They don’t say why it is happening. Why the falls keep falling. Why the young woman wrapped in see-through plastic is found by the side of the river. Why men gather there to poke at her body amazed.
They tell us through music that the most marvellous flowers become organs of decay. Then shoot the days and nights with a soft kind of evil.
Black light, grey light, cloud, intermittent rain, a slight wind as if ghosts were drifting by; these things calm us for the next peaking moments.
As the sawmill burns; the crazed phantom overpowers the lawyer; the dreamtime midget acts like a dream; the beautiful waitress is steadily abused; the Log Lady cradles her piece of wood and speaks movingly of transcendence.
Throughout there’s the sombre music, the swollen river, and then, finally, me showing the sheriff a good time in the seedy motel. They say I’m the one-eyed Jack disguised as a schoolgirl. I’m wearing white knee socks, a black patch over my left eye.
They don’t say why I am happy. 