you're gonna get sick of hearing me tell you things are true stories. Well, this was a true story -- in a way. I was trying to wrap my mind around having been in 3 student films in 2 years. 1 guy I knew from the clubs, 2 strangers. This was when a short film cost at least $20,000. Waking up hung-over one morning, just as the first part describes, as I wrote of that moment, I suddenly pictured being alert, healthy and happy, another loud (do people know? Real movie cameras are loud!) camera stuck in my face, a director instructing me on how to act hung over...

Anyone else been in the movies?

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poem, illusration and web page by JASON PAUL FOX
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!
Creative Commons License
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me and don't make money off it)

copyright 2007 Jason Paul Fox

first published 1991, Millenium (sic) Magazine




Sorrow is a Sort of Joy
Dawn fades in, slate-pink parody of day.

Insulated in sleep's hazy visions,

I stir my desire's cooling ash,

stumble crusty-eyed to check the world

out my kitchen window. It's still there--

green concrete and chrome as usual.

On the black cast iron fire escape,

dingy sparrows cock their heads

as if about to sputter "preposterous!"

I contemplate the crackle

of tobacco. White smoke curls

through the sheet of light

that leaks past the yellowed drawn shades.

The refrigerator lends its hum

to the orchestral traffic.

The cool, fat patter of rain

on the bathroom skylight,

squeezed from the sponge-damp air:

"If I could share this with you..."
The whirring camera squints its lens:

"Fade to shallow focus on window screen,"

the screenplay says. The dripping scenery

recedes to an incidental green

backdrop for an urban dream.

"That's a wrap" snaps the stiff

director, and the hot lights go off.

I pat my temples with a handkerchief,

and stroll out the studio door...

into the thin, divine heartache

of the distant blue sky.