Adaptation

This next piece is a sort of adaptation. Its not an original, but its not simply a paraphrased quote either. The original poem comes from a sequence in the movie Memoria. A 70 minute film based of the short stories by James Franco. The poem struck me at home, and the words felt relatable, true, and lyrical. I tried looking online for the exact quote, but couldn’t find anything. So, what did I do? I put the movie on and paused it line by line, writing down every word and rewinding multiple times. I want to share it with everyone, but I’ve decided to do so with a twist. While some of it is quoted from the original, I have taken away some of it and replaced it with my own original words, inspired by the quote. So, just to be clear so I dont get sued, I do not take credit for a large part of this poem. In no way are these words my creative property, Im just using them as a platform. In a sense, this is practice. Hunter S. Thompson used to sit at a type writer and rewrite books written by his favorite authors. Apparently, he did this to help himself understand and learn the magic and flow of great writers. This is kind of like that, except for instead of rewriting something written by a heralded author, Im rewriting a poem from a movie…and instead of actually just rewriting it word-for-word, Im adding some of my own words. Whats underlined is from the original, whats not is from me. I hope you enjoy it. One last thing, definitely check out the movie. Its damn good.

Memoria.

I have this memory of a girlfriend I had in third grade. During recess, her and one of her friends took my behind a large pine tree, and I kissed her. Afterwords, we walked around the playground holding hands. When the next school year started, she moved to California, and I changed schools.

I keep forgetting if the things I remember
happened or not.
Maybe our memories are just a collection of the things
we wished happened.

I want to drive off,
wind flapping,
tires screeching.
The smell of pine in the air.
Inky, black silence.

I want to find a woman
let her devour me
like a creature,
animals staring back at us,
down a mountain
into nothing.

If she knew what was going through my head right now, she’d think I was crazy.

By this time next year,
I want to be in Seattle,
or New York,
near the ocean,
waves engulfing me,
surrounded by millions of people I’ve never seen,
who’ve never seen me.

I want to be a man who sings from rooftops
who stumbles through filthy ally ways,
lost.
I want to retrace my fathers footsteps,
get lost in dive bars
where I drink until morning.

I have one too many, and a tattooed woman offers me a cigarette. I take her home and we fuck on a dirty bed.
She says she has to go,
I never see her again.

An old man lives inside me,
and the walls are so thin
I can hear him crying.
I can never figure out why,
keeps me up at night.

With each passing day
memories fade,
voices become echoes,
and faces disappear.
I wonder how many of my friends have forgotten me,
how many strangers
remember the blur of my passing face,
and my father,
has he forgotten me too?
Was I ever a passing thought to him?
or merely a name,
forgotten…
did he feel lonely?

I dont want to run from things,
tire my feet searching for things I’ll never find.
I want to be a man who howls from rooftops.
A man
without fear.

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