a strange and lonely foreign movie.
that's something that someone told me once.
that i was.
a movie that he didn't understand.
that was made by some unknown obscure director,
probably on 8 millimeter. and then shown at cannes.
only those wearing the black turtleneck
would pretend to understand.
and then they would get into their older model mercedes
and drive home and make gentle and caring love
that is their sex.
and drift into crisp and clean white sleep.
and the movie. it remains foreign and obscure.
their dog, it doesn't shed.
their shoes, they don't collect the mud.
this is the first time that i will write for all of you
the things that lurk and live somewhere in the halls of my soul.
you always get the blockbuster.
this is not the blockbuster. this is my darkness.
this is how once, i made the devil fall in love.
he drank whiskey and wine together. and he sat in a chair.
and he watched... as i, in a red antique slip, painted a wall olive.
and then the colour of an eggplant. and then the colour of butter.
but the devil, he is fickle, and love does not count as lust.
i am tired of the whiskey tango.
i am weary of the cognac surface.
i long for balance. and understanding. and .... well,
a quiet gentleness that will never come
from the consumer of hollywood.
so, will you stay until the end?
even if you don't understand...
the sad and lonely foreign movie...