this is now the third time my review for this short has disappeared.. and every time this happens I think, ‘how lynchian. my very own fragments of lost media.’ and I can what I wrote, like a dream, and like a dream, it is a little different every time…

everything is so, so strange, because I am standing inside a stagnant wood-led room with a useless fan shifting the hot air around like some abhorrent sludge - I usually mention…

isn’t it just right that the rain was falling so gently as I read the news. sad and aimless and wearing two sweaters. earlier I was driving around the mountains through the gloom, the digital radio stations cutting in and out amidst the mist and the grey trees, the dashes of the lost highway disappearing beneath my wheels. some poor, nostalgic, sighing DJ who was on the same wavelength as me (both literally and psychologically I guess) queued the crackling…

absolutely losing it because I brought my friend to the cinemas with me and he took one look at lily rose-depp and skeletal nosferatu all over each other in the final scene and he whispered ‘timothee chalamet and kylie jenner’ and everyone heard. may I just say I’m a bit confused by how surprised and affronted so many are about the overt sensuality in the film… you’re watching gothic horror! your mirror reflects a prim fool. also starting to observe…