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when i went to bed i got laffin and crying all to once, and coodent stop, and mother set in my room and kept her hand on my forred until i went to sleep. i drempt i was fiting all the time. when i get big enuf there is going to be a fite between me and old Francis, you see if there aint.
A friend took me to the drive-in theater to see this movie.
From IMDB:
Once Upon a Time in the West (1968)
The previews for the film in the US were a disaster. People found it too slow and too long, so much to the disgust of Sergio Leone, roughly twenty minutes of the film was cut. The scenes removed included Jill, Harmonica, and Cheyenne first encountering each other at the tavern. So Lionel Stander who played the bartender was in the credits but not actually in the film, and Cheyenne wasn't first seen until he shows up and confronts Jill at the McBain's. Even more crucially, his death was removed at the end. The last you saw of him and Harmonica was the two of them riding off together. This was the version released in the US and it wasn't a success. In most of Europe, a 165 minute version was released, and in Italy the 171 minute version the way Leone intended it to be. In France it was a huge success and Leone was proud of the fact that one cinema in Paris played it uninterrupted for four years. When he visited this theater, he was surrounded by fans who wanted his autograph, as well as the projectionist, who was less than enthusiastic. Leone claimed the projectionist told him "I kill you! The same movie over and over again for two years! And it's so SLOW!"
when i went to bed i got laffin and crying all to once, and coodent stop, and mother set in my room and kept her hand on my forred until i went to sleep. i drempt i was fiting all the time. when i get big enuf there is going to be a fite between me and old Francis, you see if there aint.
Jan. 1, 186-Had an awful time in school today. me and Cawcaw Harding set together. when we came in from resess Cawcaw reached over and hit me a bat, and i lent him one in the snoot, and he hit me back. we was jest fooling, but old Francis called Cawcaw up front to lick him. i thought if i went up and told him he wood say, noble boy go to your seat, i wont lick neether of you. anyway i knew that Cawcaw wood tell on me, and so i told old Francis i hit Cawcaw first, and old Francis said Harry i have had my eye on you for a long time, and he jest took us up and slammed us together, and then he wood put me down and shake Cawcaw and then he wood put Cawcaw down and shake me till my head wabbled and he turned me upside down and all the fellers looked upside down and went round and round and somehow i felt silly like and kind of like laffin. i dident want to laff but coodent help it. and then he talked to us and sent us to our seats and told us to study, and i tried to but all the words in the book went round and round and i felt awful funny and kind of wabbly, and when i went home mother said something was the matter and i told her and then i cried, i don't know what i cried for, becaus i dident ake any. father said he wood lick me at home when i got licked at school and perhaps that was why i cried. ennyway when father come home i asked him if he was a going to lick me and he said not by a dam sight, and he gave me ten cents and when i went to bed i got laffin and crying all to once, and coodent stop, and mother set in my room and kept her hand on my forred until i went to sleep. i drempt i was fiting all the time. when i get big enuf there is going to be a fite between me and old Francis, you see if there aint.
Stories from the files populated by sparklers, or perhaps distemper...
...Watching football with my father while lying on the floor in front of our beautiful Magnavox B&W stereo console. The same one where rock and roll record playing was frowned upon.
"We were almost rich", I thought. Now all we needed was a garage and a gas grill outside.
Kids tell themselves that life is this way, or maybe that. Then it changes in some ways planned, or others not.
Football.
Football in the 60's was kind of different. In my mind I'm that age always, and this is what I tell myself football is. A time machine.
All those walls and corners. All those thrills and thrill killers. All those warriors flying by.
So many heroes. All the teams. All those coaches. Theater.
Plus, The Baltimore Colts. Plus Johnny Unitas. Flattop. Black hi-tops. Hero.
A boy needs a hero
He needs to believe
No trap doors to fall through
No tricks up the sleeve
A strong back to ride on
A strong hand to hold.
A dream to live up to
A life long and bold...
In '17 my Father got away from me while he was right in front of me, and before I could tell him he was my hero.
Right in front of me, his last words on this earth and as bearing his agony were "I love you too."
My Father. Lean. Olive skinned. Flattop. Formerly green, now silver grey eyes. Stoic. Conflicted. Essentially fatherless.
I have and do still suffer profound grief from time to time. Generally my 60's were all in the loss column. Marriage, parents, family, friends, beloved animals.
But, in the 60's, I was the future. I want to think that everything was to be different than that. Color, not B&W. That my future stood precariously still until I could breathe a deeper understanding.
Anyhow, in preaching to the choir, spread your love for life. For each other. For the opportunity while it lives and breathes. The rest is not what matters most.
In our late 50's we came together over the love of a small online radio station & the happenstance of proximity. With no preaching whatsoever and at I time I believed it to be utterly impossible, you showed me the way to loving life, and others, for however much time the opportunity lives and breathes. I miss you, brother. But in all the ways that matter most, you're always here with me.
Stories from the files populated by sparklers, or perhaps distemper...
...Watching football with my father while lying on the floor in front of our beautiful Magnavox B&W stereo console. The same one where rock and roll record playing was frowned upon.
"We were almost rich", I thought. Now all we needed was a garage and a gas grill outside.
Kids tell themselves that life is this way, or maybe that. Then it changes in some ways planned, or others not.
Football.
Football in the 60's was kind of different. In my mind I'm that age always, and this is what I tell myself football is. A time machine.
All those walls and corners. All those thrills and thrill killers. All those warriors flying by.
So many heroes. All the teams. All those coaches. Theater.
Plus, The Baltimore Colts. Plus Johnny Unitas. Flattop. Black hi-tops. Hero.
A boy needs a hero
He needs to believe
No trap doors to fall through
No tricks up the sleeve
A strong back to ride on
A strong hand to hold.
A dream to live up to
A life long and bold...
In '17 my Father got away from me while he was right in front of me, and before I could tell him he was my hero.
Right in front of me, his last words on this earth and as bearing his agony were "I love you too."
My Father. Lean. Olive skinned. Flattop. Formerly green, now silver grey eyes. Stoic. Conflicted. Essentially fatherless.
I have and do occasionally suffer profound grief from time to time. Generally my 60's were all in the loss column. Marriage, parents, family, friends, beloved animals.
But, in the 60's, I was the future. I want to think that everything was to be different than that. Color, not B&W. That my future stood precariously still until I could breathe a deeper understanding.
Anyhow, in preaching to the choir, spread your love for life. For each other. For the opportunity while it lives and breathes. The rest is not what matters most.
One single breath is what separates life from death (King's X).
Stories from the files populated by sparklers, or perhaps distemper...
...Watching football with my father while lying on the floor in front of our beautiful Magnavox B&W stereo console. The same one where rock and roll record playing was frowned upon.
"We were almost rich", I thought. Now all we needed was a garage and a gas grill outside.
Kids tell themselves that life is this way, or maybe that. Then it changes in some ways planned, or others not.
Football.
Football in the 60's was kind of different. In my mind I'm that age always, and this is what I tell myself football is. A time machine.
All those walls and corners. All those thrills and thrill killers. All those warriors flying by.
So many heroes. All the teams. All those coaches. Theater.
Plus, The Baltimore Colts. Plus Johnny Unitas. Flattop. Black hi-tops. Hero.
A boy needs a hero
He needs to believe
No trap doors to fall through
No tricks up the sleeve
A strong back to ride on
A strong hand to hold.
A dream to live up to
A life long and bold...
In '17 my Father got away from me while he was right in front of me, and before I could tell him he was my hero.
Right in front of me, his last words on this earth and as bearing his agony were "I love you too."
My Father. Lean. Olive skinned. Flattop. Formerly green, now silver grey eyes. Stoic. Conflicted. Essentially fatherless.
I have and do occasionally suffer profound grief from time to time. Generally my 60's were all in the loss column. Marriage, parents, family, friends, beloved animals.
But, in the 60's, I was the future. I want to think that everything was to be different than that. Color, not B&W. That my future stood precariously still until I could breathe a deeper understanding.
Anyhow, in preaching to the choir, spread your love for life. For each other. For the opportunity while it lives and breathes. The rest is not what matters most.
Stories from the files populated by sparklers, or perhaps distemper...
...Watching football with my father while lying on the floor in front of our beautiful Magnavox B&W stereo console. The same one where rock and roll record playing was frowned upon.
"We were almost rich", I thought. Now all we needed was a garage and a gas grill outside.
Kids tell themselves that life is this way, or maybe that. Then it changes in some ways planned, or others not.
Football.
Football in the 60's was kind of different. In my mind I'm that age always, and this is what I tell myself football is. A time machine.
All those walls and corners. All those thrills and thrill killers. All those warriors flying by.
So many heroes. All the teams. All those coaches. Theater.
Plus, The Baltimore Colts. Plus Johnny Unitas. Flattop. Black hi-tops. Hero.
A boy needs a hero
He needs to believe
No trap doors to fall through
No tricks up the sleeve
A strong back to ride on
A strong hand to hold.
A dream to live up to
A life long and bold...
In '17 my Father got away from me while he was right in front of me, and before I could tell him he was my hero.
Right in front of me, his last words on this earth and as bearing his agony were "I love you too."
My Father. Lean. Olive skinned. Flattop. Formerly green, now silver grey eyes. Stoic. Conflicted. Essentially fatherless.
I have and do still suffer profound grief from time to time. Generally my 60's were all in the loss column. Marriage, parents, family, friends, beloved animals.
But, in the 60's, I was the future. I want to think that everything was to be different than that. Color, not B&W. That my future stood precariously still until I could breathe a deeper understanding.
Anyhow, in preaching to the choir, spread your love for life. For each other. For the opportunity while it lives and breathes. The rest is not what matters most.
