"The daimon of sexuality approaches our soul as a serpent."
Eros sits perched above eyeshot, gazing down upon our tumescent, shadowy blazes. Seeking connection, we traipse below the neon—some giveth, others taketh away. Broken hearts heal slowly in the torrid heat of the midnight hour; and slower… slower still, as darkness drags us toward the first grayish glimpses of daylight.
Desire for a salvation entirely telluric, for what good is a hope for any kind of heaven if there is…
“Tell your momma, tell your pa
I’m gonna send ya back to Arkansas.”
America is a commodity. We are The Bomb.
A big mess, but a jazzy, sexy, (overly)twisty and delightfully mod mess. Bava takes Christie to the beach, with visual style to spare and a score that rips. It drags on a bit and it isn’t particularly gory or gripping, but it’s worth seeing for gialli fans as well as of-the-day fashion aficionados. The title and poster are better than the actual film, but if you’re into this type of thing, that’s surely nothing new to you.
“You thought the leaden winter
Would bring you down forever
But you rode upon a steamer
To the violence of the sun”
Inside him the blazes of three-thousand fires leapt and cracked and plumed, torching the sky as the enemies crowding his footing wreathed and begged in deceased tongues for salvation.
Through time and tempests weathered, bodies lie bleached and brittle, inert with glacial eyes; how not to wonder if they cried when they met their demise. The caves echo…
