A scene I'd like to (poorly) direct.

She walks in, slightly frantic
with hairs coming out of place
here and there, swatting the smoke
from her face. He knows better
than to smoke inside!

He's basking in his five o'clock shadow
barely noticing her unwarranted agitation
or at least not acknowledging it
until something in his head is settled

until he's ready to respond instead of react.

But she can't have any of that.
She says something ignorant.
They always do.

He doesn't let it phase him, though.
That's what she wants.
That's what they always want.

Finishing the last decent sip
he turns his back on his melting tumbler
for just long enough to let the words fall
from his heavy lips
weighted further by the starched white cigarette
dangling from the corner of his mouth
and he says-- no, he allows her to hear
the words-- yeah, that's it:

"Honey, if you only knew half of what you think
you do you'd be a genius. Add that to
what you don't realize I do for you every day
stir it up and get back to me about
that skewed reality you like to ramble on about."

---

It's a damn shame Bogart's dead.
I'd rather let the script die in my head
than settle for some fag like Matthew McConaughey
whose name I'm surprised I even spelled correctly.
What happened to the real actors who could make
the whole audience quiver, not just moisten panties?
Gregory Peck could smoke your hat off
and Humphrey's eyes broke your heart every time
he told his Nigger-pal to play that sad song again
in that white house
where it turned out time did not go by.

Sometimes I hate this medium
because I feel it doesn't capture all the nuances
of what makes a true experience
and if one tries to recreate it in its entirety
the reader walks away rubbing a sore head.
"See? Did you get all that? Did you notice
the entire shelf of whiskey, with only one bottle
even half-way empty? Does it make sense now?"
I'm telling you, it's hard to get some of it across
with only words to create the image.
That's why I'm going to start hiding video cameras
and wiretapping my chest.
This is going to be huge, a truth epidemic.
Reality. Re-al-it-y.
What I wound up majoring in, with a minor in denial.
Right.



And as for that classic scene that keeps me
doing all of what you already know
I do so frequently, and maybe so selfishly...

I won't tell you how it ends.