26 January 2015

Public Access

a few odes to a local hero, walt peterson  

 

The shot endures for a Warholesque duration, stretching barren seconds until it becomes philosophical
in its emptiness, the quake of room tone
tidal
on the audio track.
Every
edit
abrupt, knocks the viewer out
of the story

With the force of the stage punches that never
connect

In the saloon riots of his westerns. His framings oblong, zooms searching to a

sandstorm
of grain, lighting clerical
as a mugshot. Like porn without the sex, home
movies broadcast for the whole town
to see,

these are the loose
ends

never meant
to make it
to television.



I wanna make bad movies again

I wanna make em like Walt Peterson



I interviewed him for the high school newspaper,
asking questions from The Proust Questionnaire,

a survey I’d found in in the back of Vanity Fair

typically used by actors or writers to muse philosophically.

They were famous. It mattered what they thought about Life.

I’d often fantasized about answering the questions myself.

“What do you consider the most overrated virtue?”

“When and where were you happiest?”

”If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?”

It was like he’d never though about these things before.

Walt talked mostly about his faith. God was the answer.

He was a kind man, unpretentious, accountant by day, TV star on Sunday afternoon,

One week a secret agent, the next a cowboy,

Moses on Easter Sunday.

Hair the calm snowbank white and gray of television static,
Eyebrows thick and black as videotape,
Walt had the comforting vacuity of the old cowboy stars,

the ones you never hear about any more:
Roy Rogers, Chill Wills, Audie Murphy,
Eyes like rusty wells

maybe something in'em

maybe not.

As Ace Diamond he had all the swagger
of the best singer at a bowling alley karaoke,
more Barney than Andy,

timid, polyester, narcissistic without cause,
but with such good manners and earnestness
that he was
watchable.



I wanna make bad movies again

I wanna make em like Walt Peterson



How many mortals get to play Moses?

How many cast themselves in the part?

His Commandments left-overs from Halloween,

Two styrofoam graves carved with Sharpie,

His Red Sea parted of Play-doh and nail polish.

Walt Peterson affixing scripture to magnetic tape

In the back of a barn in Grove City, Ohio.



I wanna make bad movies again

I wanna make em like Walt Peterson



Let this accountant fire his Remington and ride his Trigger
across the muddy Re-enactment Villages of Central Ohio!

Let this man of Pataskala seduce and murder his way
through an entire Cold War of Supervillains!

Let this man who keeps a Superman costume in the trunk of his Buick
bring down the Word for all to hear!

On Channel 21! Local public access television!


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