Yesterday evening I noticed in the Picayune that another western was playing at the same theater...There was this: a mockery about the old seats, their plywood split, their bottoms slashed, but enduring nevertheless as if they had waited to see what I had done with my fourteen years. There was this also: a secret sense of wonder about the enduring, about all the nights, the rainy summer nights at twelve and one and two o'clock when the seats endured alone in the empty theater.posted by dreamyshade at 12:48 PM on June 22, 2010 [1 favorite]
...As, in a theatre,posted by esprit de l'escalier at 2:51 PM on June 22, 2010 [1 favorite]
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
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posted by Sys Rq at 11:41 AM on June 22, 2010 [2 favorites]