I am a collection
of half-watched movies

End yet to-be-determined
Stuck in the middle bits

An unfinished  biography
of a life put on-pause

The characters have no future
Just like I have no future

My library remains full
An over-whelming archive

When will the master
finish the piece?

The follow through
is the most important part

The neurotic longs to discover
the treasure at the end of it all

Though sometimes the final destination
is only death or tragedy

Only pain and no closure
And nothing meaning anything

And maybe the movies are
half-finished because

I already know
I'll be disappointed in the ending.

Both he and I know that I am living in that camera of his.  Sweet girl, trapped, knowing nothing but laughter and million-watt smiles.

I don't know if he will ever develop the film.

Those were some of my brightest days, no matter how flimsy the flame was. Late nights filled with friends and stars and empty baseball fields.

I refuse to forget her. Sweet girl who tried her hardest, supplicated herself to his every mood, broke her bones to make him laugh. Because those photos are the proof that I meant something to him once. That he was just as much a part of the memories as I was.

Even though we're strangers now, maybe you even loved me once, when I was sepia.

So, cut me out if you will.
Cut me out of your film, I do not much mind.

Holiday: a man backstrokes
oh so gently in the hotel pool.
It’s breakfast time. Bean juice
coagulates on my plate.

I watch the man’s languid, enchanting
backstroke and, for some reason,
it inflates my heart with sentimental joy.
This semi-corpulent middle-aged man,
is, right now,
The Most Beautiful Thing On Earth:

His arcing limbs do not slap or thrash,
but plop into the drink like skipping stones.
He is a babbling brook. A water feature.
The splish-splosh trickle-truckle of a spa waiting room.

And what’s more, this forty-something baldy
gliding through the water
fills me with love for all humanity,
because he seems blithely rapt
in absolute peace
(despite the room rates at this place).

But then, I realise, all of this might be
free association of the mind
linking this moment to a scene in
the Oscar winning motion picture:
Forrest Gump;
when a legless Lieutenant Dan
makes peace with God (for taking his legs),
and backstrokes with the same carefree beauty
into a pink and orange sunrise

(funny how the mind does that).

And suddenly the bubble of beauty is burst.
The portly swimmer becomes just that
(FYI: legs intact),
and my wife returns from the buffet
with a plate of vibrant fruit segments; Cheshire melon
and the greenest kiwi I’ve ever seen.
Lo! Only now have I tasted true kiwi.
And I remember: I’m on honeymoon!
And my wife, in this moment, and forever more,
shall be the only human to be known as:
The Most Beautiful Thing On Earth.

Similar to the way Forrest felt about Jenny,
in the Oscar winning motion picture:
Forrest Gump.

She does nails
she's got indomitable *** appeal
a lunging sort of a walk
a swagger sort of a talk
when she's on the up and up
but a straight lace face otherwise
hurling enigmatic hellos
sweeping up confetti good mornings
blowing merry christmases
swaying in then out
long-time-no-see like
it's that end of the year ear to ear
clearly

remember that time in september
when the moon was spinning
when the moon was shaking off its blues
when you reached up to taste some
and you woke up with the chills
and you said put me under the sun

it was the first time we laughed after many days
it was the last time we exhaled jet-black giggles
picking away at our severe-face syndrome
we were taking form
finally
we were becoming you and i and you said,
that's a heavy thing to be...
when you're coming from nothing.

Filmmaking should be an art form, not merely a business.

The creative process should be personal, not impersonal.

Filmmaking should be sentimental, not political.

Performances should be natural, not robotic. They should be authentic, not artificial.

Writing should be truthful, not bogus.

Cinematography should be ambitious, not pretentious.

Premieres should be on a big screen, not a flat screen.

The audience should open up their preferences, not solidify them. They should respect traditions, not belittle them.

Profit should be a reward for hard work, not a motive for it.

Filmmaking should be intoxicating, not grueling.

Credit should be a right, not a luxury.

Ownership should be divided, not bombarded.

Final cuts should be final, not temporary.

The industry should be welcoming, not selective. It should be open, not gated.

Investors should require trust, not demand control.

We should treasure movies, not forget them over time.

Artists should be publicized, not exploited. They should be grateful, not prissy.

Celluloid should be valued, not endangered.

Equipment should last, not outdate within a year.

In a country full of opportunities, why is it so difficult to achieve what you want? Better yet, if you work hard enough, why could you still fail?