Oh Nashville, Oh
Belcourt Theatre, how this heart misses you. Long gone are your discounted membership tickets, blown from my hand like Autumn leaves from the trees. No more are your Whole Foods/Wino screenings with delicate crumbs of phyllo dough gathering in my lap in place of stale popcorn. Hence forth I'll never stare bright eyed at your full bar... yes, a full bar at a movie theater. Could life be sweeter? No longer will you offer me vintage cult faves and midnight horror or free screenings because I lied and said I was a Vandy student. Sorry about that, actually. How I would rejoice just to hold your vegan cookies in my hand and smell that blissful aroma of upholstery glue, urine and
real butter. I miss the occassional broken spring reaching out and gently touching my back like a dear old companion. I weep for your noir festivals and your foreign surprises. Your fundraisers, indies and your weekend classic. Your non-profit status. The people with cool hair, skinny jeans and cowboy boots who filled your lovely red aisles. Who else in the world would have the gall to play "Big Trouble in Little China?" No one else. Just you, friend. Just you. Perhaps one day I'll return. Cuddle up in your spanking new - and well deserved - theater seating. Nibble a pumpkin cookie. Sip an icy cold beer (on tap!). And let your glowing, flickering daydreams wash over me. Until then I wander the street of new towns and new cities searching with hopeful eyes. Begging the universe, which I'm sure is run by movie execs, that I'll find a theater I can call home. Hoping for a cinema as beautiful and sublime. Hoping for my Belcourt reborn. Hoping for another you.
Oh Nashville, Oh Belcourt Theatre, how this heart misses you. Long gone are your discounted membership tickets, blown from my hand like Autumn leaves from the trees. No more are your Whole Foods/Wino screenings with delicate crumbs of phyllo dough gathering in my lap in place of stale popcorn. Hence forth I'll never stare bright eyed at your full bar... yes, a full bar at a movie theater. Could life be sweeter? No longer will you offer me vintage cult faves and midnight horror or free screenings because I lied and said I was a Vandy student. Sorry about that, actually. How I would rejoice just to hold your vegan cookies in my hand and smell that blissful aroma of upholstery glue, urine and real butter. I miss the occassional broken spring reaching out and gently touching my back like a dear old companion. I weep for your noir festivals and your foreign surprises. Your fundraisers, indies and your weekend classic. Your non-profit status. The people with cool hair, skinny jeans and cowboy boots who filled your lovely red aisles. Who else in the world would have the gall to play "Big Trouble in Little China?" No one else. Just you, friend. Just you. Perhaps one day I'll return. Cuddle up in your spanking new - and well deserved - theater seating. Nibble a pumpkin cookie. Sip an icy cold beer (on tap!). And let your glowing, flickering daydreams wash over me. Until then I wander the street of new towns and new cities searching with hopeful eyes. Begging the universe, which I'm sure is run by movie execs, that I'll find a theater I can call home. Hoping for a cinema as beautiful and sublime. Hoping for my Belcourt reborn. Hoping for another you.
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