Comfortable in my space suit I’d nevertheless
like to change into something more flexible,
silky and touchable, possibly to chat up the
hot young thing on the couch so
Kubrick, cut the crap. You promised me
a formal French Provencial lounge, a cool
sterile setting to rest, pale green walls, indirect
lighting to soothe a tired space traveler’s eyes
and a bed of contoured clouds.
Finding this place was not easy, going through
an endless wormhole and not knowing if I would live,
wondering if the audience is still sitting awestruck
by your special effects. Like Noah,
I’m asking “Why me Lord?” This scene here
is so red, so cliché. Fires of hell, you say? 180 degrees
different and not at all what I expected.
Give me a break, Stanley.
