The Kalopsian Wave

I wouldn’t watch a video of me being born 

5 year plan Agrobiology or business marketing, scribbled in the margins “did I forget about the Paris dream?” discarded in the rubble pile, list with bubble letters, dug roaches from the bottom of the sewer eating away all possible maps. Stop comparing me to things.

I remember myself now in the shattered glass. A pocket prequel head-scratcher to go: “did that really happen?”  first draft of a character study film students watch while high or painfully sober. What other ideas? No “E’s” for effort or mortification? No “E’s” in ‘first draft.’

You’re overthinking it: who would you cast to play me? 

Nicole Kidman? Really?

Is it because of my glasses?

I sit atop a Ferris Wheel’s sapped green sky gliding saffron across the vista. You say here that you love the lights. Repreives from our embrace are unmet everywhere except the candy yellow outlining the fuzzy crescent of my cheek. Lady’s stringed bovine taps her hooves ‘round the atmosphere. She plays her song under the tracks, they reflect upon the shattered glass far below. I forgot something there.

Can you take me to see Gala?

10 years your senior on the cliff in dog years

townsfolk hate us 

I’m not like her, why do I have to hold the delicate things in my pitcher’s arm?

She’d tell me to make my glasses even smaller and rage like a fucking fucking fuck of a man. I’d tell her I am the man, I’m fucking Jupiter. Blind truth, not paternalism, Post hoc for my milkshake straw. It can’t be a fucking coincidence that I’m here- that’s what I would say to Gala. 

I’ve never gotten Nicole Kidman before. Tuck you in with my whip and lash you with my blanket. You must be worried I’ll soliloquize. Her eyes are so red when she cries, your darling Clementine, she’ll pass you the blunt in her underwear scowling, lithe and unfucked.

You can play yourself in the scene at the nativity, I’ll slip and you’ll call it an accident, graffiti dubbed tramp under compacted ash, feeble statue for sunburned men to gawk at. I hold back so much.

Find the powder blue curtained room fluid clear and red flowing, here a warm fetal river exalting first breath all paused in super 8, the same room I’ve been committed to. 

I would watch a video of me dying.

My sister’s shirt wouldn’t be backwards this time.

I accept that you’re right about me. I actually don’t need my glasses I just want people to think I look smart. Do you think I look smart? Compare things to me or I’ll press slender pins and needles in your toes to haunt you when I’m gone. A legacy actress like me is never done working. Say hello when your shower goes cold. Under your pillow find my first draft- I decided it should be done. Dug from the waste bin, this one isn’t actually so bad now that I’ve had a good nights sleep. Unlike Gala I’m successful in my repose.

You know, there’s something very important that we need to do as soon as possible.

Shaggy covers torn asunder your slippered feet make chase to the cliff side, blood pumping where mine cannot.

Find my body shattered far below amongst the stained blue glass.

Fuck.