Let’s talk about the atom bomb of it all. The jolt of the explosion, the terrifying—yet strangely beautiful in its own morbid way—mushroom cloud. The attention it commands before dissipating into the atmosphere, smoky tendrils bleeding into a clear blue sky and a dusty desert landscape.

Consider the way everything exists as a blip in the grand scheme of things. That moments and memories leave craters and bomb fragments that evolve and even out over time, or that what is…

I grew up as a rainbow baby. My parents were 42 when I was born and I was considered the last chance for them to have a sixth child after two late-term miscarriages. My closest sibling is six years older than me, the oldest, thirteen. It’s strange to grow up knowing that at one point you were so fragile that if there had been one wrong misstep, nothing would have ever come of you, and you’d be just a blip…

they’re going to try and tell you that all of the flashbacks are unearned, or that there’s no point in rehashing the story of the entity because you heard enough of it in dead reckoning. or they’ll tell you that there’s too much focus on a wildly unrealistic threat and a stagnant first hour.

and i’ll just say that I cried like a baby twice and i saw incredible things and i laughed and i think that the best movies…