I’ll Never Do Another Magic Trick
Let me tell you, I was shocked. He came out of the darkness and parried and flipped the toupee off my head with that jaunty rapier. All right, I said to him, it’s marinating time and I’m going to make you regret this. I poured the juice of eight clementines on, followed by four cloves of garlic, the juice of one lemon, half a large yellow onion, a table spoon of olive oil, salt, pepper, and two table spoons of aceto balsamico. He turned wildly. Blinded. He smelled better. And now he was at my whim. I had the advantage on him.
He called me Ozymandius. And I said, behold, and look upon me… but then he yawned and struggled to get the marinade out of his eyes. I waved my hands, and passed a handkerchief across his head and voila his head disappeared, yet his hips and body struggled on in an apoplectic dance.
He was transformed into a headless Saint Vitus, and in this manner we danced on well in to the night.
“Quit your complaining. It’s not the world’s fault that you wanted to be an artist. It’s not the world’s job to enjoy the films you make, and it’s certainly not the world’s obligation to pay for your dreams. Nobody wants to hear it. Steal a camera if you have to, but stop whining and get back to work.”
— Werner Herzog