Film synopsis by Missy Jubilee
INT. MISSY JUBILEE’S APARTMENT – DAY
A dimly lit room.
Missy Jubilee sits at her cluttered desk,
scribbling furiously.
She’s deep in thought,
contemplating her desires.
Missy sets down her pen,
a sense of understanding dawning upon her.
Pausing at the threshold of the pool room
I peered around the doorframe
as surfers milled lazily around the table
with drinks and cue sticks in hand.
The clicks of ivory balls
provided an arrhythmic undertone
to the hum of masculine conversation
I was known at that pool room,
and the chaos in there
was more predictable and less personal
than the pain at home
I was so good at playing the game.
So inside it.
Like a first person shooter playing with loaded dice.
Throwing weight in just the right places.
Then acting surprised with all the faces that watched.
But I had this feeling,
that I couldn’t look into their eyes.
Because secretly they didn’t approve of me.
That the town didn’t approve of me.
And this was my revenge
for all the whispers and hushed conversations.
Because life doesn’t imitate art
it imitates bad porn
“Don’t try to claim this is too scandalous for you,” I told them with mock severity.
Now,” I heard him say, “curl your index finger around the tip of the shaft.
That’s right. Don’t grip so tightly
Let your hand relax. Perfect.
Try to imagine a path between the cue ball—that’s the white one,
and the colored ball
You’ll want to strike right about there.
He pointed to a place just above center on the cue ball.
It’s a straight-on shot, you see?
Lower your head a bit
Draw the cue stick back,
and try to strike in a smooth motion.
Whatever happens, he said,
reach for more chalk,
and apply it to the tip of the cue stick while looking thoughtful.
Always imply that your equipment is to blame,
rather than your skills.
Some men look at you like they want sex.
He looked at me like we already had.
He looked at me like it was great,
but now we were just friends.
That look made me want him
It drove me crazy.
You know what I mean?
‘Yes’, I thought.
‘No’, I said.
Sex without love is a meaningless experience,
but as far as meaningless experiences go,
it’s pretty damn good
“We have art in order not to die of the truth.”
-Friedrich Nietzsche