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It was all done with these 16-millimeter cameras you had to wind
The last thing I read before bed was the last few chapters and endnotes to Mark Morris' excellent Five Came Back (2014), a braided study of five Hollywood directors—John Ford, George Stevens, John Huston, William Wyler, and Frank Capra—and the movies they made for the War Department during World War II. None of them was starting from the same place in life or even the same motives as his colleagues; each follows a very different trajectory, as does their work. I went into it knowing the least about either Stevens or Wyler and came out especially attached to the latter. If anything about the period or film history even faintly attracts you, highly recommended.
The last thing I looked at before leaving the computer was Underwhelming Lovecraft Monsters, which presumably explains why the only dream I can remember from last night reads like a Lovecraft parody: a visit to a reclusive academic in a house where stacks of books and papers are holding up the sagging walls; half of his face is not his face, it's a parasitic entity that speaks for both of them. I remember knocking down books and running; the pages had been rotted out from between the covers and that was more horrifying than alien possession. It just looks like metaphor now: ordinary on the outside, nothing within.
Most of today has been characterized by a gonging headache, but we did make a grocery run and then dinner: coconut pandan rice with chicken curry. Hard-boiled eggs would have happened with a little more organization. I am hoping to work up to nasi lemak.
The last thing I looked at before leaving the computer was Underwhelming Lovecraft Monsters, which presumably explains why the only dream I can remember from last night reads like a Lovecraft parody: a visit to a reclusive academic in a house where stacks of books and papers are holding up the sagging walls; half of his face is not his face, it's a parasitic entity that speaks for both of them. I remember knocking down books and running; the pages had been rotted out from between the covers and that was more horrifying than alien possession. It just looks like metaphor now: ordinary on the outside, nothing within.
Most of today has been characterized by a gonging headache, but we did make a grocery run and then dinner: coconut pandan rice with chicken curry. Hard-boiled eggs would have happened with a little more organization. I am hoping to work up to nasi lemak.
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Here is something I would like: a tumblr that's a diary of your dreams, illustrated in vivid colors and fine lines by all the great artists that are out there on the internets.
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Thank you. I think that would be pretty cool!
(I suppose I could try to collect the dreams, with or without illustrations. I have been keeping a continuous diary as far back as 2007, and I have some scattered incidences earlier. I wonder if there would be a market for it.)
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I have to admit, that sounds like the kind of thing my brain would come up with. (Which points out right now, for example, that nothing precludes both of those modes being true: as you unlive your life, you forget the future—which lies behind you—like everyone else.)
This is almost as good as Sarah Snook and Ethan Hawke in Predestination being known as The Unwed Mother and The Barkeep/The Violin Man.
Wait, seriously? Do I need to see this movie? (Why did it get such a generic title?)
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Oh, wait, somebody filmed that? Yes, I have to see this movie. Is the protagonist an intersex actor, or how did they handle that aspect?
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Man, though, that character is truly the loneliest motherfucker in the universe. An ouroboros who's only ever loved themself, only ever been loved by themself. As borne out by Ethan Hawke later on, looking at another version and saying: "Oh, thank God you found me, I've missed you so much."
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That sounds heartbreaking. I'll look for it. Is it in theaters or already on DVD? (If the latter, it didn't play anywhere around here.)
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