Loose Mail
There are collectors out there. They buy super 8.
Silent, poorly printed pornos. Pre video.
Beaver shots. Big titties. There are lots of those.
Avant garde films these days are often indistinguishable from
the pornos. Only the concept of irony separates them.
They are searching for my films.
The loose mail office in Denver Colorado sent the letter.
The box had arrived there empty.
My films are floating around in the system somewhere. Hard grey plastic boxes.
In their search, will they go about unraveling reels?
Tiny 8 millimeter frames.
You need a magnifying glass to see what's there.
Here's one of a blonde girl tied up with legs spread.
Nope. not mine.
My opening sequence is of a taxidermied chicken
standing on a dock, tail feathers waving in a breeze.
Cold winter blue. Sky and Atlantic.
Coiled rope. Dinghys. No people.
The chicken is trapped on an island trying to get off.
" CANT SWIM CANT FLY" is scrawled in black sharpie on the box.
My films got lost in the mail.
3 humble little things.
Super 8. sincere efforts. Visual poems. Small gauge wonders.
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© 2000-2004 by Bud Scrape