Little did they know, the Hades guard had a trick up his sleeve.

Two fallen angels hurtling towards the ground. Two souls living in my chest. The King has left the building. The shrill of the fans mixed in with the blackout. A whirlwind of thoughts went through St. Elvis' head. Mann, completely unaware of himself, was seeing red and quickly wasting away in the hurricane of history.

As an entertainer, St. Elvis was The King. But, as a guardian angel he was a total loser. A failure, a complete waste of wings, skin and spirit. Wasn't it already enough that Franz K., Che G., and John L. had been pegged out because of his inability to protect them? Was he so utterly incompetent? How far will he have to fall before he can,t look himself in the mirror anymore? He had to save Mann.

Despite the fact that Mann's shrill screams had ripped through the blood-soaked space and tore at the guardian angel's soul, St. Elvis pulled himself together, grabbed his balls and nose-dived into uncertainty. Hearing the blood rushing through his head with every heartbeat, time stretched into infinity. Seconds became years. Years became aeons. Everything in front of him turned blood-red.

Deathly silence oozed over St. Elvis' world. He had once again botched up a simple job and he was out of excuses. He looked at the human worm the universe had com-mitted to him. Mann was history. This situation, this Mann, was probably the saddest of all his past failures. He was too old for this game. All he could think of was a big bottle of whiskey, watching Hustler-tv, going brain-dead, jerking off and downing handfuls of Prozac. "Why am I such a fuckin' loser? This always happens when I'm around." Still staring at the bloody heap in front of him, St. Elvis started quietly singing...

"Are you lonesome tonight...?"