In the Award-Winning Movie in My Head, We Are Infinitely Better Looking and Everything Makes SenseIf it begins with distance, distance is bridged. Let's say a landscape with deer running close together, their movement the sped-up avalanche ![]() of leaning forward towards someone I want to kiss. In the movie, I'm sure that I do. If no one likes this setting, it can be changed to the shuffle ![]() of a deck of steel standing end on end; what we call buildings. The windows in winter sun glint bitterly in downtown Manhattan where, each ![]() morning, commerce puts on her innocuous clothes. It is perhaps unfeminist of me to call capitalism a woman because now I've implied ![]() whore. If I sound furious I probably am. Aren't we all just a little bit tired of walking around unlovely, below billboards that vulture ![]() the streets. In them everyone is flat and so easy to read. I am sick of being clandestine. I will put it on the table, see— ![]() not like a spread of cards which could indicate potential cheating, but an unfurling like a magician's scarf from a hat. I want that flourish: what I mean to say ![]() pulled forth like that. Shouldn't communication be simpler—just jump-cut childhood and montage the rest? But don't I ![]() so often think that understanding equals reading all the books on someone else's shelves or that I can braille ![]() the fingering of chosen songs and parlay an echoed movement into seeing what's behind the skull? And just as often I might say, "World, ![]() take my keys. Here's an address and a time to meet me. Rummage through possessions. If you are sleepy, use my bed." Let it be enough. ![]() Can't any of us project without talking? Turn off the lights and unspool film through whatever tiny hatch, that opening ![]() where a small light and a dark room do the rest. |
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