Film By Standing
	Film Matt and Jeff Hardy; Jeff narrates May 4, 2002 Zoom close, closer, in in in to scratchy, blurred imagery. His face, though you can't right see it. Droplets of water on his cheek, hazy and indistinguishable. Skin is a digital blur; he moves back and forth, his head bobs up and down, off and on camera as a dizzying obscurity. I can't well see what he's doing, but I'm fascinated with the anonymity he takes on as the image is so closely focused on him. I wonder if he looks that way to insects; I find it sexy and wish for a moment that I had the eyes of an insect. Pan out slowly; there are his eyes. Bouncing on and off camera as he continues to do what he does. I switch from color to black and white and back again, watching as he blinks the water off of his dark eyelashes and squints lightly against a breeze saturated with rain. I know without even seeing his entire face that he's grinning. The corners of his eyes crinkle in my camera - back to black and white, to sepia, focus in and then out again, settle on a fuzzy black and white - and his joy suddenly seems old- fashioned. Like I'm watching an old indie film made in the twenties or something .. Were they making movies in the twenties? If they did, this is what it would look like. Hmm. Well; Matt is the smart one, anyway. He's finally stopped moving; sharpen the picture, pan out to the rest of his face. Black and white shifts to color and as I predicted, he's grinning like a sonofabitch. I watch the pounding raindrops fall against his cheeks, leaving their treks down through second-day stubble and the imperfect blemishes of his peaches and cream skin. Unfocus slightly; there, he looks timeless again. Timeless, ageless, and fucking beautiful as ever. I should make movies. But then, they would only be about Matt, and I don't think people would much pay to see the lack of skill I have with the camera and the lack of form to everything I film. Still .. Damn. I love the hell out of videotaping this boy. I'll just stick to making movies for myself. Pan out to the rest of his body - - he's standing there, chin tilted up to the drowning sky with his arms spread out at his sides. Zoom in to his fingers as they wiggle in the deluge of rain that pours down over him. They disappear from view and I snap the camera back out to a full shot. His hands are in his hair, pulling it back from his face; zoom closer and his eyes are closed, lips pursed for a moment before he darts his tongue out to lick the rain from his chin. Focus, unfocus, focus. I can't decide if he looks better as a Monet or a Van Gogh. His features or his figure? Grayed or full of color? Far away or right up close under his nose? Standing still or spinning in slow circles beneath a darkened sky? I can't decide if he looks better because when it comes to Matt, there's no such thing as better; there's only best. Pan out out out as far as I can go; he looks small now, small and less like my entire world. He's the only thing seen for miles - black and white to sepia, going from old-fashioned and classic to old-fashioned and well broken in - standing in the middle of a huge open field. Even when I can see everything else around him, he's still the only thing I care about enough to look at. I move the camera to the side; he's all the way to the left of the image. Now up a little and he's caught in a corner, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue to catch the rain. Back to full body - sepia to color and brand spanking new - and here we see his clothes, heavy with rainwater, clinging to his body in a most fashionable sense. Monet to Van Gogh; a blur of abstract beauty and back to the Matt I curl up against at night. He's spinning around again and I smile; he's just a big kid when it comes right down to it. Artsy and appealing to just my plain old lovable Mattie, he's my big dorky child. I mean really, who else will just stand out in the rain for fifteen minutes solid? I close in on his pretty face again and then it's like he knows, like he feels me breathing down his neck. His eyes shift slowly to stare into the camera and after a moment's studying, the grin on his face widens. In a futile attempt to wipe the droplets from his face, he brushes a forearm across his eyes before beginning to walk towards me. Closer and closer he comes, filling the camera's lens; pan out, pan out out out as he begins a jog back to the porch. He's too fast - his face is a mere blur as he comes closer to me and I stare at it, enraptured. Finally the screen door slams open and the blur in the camera stops. I zoom out and his image clears. "Hey," He grins. "Hey," I grin back. "You been tapin' me?" I ponder. Unfocus; he becomes a bunch of digital dots clustered tightly together. "Nope." My fingers shift on the video camera and suddenly his lips fill the screen as he speaks. "You're lying." Color to black and white and it becomes a silent movie. "I'm filming a silent movie, Matt." The screen pans out and picks up a lifting of his eyebrow. "How are you doing that if we're talking?" "Naw, look this is what imma do," I begin to explain. Focus focus focus. His nose is so cute and pointy. "Imma cut all the sound out and then put in subtitles. Ya'know, like them movies where you see the shot of the guys talkin' and then there's a big black screen with that old English writing that has what they said on it." He moves out of my scope of vision and sits down on a cushioned lawn chair. I follow him with the digital and settle on an off-centered shot of his mouth and chest and shoulder. It slowly zooms out to show the rest of his body as he speaks. "How're you plannin' to do that? We ain't got any'a that equipment." "I dunno, but it looked good in my head," I shrug, and the camera moves with me, cutting off his mouth for a moment. "Hey, that was cool," I muse and shrug again. He sighs, ringing his hair out and staring off back into the field. "You are one of a kind, Jeffer." "And you are very wet," I reply, filming as his hands squeeze the rain from flattened ebony curls. Unfocus as droplets fall from his fingers. I'm pretty damn tricky with this thing. "You gonna shut that off any time soon?" He asks, although he already knows the answer. I can see his eyes searching my face through the camera lens and he sits back, stretching his legs out. "Nope," I state what he'd already established in his head. "Can I watch it at least?" "Nope," I respond again, simply. He knew the answer to that one too. Van Gogh becomes Monet once again. He's just such a fucking work of art. His eyes close and he leans his head back on the chair. "I'll find out where you hide those tapes someday," He threatens half-heartedly. He seems exhausted with the draining of his energy and curls up, already looking to be asleep from an untrained eye. "No you won't," I tell him, running the image from his bare feet all the way up to his chin as it shifts to nestle into his chest. "Don't fall asleep out here, babe," I add after a moment's silence. "Or you're gonna get real sick." His eyes slide open and I close in on his face. A small smile tugs on his lips and I melt at the perfection of this simple expression. "Okay, mom," He replies quietly and stands up in a lethargic sort of way. Exquisite. My camera doesn't move and becomes focused on his stomach now that he's on his feet. "Take off your shirt," I demand. "Why?" He questions with his smooth voice that reminds me of the brook towards the back of our house. "Cos it's all wet and you're going to freeze your ass off." I can hear the smile in his voice as his stomach goes from black and white to color and sharpens on the vision of his soggy teeshirt. "You just wanna see my belly button, you sicko." I grin. "Yeah, I do." "Does this qualify as voyeurism?" He asks, amused as he slides out of his shirt. My smile widens and I focus on his fleshy stomach, panning out slowly and moving up his chest to his face. "I dunno ... I don't jerk off when I watch them?" He pauses. "Interesting." More silence passes as I just simply stare at the vision of him, still and unmoving on my screen. "You're fucking beautiful and I love you." There's no response as his eyes lock on my face and I slowly look up from the camera. I blink into the face of my Matthew and while I want to smile, it doesn't quite seem appropriate ... almost like it would be ruining a sacred moment of connection. Blindly pressing the fade out feature of our video camera, I wait a moment and then turn it off completely, placing it on the table beside me without once taking my eyes off of him. Movies may be fun to make, but nothing will ever compare to the feeling I get when the object of my endeavors becomes focused on me.