do you know what it’s like to tear tickets at a podium
standing on the same set of legs for twelve hours?

i do.

do you know what it’s like to make enough popcorn
to feed the swarming, blood-thirsty masses
of horny adolescent locust cows
filtering mercilessly into the concession stand?

to burn a perfect batch of kettle corn, terrified
as the sweet smoke rises towards the fire detectors
and you know if it gets to be too much
that the alarms will sound
and the box office will have to refund
every ticket sold that evening
to the growling sheep ready to pounce at guest services?

to sit alone in a giant room filled with candy
disgustingly suicidal at three in the morning
counting pieces of stale sour strips by the pound
when all you want is to go home
and die for a day or two in your warm bed?

to wear a three-piece-suit in a congested concession stand
making popcorn bites and overpriced pizzas
while your sixteen-year-old cohorts jack off behind you?

to hold the door for the smiley motherfuckers coming out
of rancid movie theaters leaving behind used condoms
and the scent of bad chainsaw-slasher-horror-movies
and pubescent screams like sadistic adolescent dry humps
in the back of minivans?

to digest a three-course-meal of super nachos
topped with synthetic guacamole
and diluted jalapenos
and insecure sour cream and cheese
that turns to stone in your lower intestines
that you eat on a ten minute grace period
between cleaning monster theaters
where children find ways of getting sour patch kids
and malted milk balls stuck on the ceiling?

to tell the new hires to go get more ice mix
or to only scrub the yellow squares of the carpet
because they’re the only ones that get dirty
or to tell them to go clean theater seventeen
because haha, there’s only sixteen theaters here?

to escape from the cinematic madness to the back room
where the drink compressors hiss
and the dishwasher gargles
and there’s a starry-eyed girl waiting there
and in the midst of gladiator battles and spaceship races,
there is a moment of nothing

where the universe puts its phones on silent
and you too can kiss like you think you know what love is?

to run the satellite food station on a tuesday night
which means you have plenty of free time
to contemplate why you need a second food staion
open a god-forsaken tuesday night?

to have your boss pull you aside to tell you
that you can’t show up to work drunk anymore
and it’s okay if you’re late
just call.

to lock up the front doors at closing
and then to unlock the arcade games
so you and your stupid coworkers can play pinball
and DDR to your little infantile heart’s content
and little known fact –
the high scores on the arcade games at the movie theater
are held by the employees of said movie theater.

to walk to the last bus in the streetlight twilight
with a black trash bag full of popcorn
that keeps you company on the lurking ride home?

to be a ghost in the projector room
to be God flashing images of everylife and eternal heartbeat
onto the anorexic white screen of pure truth?

to sit in a GMC Jimmy at four in the morning
listening to song ADD with a sweet girl
who happens to be your boss
who you like to make out with –
who cares?!
the movie theater isn’t exactly your five-year-plan?

to go talk to the widowed ticket-taker
who hugs you with her eyes
and tells stories the way stories are meant to be told
between two people
instead of between a gaggle of morons
and a billion dollar budget?

to be stuck in the money room
starving for food and moonlight
but you aren’t leaving
until one hundred dollars finds itself?

to go home smelling like decaying sugar
and italian sodas and superficial butter and sweat
and the dead babies living in the squeaky movie theater seats
and coke and diet coke and icees, yeah, blue raspberry icees
and all-beef hot dogs and so much drama
and it was the worst job ever and it was yes.

just yes.




the viewing arenas are saturated with doe-eyed girls
lights go down
the bright white glitter skin of james dean emasculated
ooh the trembling knees of housewives in the crowd
lucky bland beautiful boring girl finds herself lost
in the bermuda love triangle with a bat and a dog
team? i am on no one’s team
burn the theaters down!
stab the actors with stakes! shoot em with silver bullets!

the vampires will seduce you with their lust
this way, darling
one small step at a time
you’re melting
and in the warmth of their cold embrace
they will drain your blood

the greatest fictional romance of my generation is between a teenaged girl and a vampire
what more proof do you need
that we are stuck
somewhere between
puberty and fantasy?





to beat captain stacey to the scene of the crime to beat up the baddies looking for the one
who killed my uncle ben that unforgettable night in the gutters and the vengeance i’d carry
i want to weigh my decisions like a bus full of tourists in one arm and a little girl with pigtails
dangling from the other, i want to know what it’s like to see the world through eight eyes
i want to sense danger and chase danger and weave through the madness – a psychotic vigilante
to delve into science and to stop curt conners from becoming the very opposite of who he truly is
to kiss gwen stacey on the bleachers and to tuck her blonde blonde blonde hair behind her goofy
ears so that i can stare at her blue eyes sitting there above her unforgettable freckles and yeah
i want to climb walls like it was second nature and i want to jump from building to building in
the night light of a great american city, to create intricate webs to sustain the villains and at the end of this writhing monster of a glorious day i want to retire back to my childhood home where aunt may is waiting for me with a warm cup of cocoa and a heart the size of all of this around me