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The Fairytale of Third Cinema

The Fairytale of Third Cinema by Kathryn Narciso a. Little Brown Americans We are nothing but them. When the ruling giant came to town, we didn’t break loose, and just sucked up the flavors of the new, almost forgetting the old. The nation’s elite was guilty of kissing the mestizos and language was shared tongue-to-tongue, skin-to-skin, until little brown Americans were born to this nation and grew up becoming second-class citizens of their own homeland. It was like allowing a thief inside your home: fed him when he’s hungry, gave him drink when he’s thirsty, warmed him up when he’s cold. Flesh and blood for spit. The cycle repeats itself, again and again: you offer your flesh for flesh, blood for blood, but you only get spit and still say Thank You. b. The Unholy Communion When Hollywood was preached outside its birthplace, the rest of the world took its chalice and drank from it. Not one has come clean after the communion. It’s a religion without confession. The converts were s...

In Search of the Arc

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IN SEARCH OF THE ARC by Kathryn Narciso She takes a long, deep drag off her cigarette, stares a hole through me, and blows tendrils of cloud into the air between us. What is he? she interrupts my pitch. It’s like telling the story of Jesus in two sentences, and just as I have crucified him all over again, the blood red-lipped evangelist goes back to the major character’s obsession. She blows a split second smoke in my face again. He is…   She exhales another.  I watch it curl up in the air and disappear into everywhere. He is a carpenter? Except he’s not. If I were really telling the story of Jesus, I would have not seen her eyes narrowed at the unsure tone of my voice. You didn’t watch it. But I did, I approached her cautiously. I just can’t remember. Perhaps teased by her own sneaking suspicion, she smiles at me. No, you didn’t watch it. I really did. Let me tell you another story. FIRST ACT Against her genius, ready to prey on any si...