ALLEREGRETTO
A Maltese falcon gagging on a silver spoon perches upon a big brass ring atop the Tower of Babel erected as part of a downtown revitalization project in the heart of a shining city on a hill which has been oh-so-wisely sited upon a house of cards soaked in gasoline-
Cross-fade to a higher realm of flavor . . .
You bump into Orson Welles at the all-you-can-eat country buffet in Heaven. He’s puffing on a cigar, so you ask him for a match.
Later that evening . . .
A massive fire burns out of control, destroying the house of cards and all that it supports in spectacular fashion.
Meanwhile, back at the buffet . . .
Welles smashes a burning Maltese falcon over and over again with his cane as the cursed bird tries again and again to peck out his eyeballs.
Cue the allegretto bit from Beethoven’s No. 7 . . .
You tower above all things as a shining titan of destruction. Major media outlets interview you.Your followers defend you no matter how destructively stupid your decisions are-for they are ordained by the Shining Fate of Avarice! Critics accuse you of being a derivative sellout. Historians relegate you to a footnote. Your exes execrate you.You make fancy hand gestures that people interpret as Illuminati signals. Rosicrucians and Rotarians feel left out of the discourse. By the time you enter your singer-songwriter phase some other shining titan of destruction has seized the spotlight, rolling around in the ashes’n’rubble, smashing dumptruck’n’tank against each other, imitating the voices of Optimus Prime’n’Megatron, making explosion sound effects-
And the popular audience finds itself suffused with an irrational desire to give their antediluvian Zardoz DVDs a spin . . .
