city 39 My copy of god's longing When was it sent * city 40 The dream on its deathbed sees a film on emptiness * city 41 Animals pretend to live here But don't eat much
city 36 A running shower that prays impossibly on the body of our lowest sibling for the return of a bomb-maker's homesick drone * city 37 An angel burned for soundproofing crows * city 38 On tv a lunchbox designed by my ghost sells so well that a mom
We Don’t Belong Here is anchored by a trenchant performance by Catherine Keener, and is also wonderfully adrift in the presence of its lead, Kaitlyn Dever. Anton Yelchin and Riley Keough are also excellent, both sweet and dark, and Yelchin’s lines about death can’t help but feel far from home, but close to homecoming. It doesn’t quite get where it’s going or know where it’s returning to, but is careful with its oddities of faith. Frank and Lola asks its two leads, Michael Shannon and Imogen Poots, to do too little with too much…but both are intense and Poots actually steals more than Shannon. The whole endeavor is at first sad and a little mean, and then less sad and more mean. There is a scene where the two leads part, and it is a killer. The film has a great look; an emptiness trying to drain itself. The Levelling is all facial tic and repression, and registers wholly. It starts in the middle of things being gutted, gives its hollowness space, and lets its finale fill with the missing. Ellie Kendrick is the real thing, is oracle, and David Troughton tricks silence into doing the work of response. It’s a great film.
city 33 Bagging the bright mouse in the deer faith of my youth * city 34 Tooth decay carried by god over the capital of After * city 35 All secrecy genetic Proof is our last ghost
city 32 sleep cries itself to death I wrote a poem similar to the poem below You love another
soft-focus slaughterhouse
poems, Dylan Krieger
11:11 Press, 2021
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With a punk patience for the previously prophetic, poet Dylan Krieger, in soft-focus slaughterhouse, predicts with the grey comedy of deep presence what pain is losing to our collectively photographic memory of being invasively untouched. This is a verse the closes distance with the body actual, a verse that does not suffer suffering, a verse somewhat for the uncrucified astronaut indebted to imagery but really and wholly for those who can remain nostalgic for prognosis while knowing how sick it is to leave one’s affliction to another. This is a poetry of essential saying, of wordplay and wordwork, and language needs to catch up.
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reflection by Barton Smock
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book is here
city 31 Click while naked On this link That later the forgetting is small
city 30 God didn't think we'd create sleep
Danny Madden’s Beast Beast is a film of spaces both dedicated and random, and of a time not sure if it’s escaping or being told to leave. Its DIY beginnings resist plot but then succumb, and if its more local parts seem an ill fit for the smallness of its universal body, it does well in the wounds of opera as it interrogates exhibition with display and asks performance whether the lines have been said wrong or were they just given to the wrong person. While Will Madden gives his character just enough nothing to own, Shirley Chen and Jose Angeles come separately from another movie that becomes this movie and they take root in that brief claim. Psychologically patient, Kourosh Ahari’s The Night is a knockout of a horror film that follows a couple and their child long enough that something behind us begins to live with the guilt of being temporary. With the dual portals of imagery and language, the performances by Shahab Hosseini and Niousha Jafarian go from ghost to ghost, barrier to obstacle, knowing that a shallow grave is deeper than a jump scare and that one eye is never surprised there’s a second.
city 27 Here you will sleep like a gun on its dying password * city 28 Touch is everywhere a stranded know-it-all * city 29 What's the longest we've gone being pictured by nothing
kingsoftrain 