Thursday, January 29, 2009

inland empire: being a review of a film by David Lynch wherein rabbits act on stage and a man appears with a light bulb in his mouth

You were something else and I wanted to crush my face. I could not stand the thought I would grow old. The old city was magical at night in snow. I walked to the bridge to look down in the dark water moving slowly beneath me. I could see the shapes of continents moving below.

South America.

Certain pieces of ice had cracks like long meandering rivers. I went to a dark cafe. It was wonderful to hold a cup of warm coffee. In the corner a table of whores. I had seem them earlier under the street light.

A dog barked as I passed the Imperial Gardens. I was searching for spare change in my pockets, a few pennies to give the beggar.

"Do I know you?"

"My heart is an ailment once warmed."

"Of course. Why not? I'm sorry I'm broke tonight."

I recalled that earlier at work the papers on my desk were like alien transmissions in some complex, mathematical language.

Today's date. January 7th, 1904.

There was beauty in this language, but it was cold and lonely and moved toward you like a madman carrying a luminescent pine cone in his mouth.

Christ was a beggar in the darkness of some inland empire.

I only wanted to meet someone with whom I could share.


I hate winter. When will winter pass. These pages accumulating here are hideous. I have no interest in my novel anymore. I am coming to get you.


I hear sirens. I look out my window. On the street below, an ambulance. In the countryside there is quiet. I will go to the countryside in spring. You can come with me, if you want. I will bring blankets and a basket. We will eat by the river in the shade of the willow.


I saw a strange fish between the ice moving sluggishly beneath me as I stood on the bridge in the dark with my collar pulled high against the wind. Two anarchists walked behind me. I could hear their heavy breathing. They passed slowly.


The strange fish I mentioned. Perhaps I didn't see it. Perhaps it was only a shadow.



"Maybe tomorrow. Who knows?"

"I cant' stand this waiting."


Nothing is moving. The cathedral doors are open and music pours onto the sidewalk. An organ recital. A drunk stops to piss, unsteady on his feet. His clothes are coarse and mud-spattered. The music is like some kind of divine apsiration. I pause to let it touch me. I would listen to this music forever, if I didn't feel so hungry.

Around the corner is a place I know. It's warm there, noisy. The food is good there and they ask nothing of you but your patronage.

I go.

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