All night, on and off heating. Have you ever seen Nikita Mikhalkov’s ‘Burnt by the Sun’? It’s a film Breda recommended to me and it is fantastic! Every time I see it, it’s as if for the first time. I forget entire scenes happened. Wait, does that mean I’m in love, with it? And there is this magical burning ball of light thing -a sun- cracking glass, setting trees of fire and ending lives. I’ve never seen anything like it, it’s literally figurative. How is that even possible? Above and beyond being simply a filmic device, I mean. It sort of functions as a destructive out of this world pure fantasy symbol that actually affects reality. It makes the rest of the implausibly hyper poetic action of the film seem comparatively sober. It also sounds like a log fire. All wrong, wrong. But so so right. I am in love with it. I must be. Tonight, I’m on and off writing around (about) my thoughts as they’ve slipped out through the window, again, I swear for the last time! (Shouting) That’s it, I’m through with chasing them, they’re grounded! I need to get thought glue, like those strips that catch flies. (I have a thing against flies, it seems, that’s the second time I’m mentioning them dying.) On and off watching A Z (zed) OO (and two naughts) by Peter Greenaway on my laptop too. ZOO is full of thoughts. Someone had glue. Thought made into words, made strange, like ‘uncanny’ or like ‘tendentious jokes’ in the Freudian sense:
Man: How are the Zebras?
Woman: Black and White.
ZOO has two of everything and an anxiety of one of anything. ZOO. See, Z is the problem and there they are, two of them, peas in a pod, OO.
Have I convinced you?
(N is definitely the problem. Z on its side. A A)
(You have one of everything!?)