I’m writing this on a tram, because I won’t have time when I get home; I’ll have about four hours to sleep before I need to get up and play a zombie. I’m a good method-actor, see.
1: In one of the cubicles at Uni, just outside the library, there is a permanent-marker drawing of a stick figure in a bunny costume, looking sadly down at his belly.
2: At the front of my cinema studies class – which is utterly packed, by the way – there is not one sign-language interpreter, but two; a cheerful young Eastern (Indian?) fellow and a squat old lady with red cheeks and glasses. They take turns every ten minutes or so.
3: Our dryer works, and yet nothing actually comes out any drier. Clearly it in fact doesn’t work, you say, but it displays every other symptom of perfect functionality. It doesn’t do what I want it to, sure, but it tries hard to earn its keep? Maybe it slacks off when I leave the room.
4: She appears. We lock eyes. I don’t bother killing my grin; I was wearing it already, and it’s not worth it. She veers behind a wall and vanishes.
5: Choir practice. We spent the first fifteen minutes on breathing techniques, and then they want us to learn our parts, snippet by snippet, by bashing through them repeatedly. Unorthodox.
6: There is a kid in the choir called Guillaume. He tried to explain it almost exactly the same way as I wrote it. It was too much already, but I didn’t get the chance to ask.
7: That smell; that godforsaken smell. Did someone soil their pants? Does that weird old lady from my work wear the same perfume? I was trying to sing.
8: Silent films simultaneously draw me in and push me away with the coupling of piano music.
9: The Cheat’s redemption was the moment she realized she needed her husband. I chose my words carefully, and the lecturer thought I was taking the movie at face-value. I think she was taking my words at face-value; I never said I agree that it's a redeeming moment.
10: The blatant sexism and racism of 1910’s cinema is surprisingly in-character. Sometimes.
2: At the front of my cinema studies class – which is utterly packed, by the way – there is not one sign-language interpreter, but two; a cheerful young Eastern (Indian?) fellow and a squat old lady with red cheeks and glasses. They take turns every ten minutes or so.
3: Our dryer works, and yet nothing actually comes out any drier. Clearly it in fact doesn’t work, you say, but it displays every other symptom of perfect functionality. It doesn’t do what I want it to, sure, but it tries hard to earn its keep? Maybe it slacks off when I leave the room.
4: She appears. We lock eyes. I don’t bother killing my grin; I was wearing it already, and it’s not worth it. She veers behind a wall and vanishes.
5: Choir practice. We spent the first fifteen minutes on breathing techniques, and then they want us to learn our parts, snippet by snippet, by bashing through them repeatedly. Unorthodox.
6: There is a kid in the choir called Guillaume. He tried to explain it almost exactly the same way as I wrote it. It was too much already, but I didn’t get the chance to ask.
7: That smell; that godforsaken smell. Did someone soil their pants? Does that weird old lady from my work wear the same perfume? I was trying to sing.
8: Silent films simultaneously draw me in and push me away with the coupling of piano music.
9: The Cheat’s redemption was the moment she realized she needed her husband. I chose my words carefully, and the lecturer thought I was taking the movie at face-value. I think she was taking my words at face-value; I never said I agree that it's a redeeming moment.
10: The blatant sexism and racism of 1910’s cinema is surprisingly in-character. Sometimes.
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