The Greater Oxford Collection of Braille Film Reviews for Blind Insomniacs

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Surreal examination of alienation and poetic dispair.

Submitted: November 13, 2011

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Submitted: November 13, 2011







He says, "My love is a rhombicosidodecahedron;

A shape no one can explain;

A dichotomy of lust

Verging upon confusion."

And very little else

Making conversation impossible

But people admired him for his consistency.


Long before this he'd heard that love was

Like a double bed

What you make of it,

Until I assured him it was

Like a grave;

Dig it, dig it

Dig your own grave

You'll be happy if you do.


I bite rats' heads off in cinemas

To relieve the tension of the pending frame.


A man pulls out his soul, on screen;

It's the darkest soul in captivity

But he pulls it out anyway

And proceeds to grate it

Into particles the size of pinheads

And begins to assemble them very carefully

Upon the very white page.

This takes more than a week

Without food or sleep

Nicotine or masturbation

Until they take on the semblance of order,

And like this is turning into

An extremely long film.


Finally the particles of finely grated very dark soul

Have been arranged to form a poem

On the very white page.

Entitled:  'Genital$', (his mind has a faulty 's' key),

'A ma$ked woman enter$;

$he take$ off everything but the ma$k

And flaunt$ her labyrinth at the crowd

Who purr wildly before tearing her apart.

A$ they lick the blood from one another'$

Genital$ and claw$

No one bother$ to examine her face.'


But sadly after all this effort

A gust of wind reassembles it

Leaving him blind with rage

Unable to read the expurgated version

Entitled:'There are more than eleven small towns in Burma',

Possibly the greatest windswept poem of our time.

The grief kills him in his own dank corner

And the poem goes onto become

The basis of the worlds longest film review.

© Copyright 2018 Craig Davison. All rights reserved.

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