3
With a God’s-eye view of no man’s land,
a director strains after relevance
as award season nears. Mainstreaming
black and white and boxy Academy
ratio. Solo, for the first time, sans
weird sister and their long history of scheming.
So he casts his badass wife and band
of well-experienced, although wayward,
silver foxes with salt and pepper beards:
every hair in eerie clarity.
Like a lucid dream where the whole tent
has been struck by lightning and infiltrated
by leprous, low-level, demons:
the bloodthirsty bloodsuckers he writes for.
4
Who do I write for? Fans of A24
“folk horror” or Apple TV
subscribers who’ll pay to see “Ted Lasso,”
but can’t afford the Criterion Channel;
those who read, who read, who bleed, who bled
the Akira Kurosawa subreddit thread
re: Throne of Blood; anyone who can focus
on the task at hand: assassination;
people for who creative aims come first;
people who play word games instead
of being spiritually dwarfed by a
constant environmental onrushing
of corporately-sponsored plastic crap;
viewers who are, like you, starving to death.
