etienne returned in a half-hearted manner only
to slide out again in small isolation segments.
classic tracking shots that in a spurious moment drown characters in their surroundings while the vertical pan deletes memories.
how he figures others lives is somewhat akin to peeling the potatoe in the dark. phillip on
the other hand relinquished all rights to his environment when his socioeconomic status
clearly faded out. confusion rained on all planes. where was the theme - where was the plot. it was a crime. he went around telling everyone about the special implications in idiomatic language.
etienne.
dominated by the tilt of the shot he views attitudinal statements passing through canal
street. screwdrivers, nails and hammers. whatever you need you can get. pierre snickers. a triangle pointing straight up to the sky in 1941 like superimpositions were vague and very random factors. dream idioms grab the guts of sleepers and get strung in a matter of fashion. somedays they roll out of his mouth like mothers of pearl.
so how long should a shot be? overlapping fragments punctuate the editorial
sophistication that is seldom found anywhere. in this last paragraph they all believed in
lower subjective tempos. bathed in information that for the most part is useless the three shed tales. etienne spoke of the middle east - the endless heat. phillip recalls rome saying too little. pierre talked of his time in miami with his rental car. words from one mouth to another's ear. instantaneous validation.
once it was 1912.
a new england clergyman had said that the baroque is unlike and like a
cube.....
An Awkward Moment In Paradise 2008
a little overdue -
thumb rubbing majors
filed past
the devil in spanish
chanting
poly-sci allegories
overconfident lies
stuffed in a sock ~
a broken seatbelt
a slick tire
3 dents daisy
somebody felt odd.
with eyebrows arched
back flat
tummy tucked
a slow hour to
nowhere stonewalling
the information canal
drenched in sweat…
a veil of roses
bedded a cherry picker
a sack of thorns
scorched millions
sitting
up and then down -
in the goldfish pond
a misunderstood poem
became a sonnet
of regret
as they all whispered
geronimo
morphing to granite
in one loud
mutter of
obliterated unreason…
textbooks
failed to deliver
breakfast on time
naked leather
simmered
and a fracas
could be heard
in this
port-of-call ~
up till now…
a full imposed self
on earth
bewildered
flung open the quivering mouth
so fresh so wonderful
in all its primitive
famine
hearing nothing
but sleep
illuminating in the
taut breath of
silence daisy
struggling to repeat
an exceptional sound
the upper
arms flying around
disguised in monogrammed
flesh
ironed without starch
so the next day
will be as fresh
as now
stroking caution
understanding
that the room
penetrates
light from behind
riddles choke scalding
the rough voiced
caress
seized 3 o'clock ~
over there where
protest lingers
footsteps
intensify
a knot
in the throat
a coincidence without caution ~
held and caught
indefinitely
without knowledge
one sleeve
foolish
the other
whispering
risking twisting
taking
possession
past a watchful eye -
a pang of concern
an imposition
strapped by a
shoestring
dangling
a deliberate provocation
restlessly stirring
a
kiss
for conversaton
racing
double time
on a 78 rpm...
shivering aloud
fingers
adrift for 12 months
daisy
casually polishing
anger
in mid-flight
pretending temptation
with a wintry response ~
perfect clarity
at the five and dime...
it's impossible.
once again
a twisted labyrinth
as the
bartender
puts the glass
away ~
directly upstairs
a double-barreled
shot
could
be heard ~
daisy got up
walked out
without
consequence
condensation
or
even
constitution
in
three colors
flat ~
no one knew
what the reaction would be -
did it matter?
no it didn't -
did anyone care?
no they didn't -
so as time
went by
the chemistry
disappeared
beakers cracked
liquid
dried up
haphazard intentions
went awry
all because
the
killer whale
got
beached
and beached
bad
in a foreign country...
pale
sky
revealing slender
hips broad thoughts
swimming
fluidly close
as the villa
shrunk
in the reflection
below ~
somewhere between
3am and 9pm
a murmur a pout
a curled lip
a breath
drawn in
at the junction ~
a tiny
shudder of panic
under the chin
temperature rising
while daisy
gave a
dismissive little
gesture of the hand ~
sometimes it is
impossible not to
tip
the taxi driver
under
the smooth
olive-toned skin ~
holding still
in thundering
judgment
footsteps in sync
the word died
on the tongue
of disbelief
washed off
with a
molotov cocktail...
wrapped in death
squirrling away acorns
for
a better
day
forest reunions
were
par for the
12 hole course...
idiomatic simantics
rivaled
cost delays
for
daisy's sake ~
mid-flight
composure
in english
yes
a thing of the past
trembling white-faced
from the
neckline
to the ankles
while
considering the right
financing ~
speechless
off the cuff
no doubt
the animated face
drew
declarations
of
momentary
icy winds
of
defeat
once more…
besides frugality
the courts
issued
a long-range
forecast ~
swoon
meltdown
bluff.
daisy heads
into
the kitchen
at 2:06 am
tightened
her belt
straightened her hair
emptied
the mousetrap
and pet the cat ~
you see stumbling
in the dark
could be akin
to
traveling
to the equator
in march ~
a dot
in the sky
a helicopter
recording
every lie ~
the memory of
dry
whispers overhead
fitted
cynically on the
way over there
systemically costuming
corrugated cardboard
hell bent
for two
as a rouse
to the heart
would not be
that uncommon
on most anyday
of the week...
find any limitation
and
drown it.
flickering
once or twice
in revenge
it wasn't a welcome
avenue
to walk down ~
daisy
hesitated
then 3 steps forward
to the villa
overgrown with
prickly
brush
uneven hedge
dead pigeons -
legs wobbly
exhausted
thought bare
spare flesh
murmuring
incessantly about
runaway dreams
smelling flowers
at 2am ~
the pleasure of
disguise
the deceit
of failure
making it
impossible to
breathe
among
billionaires
whose
instant gratification
comes
from the
ringing of a
bell...