I almost forgot all about you. Sorry, but really as if I could! A Single Man has finally come to Buffalo, and yesterday I watched Up in the Air, and so I find myself a little bit busy, gentle anonymous reader. All these stories where I might find myself. Well, except for the gay, well dressed, and really good looking part.
But otherwise, they're all stories about my life, which is a pretty nifty thing for a filmmaker to be able to do, don't you think? To screen stories which can contain, however barely, for each and every person in their audience some essence of himself, projected.
Except for Avatar, but who wouldn't want to be able to live out the life of young and whole virility by virtue of jacked in feedback loops to something that much larger than your life? Who wouldn't want to enter that kind of Matrix, and live life as in a dream, instead of someplace where you, if you're not even from here, can't even quite imagine that life gets really lived.
We are that city, as metaphor inverted, Avatar made real, where the wordless part can be pointed at directly, and the words come more easily than the truth can be looked at; which can lead you near to understanding what it must be like to be the fat, say, or smelly person not even capable of love's pain, so buried is it, that pain, underneath worse pain. Because that capacity is reserved for beautiful people who graduated Ivy, poised, and who still credit those owners of copyright on their mind with opening it?
You branded me, and I shall never betray you, but who, in fact, is trapped beneath layers of authenticity? I long for you, anonymous lover, would that you were real. Thank goodness that I'm a non-sequitur man, and not burdened at all to be authentically me.
OK, gotta run. Sorry. I'll be back. I'm pretty sure.
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