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The Malkovich Zinc
Istvan eye
sziren_moritz wrote in bpsociety
The Malkovich Zinc

Malkovich Malkovich.

Malkovich, zinc Malkovich. Again, no one is interested in him.

Malkovich thinks, again, what is better: to shoot a ten-minute zinc film, which only ten people will understand, or the one, which will touch a large audience. The first one, of course, will be exactly the thing I want to convey to the world on these zinc plates.

My name is just a piece of tin. Zinc, you know, it is like lead or wax, it melts and coheres.

- Good afternoon, dear Master Sir Herald Malkovich.
I am leaving the elevator and a loser, close to whom I was living last ten-twenty years, respectfully bows before me, a baldy fatty midget.

He saw the zincs!

In newspapers.
[Why did Malkovich become such Russi0N?]
Why are all these folksy shirts and blissful smile? Why does our, albeit former, star allow himself to change the way things are?

- Goddamnyou! I cannot get my head from under the pillow at all! Hey, someone, motherfuckers! Take away this beast that shuffles her feet all day long here!

- So, Lizzy, agreed, we join hands, sink them into the bowl with warm water…
- Wait, Ashley, are you sure?
- About what? That we can end our lives just with the film? Ah? Again, you’re starting it. And what about Kubrick, ah, ah?! And Lizzy – it is my name.
- Okay.
- We sit in front of the TV, the tube must write only white noise on the screen, yes, it must be green in color, you know, these greenish gleams with black strokes. We open blood to ourselves, but this happens as if it is not for real, the blood runs, it darkens in the eyes, but we know that it is just the shooting. Our faces are not seen, the shooting goes from behind, two petty girl figures, two gleaming silhouettes, because in three meters there is the Malkovich plate behind our backs. Even if nothing will happen, and no one will die, and the tape won’t exist, the film will be shot anyway, because these shots cannot simply disappear in nowhere.
- Okay, Lizzy.

- Master Sir Malkovich?
- What it is now?
- Two friends were delivered to us Malkovich Malkovich.
- Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich, Mal-ko-vich!
- But they had Your zinc.
- Alive or dead?
- Who…what?
- Zincs!
- I, I don’t know.
- Okay, bring them here.

Two petty girlish bodies in the cart are wheeled in. The zinc plate lies next to them. Malkovich takes the plate in his hands, thoroughly examines it against the light.

- And how should I call it? Film on zinc for the ten, who un-der-stand. And what? Doris!
- Yes, Master Sir.
- Do you see this pile of bodies under my window?
- Yes, Master Sir.
- They do not decompose, do not die completely, they just lie down with jaws open wide, their skin is speckled with green and black strokes. Just have a look at this! What do they want? Where did they get so many of my zincs? If they are mine at all! Why on earth this zinc must be shot? Simply…simply for me to live further? And here I am alive, yes, alive, definitely.

Two girlish bodies are thrown out of the window and they freeze on the giant pile of bodies, motionless, with distorted faces, which seem to be happy.



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