satisfaction and pain
melting fruits of disdain
pitch perfect to be honest.
i think any dissection i planned on doing about the refusal of humanizing the people directly affected inbetween the circus of warring ideologies was torpedoed by that last shot of the film. couldnt have asked it to be better.
Everyone at the beginning knows Ruth, her face her life her addictions, but by the end shes a torn sticker on a lamppost. anonymous cultural ammo that can escape unnoticed.
good for her
i want to write more but i cant, i want this one to be for me
after just watching Croupier last night, it felt right to finally get to Jacques Demy's Bay of Angels as an inverse of this world.
this is just truly about love and connection as hangovers of addiction.
the real highs and lows of being inescapably involved in giving yourself fully to decay. less love to human chemistry, more love to the knife-edged risk of numbers. the glimmering, chartreuse marble of being encased in chance.
moreaus character here says something along the…
hot pink late night phone calls on transparent phones. supermarket murals. queer dysfunction and TV hum-soaked confusion.
disillusioned gay teens wandering through a gen-x desolation posturing and fucking and over confidently stating The Facts. Ghosts of society left to die and be dead. being a teenager is hard enough, but being a queer teenage nihilist, left to wander art installations and industrial concerts and car parks and gas stations and shit jobs looking for love in Bush's Conservative America? fuck…