Filmmaker, writer, ukulele player. In the Guinness Book for air-drumming. AriGoldFilms.com - follow @AriGold
Sonnet for My Father
“Fickle dancer of mine pumped up my thighs with helium,” I say. Helium, strange word to use for love, but it can disguise
We are the shadow of the hands The bound slaves of ten thousand years. Inside the bricks is the dust of crickets, locusts, worms, and lions
Four columns and a swing rope the rainbowed girl through aquamarine leaves leaving golden ash streams in the wake of morning stars.
The blue shirt with a stiff plastic back lands under the front row, which is still wet from the chlorine splashes of dolphins.
ORANGE DAWN All the birds wait this morning, heads under wings, hoping the sky is only a dream. It has become a flower the size of the cosmos,
Still Life with Orchid
STILL LIFE WITH ORCHID It is the foggy Baltic port, the seagulls laughing on the wooden houses. It is waiting four times for you to get off work at the bakery
My Summer Vacation at the Yugoslav Cheapo Film Festival
"The problem with Serbia," my friend Danilo told me, smiling over his beer, "is that here you know everything, but you can do nothing." I couldn't argue with him — six weeks before the fall of Milosevic, Danilo had only this to go on: he made short films, he read Noam Chomsky, he knew the names of obscure American comic-book writers, and last year his grade-school crush had her head blown off by a NATO bomb.