Sunday, September 13, 2009

Man, We Make Our Own Movies

The Hold Steady's "Slapped Actress" has gotten me through the last few weeks. Holy smokes, I love it.
Don't tell my sister about your most recent vision.
Don't tell my family; they're all wicked strict Christians.
Don't tell the hangers-on.
Don't tell your friends.
Don't tell them we went down to Ybor City again.

Don't tell the dancers; they'll just get distracted.
Don't tell the DJs; they already suspect us.
Don't mention the bloodshed.
Don't mention the skins.
Don't tell them Ybor City almost killed us again.

We are the theater.
They are the people dressed up to be seated, looking upwards and dreaming.
We're the projectors.
We're hosting the screening.
We're dust in the spotlights.
We're just kind of floating.

Don't drop little hints.
I don't want them to guess.
Don't mention Tampa, they'll just know all the rest.
Don't mention the bloodshed.
Don't tell them it hurts.
Don't say we saw angels; they'll take us straight to the church.

They queue up for tickets to see the performance.
They push to get closer.
Looking upwards with wonder.

We are the actors.
The cameras are rolling.
I'll be Ben Gazzara, you'll be Gena Rowlands.

Sometimes actresses get slapped.

Sometimes actresses get slapped.
Sometimes fake fights turn out bad.
Sometimes actresses get slapped.
Some nights making it look real might end up with someone hurt.
Some nights it's just entertainment.
Some other nights it's work.

They come in for the feeding, sit in stadium seating.
They're holding their hands out for the body and blood now.

We're the directors.
Our hands will hold steady.
I'll be John Cassavettes, let me know when you're ready.

Man, we make our own movies.

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