This was a year full of movies. For many reasons.
Monicelli first. And his manifesto of dignity, as he called Ida.
work second. Inside the cinema, inside the screen behind the screen. Before the film, with its margins, near the boundary.
Touch the cinema. Wanting to touch it. In the certainty that it can be a "strong", could also be revenge, like the Tarantino of Shoshanna.
bell'incendio Most of the story. Then came
Inception.
I write and I fall off the chair. I do not know where to go to the lower level or the upper one.
"What is the most pest resistant? A bacterium? A virus? An intestinal tapeworm? No, idea. Persistent, contagious. Once that has taken possession of the brain is almost impossible to eradicate it. An idea fully formed, including, clings in here somewhere "
So even the burning of Shoshanna could really have happened, might be running now, somewhere.
The danger is always to get lost. In half the stories in the middle of the image, in the midst of dreams.
are the things I have always had those on this list. More food, more water than air. Each has its air chemically. My vital molecules are made of the drugs there and this makes it more dangerous.
Tina knows. For all the nights that was with me no Weston.
The border is always tenuous, between life and death, between truth and imagination. More than you imagine.
But if one thing is true as fiction, it is true or not?
And really matter if it's true? Import label it so if you do not believe in God?
How fake a Picasso bull than a bull right? So why do I like as much? And why look for it and create it if nature has already created its original?
Fiction exudes beauty because it seeks its truth. O reveals.
I chase the beauty.
And if curiosity is insubordination in its pure form, Lolita becomes the fire of his loins. Otherwise would not have existed and would not give scandal. Lo-li-ta.
Maybe.
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