By Julia Franks
Long live the man with the power.
The blood of characters shed for
entertainment blesses the walls:
a shed, a car, an alley way.
Patterns of red and brains cover
the imagination as we
eat our popcorn and think to our
selves, Blood and Guts? Tarantino.
The wolf drives the car, Mr. Pink
running with diamonds and a head
full of dreams, blessing the pavement
once again. Shots fired. Bodies drop.
Quirky songs and dynamite or
dynamite not, you never know.
One thing for sure, we all know the
name of our god. Tarantino.
Quick cuts and blistered skin roast our
minds into thinking this film was
a good idea this late at
night. Blessed was our naïve nature.
A head here, some guts there. No one
cares, as long as we get a good
time out of others’ misfortune,
again, praying. Tarantino.