accomplishments


59 days before my 39th birthday,
I’m watching “The Deer Hunter”.
It’s a spectacle. It’s a burden.
The storm before the storm.
Every amble of this movie travels without harm.
Savage screams, DeNiro shouts epitaphs
pounded into granite, Walken’s sick of it all.
This is this, you’re on your own. Cazale hurts us.
Greatest amount of acclaim for the
smallest body of work. I look at the mirror
and see him staring at me, but he’s wearing an
1862 imperial beard. The guillotine looms for Aramis.
I turn to the screen, and Cazale checks his zipper.
Do not worry, Fredo – you and I are creepy things
in this wilderness, but we are fireflies and
shall always be remembered and caressed
by the hands of our senseless and beloved
mutilators.

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