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Plot

Rickey Rivers Jr.

    Recently the death of a star struck me. It gave me sadness. I knew her. My eyes knew her. My ears knew her. I will not be vulgar. I felt a similar feeling with a male star. It’s not a direct connection, though in a way it is. Seeing someone alive on film and then reading of their death. It’s weird, I can’t comprehend. A lot of them have died. They always die and continue suspended life in video. They are not respected either, as if respect means anything. And I don’t believe they even care for such formalities. They did their work and some loved it, at least the monetary gain of such performances. I sometimes think of how much they have suffered. They were people with hopes, with families, with dreams and worries. Moments of joy, sadness and other emotions can be seen on film. The digital age is forever. It’s weird, weirder now than the idea of such films many moons ago. Societal embrace comes with the coldness of touching a corpse. I enjoy narrative most of all. They make these films feel true to life. They make these stars more than bright, not only flesh, not only moans. Agreement of job choice doesn’t matter. They were human after all.

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