viernes, julio 08, 2011

the greatest actor of our time





he's getting fatter and fatter,
almost bald
he has a wisp of hair
in the back
which he twists
and holds
with a rubber band.

he's got a place in the hills
and he's got a place in the
islands
and few people ever see
him.
some consider him the greatest
actor of our
day.

he has few friends, a
very few.
with them, his favorite
pastime is
eating.

at rare times he is reached
by telephone
usually
with an offer to act
an exceptional (he's
told)
motion picture.

he answers in a very soft
voice:

"oh, no, I don't want to
make any more movies ..."


"can we send you the
screenplay?"

"all right ..."

then
he's not heard from
again.

usually
what he and his few friends
do
after eating
(if the night is cold)
is to have a few drinks
and watch the screenplays
burn
in the fireplace.

or
after eating (on
warm evenings)
after a few
drinks
the screenplays
are taken
frozen
out of cold
storage.
he hands some
to his friends
keeps some
then
together
from the veranda
they toss them
like flying saucers
far out
into the spacious
canyon
below.

then
they all go
back in
knowing
instinctively
that the screenplays
were
bad. (at least,
he senses it and
they
accept
that.)

it's a real good
world
up there:
well-earned, self-
sufficient
and
hardly
dependent
upon the
variables.

there's
all that time
to eat
drink
and
wait on death
like
everybody
else.





Charles Bukowski

1 comentario:

Deyita dijo...

Some of them are back intercepting the rays of light, in silence, thinking "you should no go there until you learn how to cross the sea". He doesn't notice them. They are looking for what is beyond the mask, what is behind the scene; but his soul is locked carefully far away, in an unknown house, in the basement, trapped in a cat body.