“So,” I asked, “how was the flight.” “I dreamed I was a tiny African child who just pooped his pants,” said Dylan. “Please explain,” said I. “I was this little black boy riding bumpily along in the back of a rebel van and I pooped my pants. Then I woke up and realized the plane was landing and I guess the change in air pressure activated my anus so my body began to fart longer and louder than it has ever farted. I was in a kind of sleep paralysis too where I was trying to put a stop to the situation once I became aware of it but I had no active ability or bodily control. All I could do was slowly shake my head with a look of total horror upon my face as I was waking. Earlier I ate this huge vegan burrito stuffed with spices and beans, hence I guess the thrust and fullness of the action from my anus. I was seated next to this angry fat woman who previously fought me for one of my middle seat armrests. She wasn’t versed in the Jim Jefferies school of airplane etiquette (wherein window gets an armrest and a wall, middle gets two armrests, isle gets an armrest and a leg) so a part of me hoped the others on the plane would think this endless farting horror was her. Meanwhile all I could do was slowly shake my head. When I realized my wild eyes and head shaking only incriminated me more, I forced my head still and tried to just look neutral. The looks on peoples’ faces were like are you kidding me right now and holy Jesus Christ shit and what the goddamn actual fuck and this just can’t be happening. All I could do was sit there. Helplessly farting. Loud and long and endless. I could even feel my bum cheeks flapping, such was the continuous energy and pressure of the fart. It was the longest loudest fart of my life. I worried that I might really have shit my pants. And the whole time I just kept on farting.” “Hm,” I said. “I feel joy for not having been there.” “Yeah,” said Dylan. “It was one of those times when I was really glad you weren’t.”
A sad and powerful story beautifully photographed and gracefully told. Classic and masterful in its simplicity. Love and survival, triumph and sorrow, cinema as elegance and poetry.