Early movies progressed in jerky steps,
crowds, buses rushing in quick motion,
the eyes not moving fast enough to create the illusion of oneness.
If the pace of history quickened won't a greater number of people
die at a shorter time, does that mean, friends,
that our age is more cruel than others?
You are stupid, friend, it's the
celluloid that did not move fast enough
to create the whirr of smooth motion, it is
outside, the illusion, a sleigh of images, there is just so much
that a mind can take. A reel of Wall Street
the day of the first great crash, people milling around, faster than usual.
All scared crabs. We see history through
images as Robespierre saw it
in the sugar coated arguments of Ionian logic,
no no. Killing is the key,
the two acts of a four-act play,
its steel lips. I'm tired, Camille,
I'd like to rest my head on the soft billows
of your body.
That nonsense about jumping out of the window
you see the whole history of your body before you reach the ground,
is it true? |