die a log.

inspired by this beautiful writing by this girl named Amy from years ago. Written some time around May of last year.


.scene

ray - chasing my hollow death.thats what it was.

allegra- dad, its not ur fault. never is. incredible how they disposed of so many bodies though. an efficient regime.

- no. hiding lies and historical fallacy..call it propaganda, patriotism...whatever...thats efficiency. ever was a great civilization (Read: empire) not built on the backs of great propagandists?

- ever an "empire" quote unquote, not torn from the cloth of evil?

- good answer to rhetoric. study that these days, and honor dusts itself off to accompany you wherever you may tread.

- so i'm at the supermarket, great sales. bananas, 1 buck an ounce. a head of brie cheese, que delicia!, ) about 40 euros. whatever.

- hey. one of these days im taking the day off. going to eat some cheap coffee. maybe drink wine all day..think they serve wine at that german beer garden miranda spoke of?

- doubtful. but im always full of doubts.

- chip.

- well...(reverie)

- (scratches middle of back with the thumb of right hand, nervously for a few seconds...withdraws hand slowly, mechanically...drapes his hand across his daughter's face maniacally) callous, thats what i've taught you.

- to touch without feeling.

- aye.

- wonder where samson is these days. i never spoke to him after he left med school. should've done though. the boy was brilliant. you always liked him. maybe cuz he was a cook.

- show me a man that can eat, and i'll show you a life well lived.

- aye.

- TGI Fridays. we must rid the world of these. their horrible pastries, shit for potato skins. i'm angry that these are the only dining houses that stand to make money in a country like this. glorified carbo-fat, without the glory anymore. what have we become.

- poppa. daddio. que maravilla. look at my lamb chops, i cooked them in the wine you ordered.

- vino. divino.

- daddy. buy me a pony for once. i forgot the smell of a horse. i was 12, remember?

- we went down to mexico. what, every 3 months or so then? your mother always loved the ranch. zacatecan whores. mmm mm m.

- daddy, aloud again.

- sorry, honey. i'll be off to bed. tivo conan for me?

- (lays her hand on top of her other hand, resignation-like, which sits directly above her elbow, which in turns lays lazily on the counter, not wiped clean since morning coffee..sunday morning. see it in her eyes, saturnine. dont forget the chin then, on top of the top hand, choreographed like a march on a soldier's day of graduation, as if orchestrated by a genius of which one is not totally aware)

scene.