BLUNTS / POWER TOOLS

The song draws

A memory

A fake melody

A feeling

You believed

And can't forget

That wasn't real

The time

You

Left

And what

You gained

At the arcade

I was the world’s worst projectionist. Even worse than the young guy at the Luna Outdoor with stress herpes over his mouth. I forget his name.  

When the other thing wasn’t working out I started looking for jobs. In the employment listings in the newspaper a job for a cinema projectionist. They were even going to train you up for the job. I hadn’t had sex in over five months. 

 

The listed number belonged to the silent manager who was known as Des, but his real name was Dennis McKenna who holds the records for child sexual abuse in South West Australia. He was elusive to get on the phone and usually you’d be greeted after a couple of rings by an effervescent voice recording saying ‘G’Day! You’ve reached the voicemail box of' followed by the voice of death itself, ‘Des.’ Pretty funny shit at the time.

 

Anyway Des was answering the phone and told me they’d had some interest but were waiting for confirmation from the government for training apprentices but come on in on this day with the others and check it out and see if you feel like you can do it. On the nominated night we all turn up, some people dressed up for an interview, me not really in an old Drowningman tee, an Irish weasel, and the rest of the dicks who’d never seen a piece of machinery in their life. Des blabbed on about the historic cinema and took us all up to the bio box and showed us the Italian projectors and told us they were the Rolls Royce of projectors which was of a standard for an artisan such as myself and most people had tuned out by then or believed him when he said he’d get back to us within the week and I was really enthusiastic and told him I’d really like the job because I needed the money and the other day I’d had an interview at a mechanics for an administration job which was a fucking disaster.    

 

The week rolls by and I’m ringing Des and getting the voice of death and leaving messages and I finally get him and he tells me they haven’t heard about the trainee scheme and I said let me come in anyway and I’ll train for free and give me a shot. He liked the sound of that and told me to come in when the other guy who kept calling too was coming in and it was weasel and that’s how they whittled down the group and got the two new projectionists. 

 

On my first night the day projectionist dropped Billy Wilder’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. He used to play his violin in the mall after his shift when all the shops had shut. Because the cinema staff were so fucking racist they used to talk amongst themselves and wonder if he was really stupid or just pretended he was goofy because he was Chinese. The film was a loose spool around the projector. It looked a celluloid puddle. Chris, the night projectionist, and I threw the print down the art deco stairs to untangle it. It was the only print of the film in Australia so I guess it was a historic print and it had turned pink in the can. 

 

Supposedly the main cinema itself was haunted. I never believed that. I didn’t believe in ghosts and supernatural. At least I didn’t, until I had to turn off the lights on a delay and bounce down those two dozen cinema stairs two steps at a time before the final aisle faded out and the cavernous cinema went skin-crawling pitch black. 

 

During the first few weeks Des ran me a line about a semi-regular he did driving out bush to remote communities showing movies where there weren’t cinemas. He offered me work as the projectionist running the digital projector. I said yes but changed my mind a few days later. I didn’t need the two hundred bucks that bad and it was probably for the best considering he’d been busted years earlier wanking off dozens of young boys in his job as warden of St Andrew’s Hostel at Katanning. 

 

A Rolodex of desperadoes. There was Mohammed from Somalia. There was the fat piggy cunt in a faux hawk. Leslie the head projectionist who’d sabotage the equipment before your shift and had been black banned from working at every other cinema chain commercial or independent in Perth. Cyril the owner who strangely rented our cinema yet owned a building in Leederville that was leased to another cinema chain and owned budget boarding houses that may or may not have catered to homosexual overnights. The sunburnt Italian backpacker who stayed with Cyril because she was a daughter of a friend of his and would have the most elaborate thong ride out of the back of her low-cut jeans when she’d be sweeping the popcorn in the aisles between screenings. The Irish weasel who’d studied film too but announced to everyone he was a film maker and ironically did become a director making shitty unfunny web series and direct-to-video sequels to moderate successes in the Australian box office. There were all the young casual kids on the roster who worked at the box office including the name Misty Chew who worked just one shift a fortnight and always cancelled that Sunday which made the regular staff believe her name was a joke until she appeared one day to collect the whopping sum of forty bucks she was owed and to apologise for not coming in lately.        

 

There was also the manager Kevin. Everyone would announce Kevin as being gay. Kevin, he’s gay. Chris says that he’s known Kevin for a long time and so he can say that. Kevin only worked night shifts. He was a manager who only worked night shifts. For his dinner break he’d walk twelve city blocks there and back for a super-hot takeaway coffee from the only cafe open 9.30 at night.   

 

There’re many things that can go wrong as a projectionist. The film gets scratched and the distributor stops leasing you prints because the cinema gets a name for it, unless you agree to pay a huge surety to keep leasing. Which of course our cinema had to. The film breaks during a screening because of a bad splice. The projectors don’t run. A piece of film is spliced in backwards which yep did that once too and the violin player told me to fix it before his next shift. The first real shift I ran Leslie turned the fucking platters off the night before so the film wouldn’t spin whilst it was being dragged through the projector and Des freaked out because it was a five-dollar rerun of Batman Begins and there was eighty people in the cinema. They rang the weasel to turn up and he arrived still off his face from snorting e’s the night before and when we finally got the film running the lens hadn’t been racked in place and the film was so out of focus we couldn’t figure out how to fix it. But all that is inconsequential because you can go home when your shift ends and feel like a shit and the shithole will be waiting for you the next day. The real problems were so-called brain wraps when the film jams in the dispenser in the middle of the platter. Running three projectors you couldn’t watch all three cinemas at once so often a customer would come up to the box office and tell us the film had stopped and you’d go down to the bio box and discover a tangled mess. I still have the occasional nightmare that I’m working at the cinema and the projector has brain wrapped and I’m stuck there fixing it. I also have dreams where I’m at the cinema and have forgotten how to run the projector admittedly not much to forget and that the cinema is a cave system where the bios are linked by tunnels you have to climb and crawl through but that probably says more about me than anything. 

 

But the worst worst worst problem that can happen is the film getting dropped. The latest material the celluloid was made from couldn’t tear or burn but it would build kinetic energy and static. Drop the film and all the dust on the dirty floor instantly zaps onto the print. Dust makes the scratches and ruins a print. Not really a problem to me. But a drop turns the film into the brain head fuck of all time. Thousands of feet of film and it's tangled into a mess the worst Gordian Knot. You could throw the fucking print down the stairs but that’s a team effort and essentially you’d just go Alexander and cut the film apart sticking matching lettered masking tape on each end and dragging the strips through the knot and splicing the shit back together hoping it still works when the film next runs. The cinema platters incorrectly pulled the film together pretty tight so you could lift the print off the platter and leave it against the wall if need be. But sometimes the film would slip in your hands and half of it would fall off. One night I was doing something stupid again and ran the wrong film session. I stopped the current film started the correct movie and had a print left that I’d partially run. You can’t rewind the films so I had the brainiac idea to move the print to the main bio box and somehow use the winders we used to make up individual reels into a big print to wind together the bad piece and stick it back in. Placing the film into a sleeve I heard a big slooooosh sound of which I thought nothing of and when Kevin was helping me carry the sleeve down the stairs the print with no centre ring to keep its shape slid through the gap in the bottom of the sleeve and cascaded down the steps like a glorious celluloid waterfall. Kevin helped me that night cut up the film – “Are you sure we can do this?”; “Um, yep” – and piece it together where it lay at the bottom of the cinema on the gross stained carpet and it only took us three hours to accomplish our task wrecking the print. Ever seen a film when they still were film and the picture would be speckled with dust and scratches? Maybe Sean O’Dea screened it once. 

 

Mohammed and pig cunt and weasel were young guys my age who were obsessed with girls and bragging about what they knew and their accomplishments with fucking and word of the times “tuning” where you find the girl’s frequency so you can make her amenable to a jolly good fucking. Weasel was a weasel who I sort of knew in the same social circles of Perth and he’d have the masterful pickup technique of talking to every unattended girl he saw and asking deep questions and sitting staring into their eyes and nodding meaningfully at what they said. What a technician. Mohammed was urban and a bit of mumbler but nice enough. He was also totally obsessed with fucking girls. One time he was talking to me about girls and asked genuine interest who I was “tuning” right now and said Um yep sure some girl I know and my reply was not true enough which gave him pause. 

 

And the fat piggy cunt was a total cunt. 

 

The guys would sit around in the foyer talking about girls when the girl ushers were out of ear shot. Hip hop girls are hot but too high maintenance. Yeah yeah. It’s easier to pull an 8 or 9 if they’re another race. Yeah right. I remember a white chick walked through the foyer in a boob tube sort of top and they all went phwoagh hot after she left and gobble gobble frenzified and as they drooled the most beautiful Vietnamese walked by them not considered and it was like the can floating past Jacques Lacan even she did not see them. 

 

We often would have a skinny girl come in who’d try to haggle over the price of tickets and candy and she was quite forthright and the guys would cower in the corner of the box office and she’d try negotiate and after the session ended she exited the theatre and walked past the cinema’s infamous silhouette of the naked woman on a mirror and she saw us all crowded around the box computer and silently scoffed maybe it was you?

 

One day pig cunt and Mo got talking about their worldly experiences and during their lunch break they walked over to the Club X with the neon sign of a girl with her skirt riding up over her bum and the Club at the time had live girls you’d watch through the glass masturbate to a timer. This I knew certain as a few years ago my first older girlfriend took me to a show and I was impressed the rubber glove wearing stripper pulled back her bathers and showed us her pussy before the window slam shut possibly because it was a couple watching the show and I actually think this older woman warped me for life taking my virginity and revealing carnal knowledge I learnt too soon. I passed the guys in the Murray street mall and pig cunt called out across the street “Sean is gay!” oh what fun. 

 

I hated those ushers so fucking much when they were cleaning the cinemas at the end of the night if they left the toilet mop unattended I’d sneak around in the aisles and touch them on the arse with the mop end. Suck shit sleazebags. 

 

They all tried to tune the burnt backpacker from Sardinia who was a beauty I did too of course I loved European women I’d already had sex with a couple a German and an Austrian. I found once in the morning and at least once in the evening was a good routine to abide by and I’ve had lovers remark they’ve found it hard adjusting to wearing pyjamas again and that I’m a nymphomaniac and they have a better sleep when I don’t sleep over because I’m not rolling over and touching them thrice asking for a hand job or for them to suck me off and I’ve created a monster and much later I don’t usually come from this. Sardinia had perfect teeth and beautiful eyes and her cheeks this natural red blush. I asked her if she wanted to come into the bio box and see the projector and she said yes and I explained the gear to her the Italian connection made her purr. Pig cunt kept calling out “Hey Sean can you show me the bio box” a bit loud so everyone could overhear and should I be embarrassed. I asked Sardinia if I could have her phone number and she said yes. 

 

One day in between equipment failure and general ineptitude I spoke to Mo who told me Sardinia was there the other day and you could “see her bending over and shit” the thong maybe and I bragged to Mo not proud now guess who has her number. He asked me to prove it so I hesitantly showed him worried he’d memorize the details and call her before me. When I called her the first time for a date she said she was waiting to hear back her shifts and she really wants to meet up and the next I rang she answered and hung up maybe Mo and pig cunt had conspired to turn her against me I still remember her saying true empathy forthcoming holiday in Europe “I really hope you get to see snow in Austria!” so grazie Bella. 

 

I couldn’t get a root to save my life. Years pass and back then and right now I look online to try find any mention of this cinema and sex and there’s nothing to be read. It started with ushers telling me about finding used condoms after sessions. Weasel and pig cunt became obsessed with scanning the box office cinema monitor for the slightest sign of cinema sex and would run down the foyer steps with the torch to spotlight our lovers en flagrante. A man came to the box office and complained to Kevin about kids sneaking in via the fire escape they used to leave the exit door ajar in the arcade and when Kevin and the girl ushers went down to cinema 2 to confront the kids the man was fucking his girlfriend’s guts out on the floor next to the seats he had to leave too. My first encounter I exited the bio box the main cinema and on the back row dead centre a girl sat on her boyfriend’s lap tiny black shorts she shot me a stare Jennifer Lopez Maid in Manhattan out in the foyer I stopped and snuck up theatre steps eyes pop over balustrade thirty foot screen white scene a spotlight six people up front jaws slack watch the film and way at the back the girl’s white bum she rode her boyfriend’s dick my god I think she was sixteen she looked like my Melbourne ex. I wonder if they used a condom. A Somalian turned up once a week with his blonde girlfriend. Through the bio box portholes I could see him finger her or she’d suck him and once they were caught and standing in the foyer her cheeks blushed and the guy asked Mo if he could finish himself off in the toilets and Mo said go ahead yes clear come covered the upright toilet seat. Claire F. turned up once for a free movie and I sat with her for forty minutes in the theatre as the three projectors did their thing a row down a couple Tiger Woods in glasses the girl put her hand down his shorts and gave it a swirl and once at the Zanzibar Nightclub I thought I had a chance with Claire but a young guy on the dance floor tuned her away and tried to rape her on the wharf I walked home and slept ok but I shouldn’t talk about her because she’s now dead. In the foyer a guy and girl caught the vibe she went to the toilet and came back with her leggings in her handbag they sat on the back couch in the corner of the cinema and as I peered around the bio box door my phone went bong a new message I hid with the projector and after found the door pushed shut and I couldn’t see them through the portholes. The final indulgence cinema 2 last session of the night credits roll a Chinese girl rides her boyfriend reverse cowgirl pneumatic action she watches the film some guy hunched over front row four seats away reads the titles and she flashes the screen. I couldn’t get a root. 

 

The second last shift forever I was due to fly out and I dropped a film print in the last session of the evening.

 

It should have been a simple transfer from the top platter to the wall but half the print slipped off the ring in my hands we had to leave and I told Kevin I had to stay back and fix the film it should only take a few hours and he told me how to close up the cinema and how to set the alarm and didn’t offer to help this time instead great joke you’ll be here all night and I’ll find you sleeping on the couch I’ll check the cameras when I come in tomorrow afternoon you’ll be asleep on the couch. I left the main cinema lights on as it was haunted and figured out how the radio on the sound stack worked and turned it up some late night show repeating on loop every half hour not heavy metal that was my style they fuck in the cinemas I was over my goth stage they fuck in the cinemas. 

 

The print had split into two spools but it wasn’t long before one spool was tangled and next the other and I dropped it all on the floor a total total fuck up maybe I’d been lucky the other times and my total inability as a projectionist now revealed you’d be surprised how much floor space the film can cover. Cyril tells me all that dirt goes from south to north hemisphere and how does that affect the earth, “tons of weight, think about it” he says with a fey righteous lisp the tight arse makes the popcorn himself in the store room he can’t trust the staff big sweaty ochre globs dripping off his forehead and combover short for breathe the fucking stink. Cutting and pasting to the alphabet it’s easier not to stuff up instead of numbers but I still had four or five m and n’s I had to try match the frames instead does anyone care the film is out of order the radio on loop they fuck in the cinemas they must use the flashlight to catch some in out action I only saw her white bum there’s a clock on the wall so you know when to go down to the other bio boxes to turn off the projector and turn up the lights and shut the gate it’s more professional if the losers waiting back watching the credits don’t see the tail of the film running through the gate it’s past two am the film in its natural element is reversed and back-to-front a magnifier would have helped I didn’t care get me out of here. Tight shorts they fuck in the cinema. Tight shorts they fuck in the cinema. Where are the blonde and the Somalian now I was never that adventurous we once tried in a chair but the cushion was too narrow watched ourselves naked in a dress mirror my erection poked her stomach why does it bend to the left she asked we stacked some phone books so I could fuck her on the high kitchen counter and the condom was green I felt like an alien and the only time she showed any interest in sucking me I had to wear the bright fluoro pink condom it was the only one left in the box and she pulled the doona over her head. The clock on the wall the chopped up film don’t drop the splicer it’s worth a thousand dollars or did Chris say two hundred I’d left the cinema lights on to scare away ghosts my shirt riding out of my pants and my socks could walk themselves down the steps they fucked in this cinema they fucked on the back row dead centre tight shorts tight underpants down the steps round the corner tight underpants I took off my shirt and my socks and shoes and my pants left them on the winding room table tight underpants tight around my waist the dirty concrete and film under my feet I walked down the bio box steps and sat where they sat changed my mind and moved a seat over maybe it was there. I hooked the waistband with my thumb to keep it off my balls and occasionally I’d bring an old tape recorder to work fondling forward and reverse and listening to my baritone voice whispered debauchery for an insipid book idea button she moaned the button the button I was endeared having my fingers inside her the first time I’d felt a pussy it felt soft like an armpit the button the button and I rubbed the button with her come and asked her to stroke me and she sort of did but the button. Watch this watch this the camera above the silver screen direct to the box office monitor recordings wiped every two weeks and the alternator hummed too loud the old projectionists kicked it quiet but they never told me. Am I in yet I asked and she straddled me and held my dick am I in yet and when she groaned I thought she was having an orgasm it could have been five seconds or minutes or hours for all I could remember a special treat the first time no protection look how much you came! her olive ballon calf and thigh black pussy dripping milky-white and I think she was actually Turkish she lied about being German. When I kissed the Austrian on the edge of the bed my heart was pounding so hard I was shaking it’s just you that feels that way it’s selective perception that's why you keep seeing Vienna everywhere and the other guy who fucked me and all I could do was twist my hips and watch my come strike the seat and she twisted and wiggled over and pressed her naked stomach against my stomach so the come didn’t get on the mattress and I was going to see her again in a week. 

 

I got dressed and stitched the film together and drove home and had two hours sleep and went to work the morning shift.

 

The camera’s recording lasted for two weeks, I wonder if Kevin the gay manager tuned in.

 

After I left the projectionist job it was years before I could watch a movie in the cinema.

Untitled

When I lie in bed
I remember 
All the bad
Dreams
I had
The night
Before
And hope
I don’t
Dream
Them
This night 
Again

Cloudless night

A cloudless night
A sliver
of moon
A banking plane
flying low
blinking red light
Wing clips
the moon 
it tilts 
falls back
into place
The little boy
sees it
Never
will again 

Fingernails

Her fingernails
red nail polish
she’s always chewing
on her 
red nail polish
she had a tooth fixed
in her smile line
her smile line
the sky line
grey and cold
her skinny legs
the sky line
grey and cold