This is how it always ends. With death. But first there was life, hidden beneath the blah, blah, blah… It’s all settled beneath the chitter chatter and the noise, silence and sentiment, emotion and fear. The haggard, inconstant flashes of beauty. And then the wretched squalor and miserable humanity. All buried under the cover of the embarrassment of being in the world, blah, blah, blah… Beyond there is what lies beyond. And I don’t deal with what lies beyond. Therefore… let this novel begin. After all… it’s just a trick. Yes, it’s just a trick.
The cinema is home to any number of legendary asses: Bardot, Balthazar, Brett Ratner … and that’s just a sample of the Bs. Filmmakers have used them to a wide variety of ends, most often to tease, tempt, or titillate, but Sofia Coppola uses Scarlett Johansson’s as a cry for help. Her script begins: “The back of a GIRL in pink underwear, she leans at a big window, looking out over Tokyo.” The writing is lucid and spare, but the image, as it appears in the finished film, offers even less information—most critically, the curtain on that big window is pulled closed. The unmistakable sight of Tokyo blinking in the distance might have normalized the frame, deflating the image of its mystery and reducing its components to their most blunt interpretations—that’s Tokyo, that’s a crisp hotel bed, that’s a privileged white ass. Effectively, surrounding that totemic butt with detail would have solved it, which is a tactic counter to the film’s most basic approach to the inner lives of its characters and the rare beauty of the connection they share. But Coppola opts for obfuscation—the girl could be anywhere, but to know her is to learn why she isn’t.
"Oh, and when you meet Dame Judi Dench, please introduce me. Before
that, use all your energy for your art.”
- Laura Winters via email
13. Apparently, there’s a battle between Brooklyn and Portland for the hippest place in the country, what are your thoughts?
About this, I have only one thought: the amount of fuck I do not give about such battles is so gigantic it cannot be measured.
bless Cheryl Strayed’s heart.
maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were; and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone. For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea
e e cummings