I want a film.

I want a film that at the beginning introduces a woman, sitting still, on the edge of a chair. she is in a dark room. she looks at us. she says, “I want you to know, that nothing here is real. Nothing here is as it seems…”

Her words betray the next scene…

and the next…

one is a woman behind glass. A Khachaturian piece, full of staccato, plays in the background. With each hammer on she lurches. Shouting, tearing her hair. she is wretching, as if to excise a demon. but her demon is her words.

I am on your chest.

There is a brief interlude where a black woman with hair styled and majestic  rides a white cruiser bicycle. she holds her shoulders back and her chin balances, a pinnacle on which there is a perfectly tipped object; her nature and appearance makes us think of a bizarre and whimsical unicorn, however ironic, gliding along skid row.

Is this a film full of women?

Or would one woman play all the parts, including the Khachaturian solo?

Would there be women at all, or simply figments of the man; vestiges of imagination?

Aren’t we all Fellini?