Watching Rashomon

Sitting on the sofa, cozy, my weight absorbed by the couch,

I watch the black and white.

Being sat on by the slob , absorbing the weight,

straining, someday a collapse will come. I'll take him with me .

Directing trillions of electron through a vacuum tube, I patiently constuct images, they mean little to me, but fatso likes them so.

Bored out of my mind, I sleep on the welcome mat. It’s nice and warm, I wish he turn the awul noise down, the putz.

I am the ghost of a dead film maker,

After all these years, I feel sad, that so few appreciate my work. If only there were aesthetics of viewers as much as the stuff being viewd, the world would be a different place.