Holly & James Dean: A Ghost Tale

Reason is an aid to stories. It's the ghost
out of the cell.
--Lyn Hejinian

Holly's monolith de l'histoire
[James Dean] what Holly wld kiss
like death rocks below

--what occurs while no one is watching--

a camera that pans

[locked tight on
the shoe of] [the face of]
Holly's Lacan-grid simulacra [offal-fjord-
simulacra-of-etc] hell-bent on Main St.

& strangely & w/ palm trees south of:
how do I explain this shot to you? If you
don't already know what I'm saying?


Whole as Holly's laude oef myte
& wrytinge bi Chryste even
Holly's heavenly script's a gaff,
her life / her death epitomized
cinematically / linguistically--
a deadpan perpendicular as self.

A film, wherein, Holly dies--
God's little repentant warrior-saint:
"Hope bends us to serve it," she cries,
all positings blossoming away.
Her ghost on film gets info straight
But isn't what Holly wld write herself.
"I have become historical," kids Holly
"When did I become historical?"

Her vexers' hoot! hoot!
bewailing, beseeching off camera:
Our snails are tropes!
Our snails are tropes!
Such rich, rich tiny worlds
& of none to live in // upon.


Waft'd. Parabolic. Odd.

Holly's little lit-postmodern
asks each actor-ghost:

"In this scene
does little-road-kill-child

Her doppleganger's ghastly
final lines (rehearsed extempore):

"Our thens devour us!"
"Our thens devour us!"

allow her voice its mise en scene.

A voice emphatic as.
Upon which she projects--

grasping the difference.