Latest Post My Thoughts on Sister Midnight <time datetime...
I dread the word “literally.” It once carried weight, but now it’s hollow noise. People toss it around when they can’t be bothered to articulate what they truly mean. Yet, thirty minutes in, I was literally bored. Just to be clear, this isn’t some deep, existential boredom. It’s the kind you get when you see potential gather dust. Still, I didn’t want to bail because I recognized the considerable…
I’ve been thinking about my father lately. Not sure why. Maybe… probably… possibly because of watching Ad Astra has become part of my bedtime ritual, or because I just finished River , which could have stirred something I didn’t expect. Might be... I don't know. I think about the way he exist in my life, as a Draculia like shadow. Floating... hovering... he was never fully present, but never truly…
I rarely look through my phone’s photo album. Like a junk drawer, it’s just there. But after my dog left this world into whatever realm comes next, I started to take a peek here and there. Again and again. Far more than I’ve ever stared at a screen for anything useful. I scroll through it on the bus, on the train, and anytime I have a few idle moments. I'm a junkie to that junk drawer. At one…
While editing a draft for my next post, I came across a diary entry from nearly a year ago. Time did what it usually does. It moved everything around without asking.
Let me be upfront. I hadn’t watched any of Coogler's work. Not out of protest, just disinterest. Franchise reboots, spandex and pew-pew lasers forged from Video Copilot assets, that's background noise to me. On that note, I wasn’t planning to watch this one either. Frankly, nothing about it looked remotely interesting. Then I stumbled on this opinion piece in The New York Times titled “The Movie…
Recently I lost a heart I held close. A presence that could not judge, for the concept itself was foreign. A presence that made the house live has moved on. More precisely, my boy, my rogue rascal, chose to move on, on his own terms, departing not in sorrow but with the dignity of a life fully lived, leaving behind only the echo of his presence. The pain hasn’t lessened. It just learned to breathe…
I hate it. It’s not a language. It’s a linguistic car crash. A Frankenstein of laziness and insecurity, where meaning commits suicide by hanging between two alphabets. Every sentence reads like someone trying to run a marathon while sucking a bag of dicks. Every syllable lands like the collapse of the Twin Towers after the second plane hit. Slow, inevitable, tragic in the wrong ways. You are…
As Calvin J. Candie put it, what first seized my curiosity to watch the film was the teaser. To set the scene: I was lollygagging with my wife at the Dunkirk screening, paying no mind to the trailers, partly because when I decide to watch a film, I don’t need a trailer to convince me, and partly because The Paris belongs to Netflix, which basically means every trailer is just Netflix selling…
Lately, I’ve been thinking, or rather wrestling , with this notion of rights. Not the performative, brochure kind we’re sold, but the kind that comes with the price. The kind that are treated, or rather handled , by those who believe they have any authority over what belongs to me. This is about ME! This is about my money, this is about money due me! Which I WILL collect! 3.7 Million dollars! It's…