Well, you wonât believe this, but theyâve started to shoot the filmâ
Astonishing. Infanta called & said, Itâs a go, dear! They still donât have
A finished script, & Infanta says nobody can decide whether this film
(Of my life) should be edited to go forward or, Infantaâs choice, in reverse!
Though, she adds, nobody seems to think itâll matter much. So much
For my âcinematography of the soulâ idea. Iâd begged them to get Storaro
To be the cinematographer, but of course itâs some video kid
With a pierced dick & a Brooks Brothers trench coat. I canât believe heâs
The one who gets to light all my precious secrets. I guess I still think of myself
As just some piece of long-lost Roman circumstance; you know, maybe a few feet
Lifted off the cutting room floor after Antonioni has left the room for dinner
At Vecchia Roma. I guess I was looking forward to a more solitary séance
With myself, but this will have to do. Of course, Infanta says. Donât be an asshole.
Itâs odd though. These intrusions of the past sliding through the liquid mirror
Of this movie, those past selves lit by the reflections & reckless
Prayers of one night of twisted celluloid. What an awful cinematographer
I was in my youth (can you believe I actually said, âin my youthâ?), putting
The figures in my scenes huddled too close togetherâlike puppiesâ
Until all of the characters began to answer to each otherâs names.
In the movie of my life, the scenes seem so hopelessly repetitious;
Even the actors playing my troubled friends keep calling in sick, or sending over
Body doubles, & even the stand-ins have stand-ins. I suppose that CybĂšle,
The young girl playing me, has been the shrewdest, insisting on wearing my own
Ancient leather jacket from the St. Vincent de Paul in Fresno, the one Larry
Said would make even Audrey Hepburn look tough; but even she,
The young actress with her taped-down breasts & miles of attitude, has begun
To complain that most of the dialogue in the awful, half-baked script
(Most of it lifted, I confess, directly from many of the most elegant & moving
Scenes in the pageant of my brief life)âwell, each line, she claims, finally
Ends up sounding exactly like every other. I have to say,
This actress CybĂšle, sheâs got this Sappho-mojo thing going, working
Overtime in fact. One night, in an Italian restaurant on the pier, Infanta
There too, I tell her how much I admire her
As me, even more than I admire myself as me, I say, & whatâs more she looks
Even tougher in my leather jacket than I do; I mean, so much the man Iâve always
Tried to be. When I start to apologize for all of the bad lines of my life, all of
The awful poetry sheâs meant to speak each day, she just holds a single
Finger against my lips, the way youâd shush a child, until Iâm silentâthen she
Looks right at Infanta & says, Iâll fuck you the way Iâd fuck myself. I have to think
For a moment, wondering if sheâs saying that line as meâ
Speaking the line of some badly written scene, just to let me hear how lame it isâ
Or as herself coolly laying that line on Infanta. CybĂšle sees my confusion, & this
Time when she says it, Iâm going to fuck you as Iâd fuck myself, Iâm pretty sure she
Means it, but Infanta just starts to laugh, & CybĂšle turns to me & says, You know,
Itâs bad enough having to be the voice who is the ghost of you, but even more
Painful, every day we shoot, is having to hear the echo of the sad warblings
Of your body, & thoseâitsâpoor, pathetic mockingbird lies, those false songs
& false notesâŠ. That body, your body, left here long after the ghost of you
Had the good sense to get up & walk away. Thatâs what she said! Me? I couldnât
Believe my good fortune! Thatâs exactly what Iâd told my ex, Isabella, after
Sheâd slept with the director of VORTEX (a tedious avant garde film)âŠ.
Just think about it!âAt last, to find an actor who could play the soul & heart of
The real, the vital & the gloriously broken me.
Then I was given the Path of Green Tea. It was a way of being present
That was presented to me, the way spring presents the white-&-green
Narcissus poking up through the black loamâŠthe way
The crackled glaze of the ancient teapot presents the myriad
Reflections of its pourer, as the steam rises from the dragon of the leaves,
& the wise monk who has traveled for thirty-seven days looks up at his host
Then hands him the gift of bundled green tea, elemental & luxuriantâŠ.
The split carapace, the shattered shell of the will
Begins slowly to fall away, & the air of the mountain temple is again misty
With praise as the monk reveals the blessings of the drained cup, sip by sip
Unravelling the complex compass leaves of the future. The way we are givenâ
Those of us lucky enough to sense the faintest scent of ceremony & easeâ
A path that unfolds slowly, like the origami of disease, like the selfâŠ
To take only one exampleâŠuntil the lines of the faint green paper seem
Crinkled & lined as a ghostâs palm, as the simple frond feather of a leaf of tea.
I hardly know where to begin. The constant harvest of light warns us
Each evening, with the swallows, of the liquid cruelty of the world flowing
Into our every night. Even the oldest sorrows feel new againâŠ.
Still, I am unconvinced that the red dog with the fat silver collar is an evil
Capable of parting the gates of Atlantis, the veils of memory, or the black shadows.
No, I suppose, when all is finally done & said, I believe only in those writings
That evaporate beyond all writing, just as, at this very moment, I imagine you
Lifting these frail images beyond the filmâs frames: those indelible elements
Of this invisible script carving themselves across your miraculous, soft eyelids.
I am addressing these very words to you. So please, do anything you pleaseâŠ.
âJust grant me my simple release.
Consider the ease of release. This really sweet guy Bill is driving Charlie & me
To the bar just outside of town where Padgettâs been working his ass off
Setting up the post-conference oyster roast weâve been not-so-secretly
Waiting for the whole week, & when we start talking about Gainesville & music
All of a sudden it emerges that Sweet Bill used to play
In River Phoenixâs band, River being a Gainesville homeboy, & Billâs telling us
What a terrific guy River was, so clearly missing his friend; & I think how
That very night River bought it on the sidewalk outside The Viper Room
On Sunset, I was just half a dozen miles away at
Almost exactly that moment in the early morning hours of Halloween
1993 as my daughter, Vivienne, was being born, & as I tell this to Bill & Charlie,
Charlie turns around from the front seat & says, SoâŠwho else died that night?â
Meaning, I think, any other not...