I knew a projectionist
He liked to work late, later than he had to
He placed himself amongst the slow hours
So that he could be the faster man
He worked into the night, volunteering to splice footage
Just so that he could be around
Recounting and rewinding people being people
He projected the images against his own home walls
Whitewashed and perfect, like bleached skull bone
But he didn't want to be there, not alone
And I discovered through mutual friends
That he was dying and this is why he was rewind recording
That revealed on the cutting room floor
A need to destroy canned trivia
So simply
Enjoyed the story and the technique. *
I like this for its conciseness and its brevity.
Really love this: "He placed himself amongst the slow hours
So that he could be the faster man"
Nice. "Recounting and rewinding people being people" (as in, what poets/writers do!).