In This Scene, My Copilot and I Crash the Moonbuggy
In this scene, my copilot and I crash the moonbuggy into the Cretaceous Period. Listen to the way I soften my O’s when I scream into the headset, Houston, we have a prehistoric problem! That sort of enthusiasm is what separates Copenhagen community theater from the late Danish masters. In these memoirs, I’ve expounded on that dappled marble we call memory. I’ve disabled the regret machine defectively spewing from my chest. Like a weak-willed forest fire, I’ve spread only that ruin which I believed beneficial. Once, as a student, I fell into a deep sleep during a public showing of Triumph of the Will. Asleep through the deafening marches, iron eagles crowding the lens, asleep through the next two decades until a loose chandelier collapsed. Around me, the bones of my fellow moviegoers heaped the carpet. In this scene from Dino Disaster 5, I tap into those twenty stolen years. Watch my lip quiver as I unhitch my raptor bike for one more ride. As I deliver the titular line This ain’t no time-spill, it’s a dino disaster, the tears you see are real, the ghosts moonlighting in the camera’s cavernous afterglow.
