the extreme displeasure of your unrefined bite

you can't be angry", she says.
"you can't hate me for my heart."
you're right there, love, i can't.
though it'd be a wonderful place to start.

physics and logistics exit the scenario,
as the room instinctively grows smaller.
yet the space between you and me,
oddly, seems to be growing farther.

apart.

what to unleash, i wonder?
what means of weaponry to acquire?
a sword, poison, a disparaging comment?
an ax, a knife, or fire?

in the end, it seems a tear will suffice.
as it's my only available option.
choose your next words carefully, my dear,
proceed with the highest of caution.

"it's not that you caused it"
(i'm sure)
"and it's not even what i want"
(go on)
"...i just can't keep living this miserable facade, babe,
of that perfect girl in a love song."

turn towards the door run
no
stay and hover and rage.
best to frighten the miserable creature
and lock it in its cage.


where it rightfully belongs.


...this is the end of the love song.

where domination wins.

where intimidation rocks your world

and blinds me of my sins.




...
no.
can't.
love
trapped
is
not
love.
love.
love.
lover
gone.
pain
torment
virtue
moral
ethics
right and wrong.

how did my mind get here
how did it
turn
adapt
into something common.
how
did
society
trick
me
and
change
my
personal
norms.

i choose my actions carefully.
i walk a few steps backwards while staring at the ground. "don't look anywhere else but where you've just been." grab the wall, good. now use it for support and slowly, very slowly, move down until you're firmly placed on the floor. now wait for her final blow, and her cool calm exit, then position yourself as you would when you were a child as the world sat on you and laughed.
adjust to that fetal position
then begin to suck your thumb
then slowly fall to slumber
and wait for spring to come.

she leans over
looks at me
and out of her mouth comes something so...

...

..


.......
vile
that existence felt the aftershock
looked down at me and gasped
'FUCK!!! i never finished that one..."
and quickly contemplated the offing procedure
(which the most effective yet painless method to use?)

this is a death.
not in an emo sense, mind you.
emo deaths are a result of mind-numbing cliches that the person stupidly overlooked whilst it blindsighted him/her like a child running out in front of a moving car YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN PAYING MORE FUCKING ATTENTION TO YOUR LIFE she left you shucks let me lend you one of my tears.
this girl left me too.
but what she said to me i bet
was worse than what she said to you.


'there are just too many people i have left to kiss.'


i took the blow and heard her leave.

god went ouch
and the world went dark.

good night.

Seriously, it's becoming physical.

Look, I have as much respect for Clint Eastwood as the next guy. The man delivered a wonderful modern tragedy in 'Mystic River' and I still stand by my belief that 'Million Dollar Baby' was a superb film, though it was nowhere near the brilliance of "The Aviator" or "Sideways". But neither "Mystic" nor "Million" were in my top ten of their respective years, yet I still hold the two in very high regard.

But "Flags Of Our Fathers" was a mess. The pacing of the piece was completely off, the performances mediocre... I liked what it was attempting to do, I'm not faulting it for its ambition, but I didn't feel it leveled up to its promise in execution. I left feeling as though I'd just seen a very rough cut of a promising motion picture.

I would've been alright with the film had it merely accepted its fate. We would've continued along our merry ways: me, continuing to view this years crop of films; it, into obscure celluloid oblivion, viewed as one of the lesser works of Mr. Eastwood. However, critics, for some reason that completely evades me, connected with the film. Praising it as if it were the Holy Gospel of cinema. The fact that audiences didn't connect with it thrilled me, I'm sorry to say, simply because any major award it won, I would feel it wasn't deserving of. The film was, for all intents and purposes, DOA.

...and now comes 'Letters from Iwo Jima'.
and Kris Tapley is predicting it to win Best Pic.
and David Poland will soon, surely follow.

I just, I... if your film dies, just let it. Go with your original plan. Don't resuscitate it and subject us in the community who found it to be bland and cliched tripe with a rehash of the situation from the Japanese perspective. If you have to, just do it after Scorsese wins the Oscar. Please.

I'm just getting physically ill thinking about it.

Sure, I've completely discounted the fact that "Letters from Iwo Jima" might actually be a good film. Who knows? I'd love it to be, personally. Trust me, nothing would give me so much pleasure as having to put my foot in my mouth. Unfortunately, that Japanese trailer instilled no sense of confidence in me. I was just, again, unmoved.

*sighs*

My apoligies for the rant, I don't want to come off as being a hater for the man who provided the world a few, truly great pictures. It's just that "Flags" wasn't one of them. And "Letters" doesn't look to be one either.
I realize we're all gay for a director. Mine happens to be Ingmar Bergman. Some persons, it's Clint. To each his own.
But even I'm willing to admit when Bergie has fowled up.
The same should be said for American critics.