the poetry of alleged personal transformation for the greater (?) good, the exuberance of youth rhyming with the still-flickering flame of nonsensical, irrational jealousy. the inane beauty of unity in its imminent rivalry, the disappointment of compassion during sine missione. the reflection of one’s fears and desires in the eyes of another and the decadence that comes with the realization that you’re not, in fact, special at all. you’re just a part of the machine, and your motto is “serve the good cause and die”. but it’s entirely up to you to find the strength to turn the tables, tying your existence to “serve yourself and dance”
“but most of all i want to say thank you to my new and, maybe, first friend - thank you, Seligman”
it’s a bit after 1 am now and i’ve just finished my long-awaited rewatch of Nymphomaniac (2013). thank god i’ve found the director's cut and, although some scenes have probably traumatized me for life (shout out kitchen abortion sequence), it really was an experience and a half. the credits are rolling in the background and charlotte gainsbourg’s godly singing…
‘beanpole’ is extinguished eyes with red pupils and green irises. ‘beanpole’ is a greasy bodybag for which every variable exists in a chuckling paradigm of emptiness. ‘beanpole’ is an unbelievable mashup of lights and emotions that diametrically changes towards the fable of time. ‘beanpole’ is an eternally coarse picture you’re apprehensive to touch but can’t possibly refuse it. ‘beanpole’ is something beyond understanding, beyond death, beyond logic and innate desires. ‘beanpole’ is a child’s last breath.
“прости, что война”