CinemathequeFilms: Les Russes à Paris

CinemathequeFilms did not disintegrate like a melted marsh mellow grimace of 16mm film burned at the alter of my untimely demise. We never did get that license. We just kept making videos.


We could pick and choose who saw them. Usually, only people who had cheered them on in France. Less than a dozen.


We had many neighbors there who were Russians. The old adage that in Paris you can always tell a Russian, is not true. Well, it’s kinda not true.


Most of my Russian friends are dead.


Those of us stuck in America are dead, too. Baise moi dans le cul. I keep kidding myself that it is still the cutting edge because this is Appalachia.


Who the fuck would want to live and work here. No one.


We are the dead. I think I might run with that theme. As the dead, there’s a lot we could get away with. I like the irony of someone reading a story or watching a video made by dead people.


Americans have NO CLUE as to what such things as art, poetry, film, literature, dance – you name it – ARE FOR.


Drop the romantic facades.


These things exist as tools so you might envision what you can get away with.


Why do you think boys at-risk are so viscerally attracted to cameras outside of taking photographs of their dicks.


You are not the dead.


We are the dead.


But you are still alive.


How charitable of you to keep pointing that out. We are the dead.


Just being the dead could open some thematic doors.


Why are you listening to a dead person. Why are Americans so terrified of death. Why is it rude to even say death. Death could be that license I did not get to speak what should be said.


My hope (I am forever hoping this because I am stupid) is that being dead might give enough permission for some boys to say something.


Anything.


They are the mute dead.


As a dead person, I want to touch their hurt. I want to reach inside their bowels and rip the dead out of them as if it were a bloody tumor. I could hold it up to the light and spank it.


A tumor cannot speak.


Yes, they can. Sometimes tumors never shut the fuck up.


Speak child.


They never do. Ever. Talk much. Write much. But they make a lot of video.


If we’re the dead, maybe we could make even more video because what the fuck else can they do to us.


Kill us. Killing us is so yesterday.


We are the dead.