Enter el cine. The Cinema. Black, then light. Colors. Projector emitting picture upon picture. Sound comes from nothing, yet surrounds everything.The lone man stumbles. Shadow, mist, crippled. Slowly enters. Approaches. Silent. The noise rises. Doom. Death. Is it bearing down upon you? He moves forward. Why crippled, big man? The Shadow Man exits. Darkness. Enter the war over stars. The tale unfolds. Once upon a time... War. Victory. Defeat. Death. The tale begins, then ends. Exit. Darkness. Boulders rest, brown upon brown. Suffering. Death. The sound, it contradicts. Scars. The past. The future? The unknown. Forward walking. Never stopping. Silence. The silent ones march. Darkness enters. Then white. Exit. Images, nothing of meaning, compact upon one another. Frames by the millions, the billions, some emit sound while others remain silent. The silent ones ushered the beginning, while the colorful noise continues forth. We watch yet for naught? We, the silent watchers, stare, absorb, and gather what? The markings persist when left. They linger, persist, diminish, impress. Dare deny the cinema its power? Crushed, defeated, the outspoken are silenced. The crowds continue. Pictures upon pictures. Produced, sold, repeated, viewed, silenced, heard, shuffled, forgotten, remembered. Lay the script bare. Behold. Exit el cine.
