Charlie Chaplin

Released in 1940. Machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts.

title untitled

All that once was, is lost.

All I recall is a road along the river, leading on and on. The willows sway in the shadows, the wind whips overhead. I walk and walk, but there is no end in sight.

all my friends.

All my friends wrote songs that they believe, little lies and massive dreams.
They all say slow down
You’ve got to turn it, make it sail.
There’s a whore inside your bed
Your ex-lover is not dead
And they all request that you slow down.
You’ve got to turn it around
Make it sail.
And all my friends.
Once you stop you can’t repeat.

dad

haiku esc

In the cold light

of this unpromising moon

I am thinking of you.

destruction.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels,

after the tea cups

and the skirts that trail along the floor -

And this, and so much more? -

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

would it have been worth while

if one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

"That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all"

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels,

after the tea cups

and the skirts that trail along the floor -

And this, and so much more? -

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

would it have been worth while

if one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

"That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all"

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels,

after the tea cups

and the skirts that trail along the floor -

And this, and so much more? -

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

would it have been worth while

if one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

"That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all"

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels,

after the tea cups

and the skirts that trail along the floor -

And this, and so much more? -

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

would it have been worth while

if one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

"That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all"

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels,

after the tea cups

and the skirts that trail along the floor -

And this, and so much more? -

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

would it have been worth while

if one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

"That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all"

Julia Paradise

'He would relive for a long time everything she said to him in the room at the mission. He would recall the way her voice had grown thicker and thicker, and how her head had begun to hang to one side from the exhaustion of her telling, and how he made himself face the photograph of the dead child...' Impossible to tell where the truth lies, Julia Paradise is a morphine addict inhabiting a swampy, snake-infested world whose sexuality threatens to engulf her - and Ayres, her Freudian physician and lover.

Metamorphosis

He is mourning the loss of his humanness.