2018.5

Watching Korean films like I used to.

… … …

There was a time when I could convince you that I was the only person on the planet. On this entire Earth. That I existed by myself,  that even you were a figment of my imagination. I’d sit for hours every single night, avoiding sleep, watching Korean films. Crying like a baby.

Memento Mori. Samaritan Girl. Old Boy. Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance. Lady Vengeance. Green Chair.

I’d watch Japanese films. Live for violence and sorrow and exploitation.

Ichi The Killer. A Snake of June. Audition. One Missed Call.

I’d watch Chinese films. Feel thrills from little details like seizures and bloody nightmares.

Dumplings. H.

And I’d go on and on and on watching these films. Living in these stories and these moments as if my own life would never start up. Because there was no one else there. Nothing but Synecdoche, New York. Nothing but Last Life in the Universe. Nothing but The Science of Sleep or The Rules of Attraction or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Film was important to me. Almost as important as books, for a time.

I feel myself venturing back into that. Into the sounds of skin, close-ups of lips, the study of weary eyes.

I spent my New Year observing movies that I watched so much, I thought I knew the characters in real life. I remembered some of these actors and actresses like I really knew them.

I think I will go back to avoiding sleep. For the most part.

I think I’ll use my time machine for good every now and then.