satisfaction and pain
melting fruits of disdain
no idea how mortal peril and granular sports data mix with such a tense potency, but it had me activated and lost in it.
What I like about the Bois/Rubenstein films (and possibly what is so unique to them only) is that despite the hard facts, the sheer calculator farm of data you have infront of you, there still feels like possibility for aberration. There still feels like time for luck, magic, impossibility. In their writing, knowledge and presentation, they…
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…