'head light smear' by John Watermann

b y j o h n w a t e r m a n n

An overhead film camera is winding up fibers, substantiating a more human description of disintegration. I  realize I have to return correct methodologies in favour of what can be so often. Especially of how do you say it to those demanding more oxygen.

There is the noise of the machine. It is an old film camera indeed, incessantly used by the utterly due upon. What the harness actually does is to protect us from yesterday's technologies. Pretty ago near somewhat several good which means one more or less going with it. Each one falls down abruptly, therefore we can study it by resting on our elbows. As if this is what we have. More extraordinary whereas although occasionally in somewhat this willingly goes well, almost of how to stop the awkward moment. We know that it demands flexibility, stress fingers outside the coordinates, tackling the same again day after day, wet towels in the bathroom as something mandatory.

In order to what my own is much more personal by not overhearing assertions of what it is when I do not have it, I thus repress it. Lately I even prefer it less cinematic: an overhead film camera is winding up fibers, full stop. Aside from being once entirely gone, I include it arbitrarily. Removing it would mean that it could have meant very little but then so be it. A measurable cataclysm, which simply has to be. This is what it means to be bound to a tiny regime. To make it accessible to the masses, parading it certainly not. Piecing together what could be said more directly by outdoing the unadventurous, the unwilling and plain lazy, by letting them decipher it breathing next to a ventilator.

We take it in turns. Two years ago I was coaxing it, coming close to bastardizing it by putting the most banal of it to a piece of paper.  I faked voraciousness.  Then I noticed the smear on the head light. From completely near. Road fatalities  are much more common than at any moment, therefore most cordially in opposition to somewhat onto. Clearly not only opposite. All of us are aware of it: it is the result of computation. Injuries remain fictitious,  all of them beautiful, although very quickly fading.  To disbelieve what is smeared on a body of glass, so therefore a certainty, so therefore a something in front of our own eyes. Hanging by the threads of our own addiction to begin with,  it takes no longer than to harm it. Literature becomes haberdashery.

So don't let on! (More ambitious of whereas also well ours! ) This happens likewise advanced when additionally it is allowed several seconds inside negroization and a blunt cervix jackknife.

I always have taken chances. Not being committed to the noise of a running film camera makes it easy for: "The lisp is mine, I've got the lisp!" I am not suggesting something like having had something for breakfast, while having it already behind me. This merely has to be seen in context of being in favour of easily being swayed towards a head light smear. Let me indeed, it is that while I have not adopted it, it is being squashed sufficiently quite easy, especially very easy, as if still onto where it was or more precisely where it was near the invention of the sentence. It is an area that tends to be in the exterior. It is resuscitation to me without sideburns, as road fatalities fall naturally close to statistics.

I can explain this lack of affliction. It is away from the most sympathetic. It revolves around quaintness in traces where it is not yet explicit. The up several as a major source for lacking compassion through the urge of it.

What is the use of preconceived ideas?  As though no when it is what we have.  An anomalous response to the noise of the film camera. After at least two more than one,  it is what I have build for you as the reader. It is intensely squatting to those who constantly have it inside it. Our laying it across is for many too long.

To intend in detail the narrative more on,  unwiring our own anomaly so to speak, one has to eject it most audibly, let diversification succeed: the overhead film camera capturing palpitations of light, laundry stains on film, Hollywood for a single moment. A try of how soon the rhapsodic can claim automatism. Unless light is  operational, now stiff somewhat traditional, thereafter  maybe millions of mostly dramatic. Whenever a single is before of what we lace on film, we are winning the battle with the overhead film camera. Except for the most optical a few minutes ago,  it is next to the downs of mostly overconfident,  then rapidly towards ripening since wax.

 A truly small range of absurdity. Why even try to just scratch the surface if it is film?

Let me as paraffin.  The inner calmness is in all of us,  our good reputation relinquished. We are left with stale sentiments of Rhine stone. Not even the tabloids would be willing to touch such a subject: a blossom covered warship,  constrained by its own diameter,  steaming out of this paragraph (the one missed by the Italian film maker).