I could be Henry Spencer. I question every aspect of my life and fight the bad ideas. If I go blind or deaf I want to , above all other art, what this felt like to me. My heavily contrasted age of time. The events that happened.
I thought it might be a miracle if I was able to weave together a coherent write-up for my favorite film. A bit intimidating, like bringing your favorite toy for show and tell.…
Primal screams. {÷}. Advancing under the mask. Private life under the knife. I have felt this tragedy. Between the tines of a waking nightmare is your real life ing through the gossamer. Broken apart hope. You are no longer a part of me and yet you always will be. The doing and undoing and the eyes that surprise of the loved one you no longer recognize. The destructive rape of the air we breathe in the ephemeral earthquake that breaks…
"Tell me about Mel Gibson's dick and balls!"
-Michael Shannon (two time academy award nominee)
Pretty goddamn funny. Very turn of the century motivating in it's depiction of wanting to be a rebel filmmaker despite your lack of talent and means. An outlaw cinema parody from the Pope of Trash that has never taken things serious and that's just fine by me. Serial Mom is a 5 star comedy for me, any day of the week as where Cecil is…
Scored so earnestly by Cave and Ellis. Running into the fire music.
"Is it inherited?...
My mother's illness..."
Incapable of finding comfort. the events and the details. Locate the spirit inside you and lose it still. See through different eyes. Find beauty in the pain. To spring forth from a reality so cruel a bright shining light in a world of fools. Skating through the ivy, energetic, tempting and appearing to be alive, this divide. Time malforms this wicked…
Amber and I were fresh from the hospital after an oophorectomy (July 19). At this late stage in the cancer treatment journey it felt as though we were becoming, at once, indoctrinated into a new way of living, while increasingly mourning the loss of a life once lived or one that might have been.
She had been fasting and was in need of sustenance. We stopped into Firehouse Subs. The kid at the asked me my favorite horror movie.…
Cinematic Death Language. Tragic power dynamics. Supernatural projections and the sin of schism. Possession in a word. The film is possessed by the spirit of it's subject. Occultist blues. Primal voice vibrations from Skarsgård drowning in chimerical colors, creamy caramel and lifeless blue. Archeronian as the ocean at night and milky white as breast in the moonlight.
A crimson cleansing, drinking from the chest, gulping, gurgling. The sacrifice, the immolation for this filmic hallucination. The unforgettable melodies engraved into the…
