I’ve confused my dreams and nightmares with movies.
all comments subject to periodic revision
Most know this story from another film, it’s told time and again for good reason; holding much.
The controlling procedural of love thickens atmosphere into an obtusely harmonized stylistic elegance while oozing Avant-jazzy character sympathy; specifically from the drunk, the beautiful escaped convict, and…
Morpho,
Any love is a love for life; for love implies freedom, the ‘want’ of it. Your brain has forever been twisted and tortured in these microcosmological allegories of legitimate allegations. Parricide doesn’t come easy, one mused be pushed. I know this to be true on the plane of reality known as emotion.
My deepest empathies, you monster.
~ j.
So I’m 5 months clean and sober as of last Saturday. What brought me to rehab last December was a seizure in a crack house (not my first substance-related seizure; had probably 9 or 10 since graduating grad school during the pandemic). My cousin, 47, who bought me my first bottle of vodka when I was 14, died a few weeks ago of liver failure. During his funeral I kept wanting to text him about his funeral; we weren’t close…
Exquisite paranoia fractaled, Oedipal reality causation; everyone: ‘fearful’…the quietus of a sinister giggling.
To be trapped is a lust paid for by some in high sums. Those ‘some’ know a knowing our 8.75ish characters know all too goddamn well. And, maybe it’s not quite simply a sign of the times; for the signage is ancient and visibly bruising, busting definitively a ‘cap’ in ‘capitalism.’
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Overheard in theater at ‘The End’: “California traffic…!!!”