Your beautiful pen, take the cap off

[sovay]

Peter Greenaway's The Pillow Book (1996) is the natural progression from Prospero's Books (1991), one of the most thoroughly erotic movies I have ever seen, and I would have a lot more to say about it if I hadn't found out, shortly after rushthatspeaks and I finished watching and gaudior came home, that their moving company had turned themselves into fail.

At some point in the night, I remember saying to reversepolarity, "Today has been brought to you by the numbers duct tape, boxes, and the letter what the fuck."

The move will happen and my cousins are amazing, but I stand by the description.

Comments

[sovay]

Your writing already reminds me so much, in some ways, of Prospero's Books that I just assumed you'd already seen it, possibly as a small child on late-night PBS television or something.

Thank you: I am honored by that. I think I would have remembered something of Prospero's Books if I had seen it before, like the first few minutes of A Canterbury Tale that were instantly, unplaceably familiar when I saw them on TCM. What it mostly felt like instead were things I have so often dreamed.

(The late-night PBS WTF would be Fool's Fire (1992), which I meant to borrow on DVD from rushthatspeaks before they left. I suppose I can file it with the other excuses to scrape up the money to visit Texas.)