Written Monday night, published Tuesday morning.
My internet connection is down for the evening.
I am watching The Sheltering Sky,
a 1990 Bertolucci film based on a Paul Bowles novel.
John Malkevich and Debra Winger.
Rootless postwar Americans in alien French North Africa.
Characters you either can't or don't want to connect with.
Lots of recreations of the place and time.
When does existential disorientation become pretense and self-indulgence?
Speaking of pretense and self-indulgence,
I am sitting in my postChristmas living room,
where I tend to cocoon during chilly weather,
realizing that sometimes I feel as if I had
invented the world. As if it were some kind
of strange dream I am having.
Not a motive for pride, just...well...
existential disorientation.
I had coffee today with a fella
who has a very strong grasp on
certain kinds of reality
that I feel much less adept at.
Sometimes the after-effect is that
I feel even less adept.
1 comment:
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