Executioner's Song, or "Fields of Ambrosia", Fontana du'Elektra.

 

Mariana Wallace as Gertrund the badly placed put-upon.

Clarence Leachman as the one with the Traveling Wonders.

Dreams a'bright, froth alight, about the crepiscule indominable night.

He was calling it fields of Ambrosia, and I thought, perhaps, he had like an out-of-body experience, like looking from the outside at his own ass pimples, or something.  "Little red things", you know.

An essay on what he did on summer vacation.  It was a spreadsheet, each entry tallying 100 bucks on the balance, and a SUM function at the end, nice and neat, though there would be beers and side trips in between, the tally wasn't so far off.

It was four dollars for five minutes.

I wondered, where it some homage to "A Face In the Crowd", and Keach's(Kevin) only human moment was he completed folded to Mariana Wallace, putty in her hands, groaning himself, like he were to took over the precipice of desire, made a quivering pudding.

His own end?  They scoffed, you know, the balance sheet and all.  Collateral?

For a loan?  Or you mean tertiary violence by second and third-tiers, that kind, like "collateral damage"?

Laser show.

He owed the doctor 3500 USD.

It was something like they could purchase Gurtrund's sentence reduction, and it was her idea, her brilliant idea, knowing none of the particulars, but that there were places that stored and stockpiled money, but on the whole, these tended to have a high bar of paperwork when it came to lending to the commoner.

He had talked to them about Kaiser Wilhelm, even complimented the bank man's son, then got to telling about the vision, speaking to another man, through a spirit medium, and proclaiming the "fields of ambrosia".

Of what, a young actor with a lot on the ball, collecting discarded dreams, before going on to Lincoln commercials or Jedi roles or something, collecting discarded dreams, with a drawer full of severed foreskins.

I had watched that show about them lighting the Charlotte Motor Speedway, too, and that was pretty cool.  Think this guy and his putt-putt could have made it come across, or as it were, come across with it.  A flim-flam man, Rick Santorium, Gordon Johncock, Howell Kirvonnen, Stacy Keach, you know, kind of a "did you see "A Face In The Crowd?" and it was like, everybody is suddenly an anti-hero, and there might be actual college kids that want to see Martin Sheen rape adolescent Jodie Foster, or something.  Clint's blue eyes kind of figuring gun-play odds and saying something marginally comprehensible about his pack animal guffawing at a slur.

You ever read The Bluest Eye?