The Fate of Everyone Except Jesus, Buddha and Lincoln.

11 Jan

Oh, Frances Rose, what are you thinking as you sit there in that formidable chair somewhere in Berlin?  Are you worried about how you are going to pay your rent?  Especially, since the last twenty marks to your name are going to this somewhat annoying photographer rather than to your landlord. A man with a sad but leering face.

Are you thinking of all the actresses that you run into each day who are simply the cat’s pajamas? Even though, they can’t hold a candle to you when it comes to making tears gush forth on cue.  No matter what decadence or shenanigans of philistinism are going on around you. You just remember, feel and out they stream down your peachy cheeks.

Are you weary of the bright smiles, inside jokes and aura of good cheer that you have to conjure up to please the little trolls with stuffed wallets?  Does your soul ache from the go, go, go on the treadmill to a murky future? Can you feel youth fleeing from you like Peter Pan’s shadow?  (A part you played brilliantly in spite of that nincompoop critic’s review.)

Are you down to your one acceptable gown?  One tiny spill away from having your mask of glamour disappear?  A rip or tear away from being some mundane woman who can burst into tears when someone barks a command through a megaphone?

Frances Rose, are you thinking of the past or the future?  And if it’s the future are you picturing a day long from this when someone will stare at this portrait and wonder what that look in your eyes meant?

 

 

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One Response to “The Fate of Everyone Except Jesus, Buddha and Lincoln.”

  1. Richie DeMaria January 11, 2011 at 10:17 AM #

    dang

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