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Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Jalan Arjuna ½, Jawa Tengah

The film reel coughs and snorts as it stirs from its coma.
Memories are like an empty cinema you see,
And I alone breathe life into the projector.
I stand in the reminiscent box of a room,
Above the ripped, red, reclining chairs,
And feed the machine all the scraps that I can find.
Here’s 12 frames from a scene set in a jungle river.
I recognize the boy.
I recognize the dog.
I recognize the banana trees.
A raft is partially constructed in the murky, leech filled water.
It might be done if the dog had hands.
The boy’s smile sticks with me as the last frame slips by.
Here’s 9 frames from a scene set amongst rice patties.
I recognize the boy.
I recognize those feet.
I recognize the infinite green.
The squeal of ducks quacking penetrates the soundtrack,
Surpassed only at the last second,
When laughter befriends the sound of feet pounding soppy soil.
Here’s 15 frames from a scene set to the music of a mosque,
I recognize the boy.
I recognize the street.
I recognize the stewing volcano.
The mountain behind exhales deeply from his smoldering torso,
The boy is a ravenous lizard as he inhales a bowl of noodles,
Squatting in the dirt like his feet have sprung roots.
I search for more snippets of celluloid,
But most have disappeared.
I should have more,
Bits and pieces don’t do the film justice,
Eh, nobody watches documentaries anyways.
So I digress.
But it was so long ago.
I think it was an alternate reality.
Where I was the tallest man on earth,
Where I had porcelain skin like kitchen tile,
Where my thoughts apparated in a foreign language,
And my eyes held in them two worlds.

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