“Alfred Noble invented dynamite.”
Knowledge is hunger. Knowledge is power. Knowledge is a gaping maw. Knowledge is an unquenchable thirst. Knowledge is a void that we are free to throw our entire beings into. Knowledge is a parasitic figure, eager for more. Knowledge is a child asking “why?” again and again and again and again and again. Knowledge is that child, decades later, screaming “why?” again and again and again and again and again. Knowledge is the screams echoing through…
“I’m still copying you though.”
“I know. Now copy this.”
I am standing in a room and I am looking at my dad.
It is 1996 and he is 33 years old and he is journaling hour by hour the day that I am born. He is the first person to ever put my name to paper. It is 2008 and he is 45 years old and he is gripping my arms too tight and screaming at me, so close I…
Takes an already unnerving enough gaming experience and brings some richer themes into its world so the whole thing sticks a little more permanently. Sometimes, I do think there’s a little bit too much narrative structure, leading to a sense of repetitive storytelling on top of a location that already has us wandering in loops. Really enjoy how seamlessly this captures the aesthetics of the game and brings them to life. Watching resembles playing, every turn of a corner has your eyes roving, hoping to spot whatever anomaly might or might not have just sprung up.
Like the sound of birds taking flight: distinct and certain soaring is possible. Each scene bookended by cuts to black that feel as though we are slowly moving from room to room inside a home that holds our sharpest and most tender moments. Our secrets settle into the floorboards, our laughter floats near the ceiling, our cries and shouts soak into the walls. The home sees us in a way no other place does, it knows us the most intimately. Riveted by how Sentimental Values transforms that belief into something larger and so fully realized. It makes me want to cry just thinking about it.
“No wonder you reek of death.”
Miyazaki at his most fluid, visually and narratively. Each moment an event that is happening in three-fold: something our past selves dream of, something our present selves experience, and something our future selves look back on in fondness or in anguish. Time as a ripple, liquid in state. Something that bleeds into itself, slips through our fingers, takes the shape of what we place it in and then dissolves the moment whatever flimsy physical…
Haunted by Lily Blossom Bloom putting pajama pants on, on top of fishnets.
Book readers: Does the book acknowledge why Lily has had exactly one friend her entire life?
While I do think the exploration of this heavy subject matter is on the shallower side, it is nice to see something so mainstream at least attempt to start the conversation. My mom loved it and that’s kind of all that matters with this one for me tbh.
