CHIAROSCURO
At the settlement house, in range of all the sounds
and smells of the harbor, the large trees squeeze
their peculiar rhythms from the wind : dark against
the sky, they bend and twist, as if lengthy lessons
had now, finally, led to this dark dance. Music by
coconuts, with violins and tambourines somehow
mixed in. It's a maddening night for all.
-
And now they come around the corner - those crazy,
oily men who claim they want to make pictures :
'We can invest in skyrocketing returns over again, we
can fund movies with merely the return on what we've
put down, once, as initial investment. It's all like gravy
in a pan - girls, and the rest, and did I mention girls?"
I listen to guys like this until I'm sick. The anti-Semite
Semite who does nothing all day, never lifts with his
hands but gets returns on other peoples' work instead.
-
I wish the girls would kill them, actually - beat them
on their heads with their gigantic tits, as they'd say, I
guess. What sort of return would that be? They'd sputter
and laugh perhaps, until their very last moments -
when it would dawn on them they've gambled wrongly
all along. Who's your Pappa, who's your Messiah now,
you vainglorious twerps. Look for the label on the
edge of the collar. See what it is : 'someone actually
did the work.' You can't make pornography in
black and white.
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