Posted by marko on 12/22/2006, 6:31 am i don’t even know what that means. honestly, i have no idea. scene 21 when there are children bursting with gladness & it’s nothing but a double exposure. anyone can do that. you scene 23 a gratuitous dream grabs my collar & shakes me awake. i’m shattering the limitations. i’m not being destructive. the tips of his shoes brushed across the floor—keeping
65.167.39.218
scene 20
why would i use a word when i don’t know its definition.
not only in reference to you—that is, the accusation you’ve
confronted me with, but in connection with anything. i
don’t go around slipping words i don’t understand into
my conversation. not in a song or a poem for that matter.
i wouldn’t use it in a letter of reference or one of condolence.
& that’s only one point of my side of the argument. consider
the source. i don’t care how straight a face she wears. some
people can lie through their teeth as easily as other can
recite the alphabet, or read a phone book. who are you
going to believe? because if it’s not me, i’ll pack my things
right this minute & be on my way. it’s a not a question of
accuracy. it’s got more soul than that. at least it does for
me. i don’t know about you. i’m beginning to doubt it.
you’ve definately changed. i’m not sure i can love someone
who thinks i’m a liar. think about it. have you ever heard
me use that word?
anticipation there’s no question that it’s joyous &
magical. but when the children grow up & move away,
sometimes far away, the spectacle begins to feel almost
vulgar, & overwhelming in a negative way. i want to
forget. but they won’t let me. i want the season to slip
by with as little fanfare as possible. but i’m asked to
participate in holiday activities. everyone else will
have someone—spouses, nieces & nephews. except
me. i will be alone. i’ll feel so empty inside that i’ll
imagine myself translucent. i’ll be shocked if anyone
realizes that i’m there. i don’t want hurt feelings. but
if i expose myself to this, i’m taking a chance on my
chemical imbalance swinging a bit too far. if i beg
off, i’m made to feel guilty. just what someone with
suicidal feelings needs to hear. that’s a sure-fire way
to keep them around. if anyone genuinely cared, they’d
try to understand & accept my answer as is. if everyone
would drop their concern, which is mostly a selfish
demand i be present, i would be satisfied to forget it
was ever brought up. there’s no reason for me to be
there. i’m a bad simile. i’m a broken ornament with
sharp edges, a burned-out bulb that knocks the entire
string out, a garbage bag filled with torn up wrapping
paper & empty boxes sitting on the front porch.
scene 22
can do it with a ten dollar throwaway camera. we used to
do it as kids. you push it halfway, then wait a second & press
it all the way till it clicks. & it looks like a ghost snuck
into the frame. do i remind you of a ghost? i’ve ever set foot
in that place in my life. that is the honest-to-god truth. if i had,
i’d own up to it. anyway, let’s say if hypothetically i had been
there—what does that mean? would that prove i was there
at the exact same time as her? would it mean we came in
or left together? you’re always jumping to conclusions.
not just in this instance—all the time. who the hell carries
around a camera like that. a professional photographer
maybe. you think there’s model material at that dump.
does that look like it was taken by a professional photographer?
i’ve never even been on that stretch of highway. i never
drive to pittsburgh that way. it would take a half hour
longer. why would i take the long way around?
why do you need my last name? give me a chance to
gather my bearings. a swan or a spider. i don’t know.
what is it you want to hear? i have no idea which way
she went. i don’t know where she came in. she appeared
out of nowhere. a treacherous red or shocking pink. man,
you tell me. i don’t think i could point it out on a color
chart. enchanted with her grace—if i can get poetic. the
way she moved. like she knew exactly where to look. i
never said a word. i didn’t have to. how many ways can
you reword a one verse lullaby? how many roses are enough?
you keep asking questions, but you won’t accept a single
answer. i could tell you exactly what she whispered to me.
i could describe the way her small, soft hands made my
entire body rise. i could take it down to the seemingly most
insignificant details. or i could give you a real cinematic
extravaganza, an overblown account of it all, & it could all
be true. i could recite it word for word. i’ll never forget any
of it. but why would i tell? it wouldn’t mean a thing to you.
scene 24
there was nowhere else to go. i didn’t plan this—i exploded
into it. a powder keg without caution painted on the side
doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous, that you shouldn’t be
####ing around with it. i can see that you’ll call it what you
like no matter what i say. it’s obvious you’ve already made
up you mind. cast your judgment. i’m reinventing myself.
if that means i have to tear down some continuity—so be it.
i’m not denying any of it. but your explanation doesn’t come
close. i’m giving you intent. i’m showing you cause & effect.
all wrapped up & ready to go. but you won’t accept it. i
wouldn’t use the word confession. that seems to imply guilt.
i feel no guilt at all. it’s natural consequences spilling out.
it’s beautiful & pure. if you could see from my perspective
i think you’d understand immediately how necessary it all is.
there is no diagnosis here. only the divine. there was no
other way.
scene 25
perfect time. & the boundaries were drawn in perfect
symmetry to the rest of the world without any mechanical
means. apparently complete hopelessness, right before
it manifests itself in self-destruction, attains a genius that
the individual never possessed prior to the meltdown.
so in order to get the most from our artists, it would seem
advisable to push them until they’re backed right up against
reality, & wait while they come apart at the seams. & piece
by piece they fall. making a totally original pattern that
cannot be duplicated. this art , whether it be splattered blood
against the wall, or something a bit less flamboyant, is
guaranteed to turn a nice profit. but will also show a steady
increase in value, due to the myth that will grow with
time into huge shadows filled with gold. i heard somebody
say—wait a minute. don’t cut him down yet.
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