Kill Bill: Vol. 1

 

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Nancy Sinatra, the daughter not the wife, helps reimagine us in a desert town. 

Either these places don’t exist anymore or, bang bang, the world’s grown larger.

I hit the ground—does a tumbleweed roll by at this moment or is that overkill?

If I die does that make me the hero? And what about Cher? It’s her song.

Scenes are never filmed by temporal sequence. 

Here you put a bullet in my head then we’re getting coffee. Then you’re giving me a ride, 

on your back, you lift me up. I’m asking you if I’m heavy: 

am I heavy, am I heavy. How could I be?

Maybe we’re the actors. We meet in the hotel lobby, bang bang, 

let’s grab coffee. Why is it always coffee?

I like to reimagine us as a Quentin Tarantino film because here the girls 

are fighters, here their pain is sensationalized, here we watch them suffer,

watch them suffer, watch them suffer. Bang 

bang. I don’t have to re-imagine us. My baby shoots me down and somebody

makes a cover of it, and a cover of it, and a cover of it. 

What an awful sound.