Shrouded in darkness, even when enshrined in all new light. Flooded with new revelations and still, all I can see is clouds, clouds, clouds. Have I just been cooped up for too long, or is everything really this much foggier on the outside. On second thoughts, could I have been blind to the real source of the shadows all along… You’ll not find a flashlight here.
Wartime anxieties wear an all-new shade of black-and-white in Fritz Lang’s world of comically large scissors and the most afraid you’ve ever been of a slice of cake. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gotten so paranoid over a piece of pastry, and yet here we are.
My internal flame was kept burning…