Tuesday, October 12, 2004


There was a moment of déjà vu in Notorious (when the Nazis see that Alex Sebastian’s been married to an American agent). Have I ever been slowly poisoned by the contents of disproportionately large coffee cups only to be rescued by my true love carrying me down the stairs past a bunch of Nazis? Not that I recall, but it must have happened. And tonight we were treated to Jean Rouch and Edgar Morin asking Parisians circa 1961 if they were happy, which many of them were not, or were, relatively speaking. They all simply kept going. Including the tragic Italian woman, whose words were not as suicidal as they were translated to seem (so I’m told). It made me long for the day when I’ll take up exactly as much space as I require and nobody will think a thing of it, and when my lived experience will be punctuated by blackouts rather than the other way around.

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