James Dean and Martin Scorsese together again for the first time
[mood|
jealous]
Man in Tweed belts a sideways laugh, the cackle cut short by a leather slap. Blue eyed man with racing jacket lifts the bookey up by firm collar, the ceiling sprinkles drywall over the two as the bookey is slammed against the wall, "I ask you again...where's...the money?"
This is what pops up when I press "restore from saved draft".
The world doesn't slow down for your grief. You can stay in bed and ignore it, but it's out there waiting for you to buy a coffee or go see a movie. "Let the Right One In" isn't that great of a scary movie, but it is one of the sweetest, most original romances of recent years. Despite it's horribly cynical outlook on love and relationships. I'm currently bidding on the movie poster.
If aliens came down and formed a symbiotic relationship with a lot of us humans and as a result gave us control over matter on a molecular level, there would be no super-villainy or super-heroics, just a lot of gender bending. It would start with just some basic imperfections with complexion, maybe make your nose a bit straighter, give your hair a bit more oomph. Then you'd get ideas about making yourself taller, or tanner, which gets a little scary, so you promise yourself to remember exactly what you looked like before this whole crazy alien makeover thing began. With this freedom, human hosts everywhere will eventually say, "and you know what, I've always wanted breasts and a dick. Just for today." These hosts will be scrutinized at first, then there will be tolerance, and soon enough you'll be dodging eye contact from the waiter at White Spot, feigning comfort with the fact that you're being served by an amoebous ball of flesh.
If aliens came down while I was trying to have dinner in my nice home with my nice family and shined their big scanning flood lights through our kitchen window, I would be the first to run and not look back or say good bye to anyone. "Not me," I'd say, "oh god oh god, it won't happen to me." I'd run out the back yard and leap over our picket fence and continue running through the yards of my neighbours, who are screaming obscenities at me, with that alien light blinding my heels. Soon I run out of neighbours and fences and yards, and at the edge of the last lawn on Earth is a deep red canyon, and over the pit the light chases me. My feet catch a slope, and instead of tumbling down, I keep running. I run faster down that hill, which doesn't seem to end and only gets steeper, until I go so fast and the hill gets so steep that I can't tell if I'm running or falling. I stop dreaming somewhere around there.
jealous]
Man in Tweed belts a sideways laugh, the cackle cut short by a leather slap. Blue eyed man with racing jacket lifts the bookey up by firm collar, the ceiling sprinkles drywall over the two as the bookey is slammed against the wall, "I ask you again...where's...the money?"
This is what pops up when I press "restore from saved draft".
The world doesn't slow down for your grief. You can stay in bed and ignore it, but it's out there waiting for you to buy a coffee or go see a movie. "Let the Right One In" isn't that great of a scary movie, but it is one of the sweetest, most original romances of recent years. Despite it's horribly cynical outlook on love and relationships. I'm currently bidding on the movie poster.
If aliens came down and formed a symbiotic relationship with a lot of us humans and as a result gave us control over matter on a molecular level, there would be no super-villainy or super-heroics, just a lot of gender bending. It would start with just some basic imperfections with complexion, maybe make your nose a bit straighter, give your hair a bit more oomph. Then you'd get ideas about making yourself taller, or tanner, which gets a little scary, so you promise yourself to remember exactly what you looked like before this whole crazy alien makeover thing began. With this freedom, human hosts everywhere will eventually say, "and you know what, I've always wanted breasts and a dick. Just for today." These hosts will be scrutinized at first, then there will be tolerance, and soon enough you'll be dodging eye contact from the waiter at White Spot, feigning comfort with the fact that you're being served by an amoebous ball of flesh.
If aliens came down while I was trying to have dinner in my nice home with my nice family and shined their big scanning flood lights through our kitchen window, I would be the first to run and not look back or say good bye to anyone. "Not me," I'd say, "oh god oh god, it won't happen to me." I'd run out the back yard and leap over our picket fence and continue running through the yards of my neighbours, who are screaming obscenities at me, with that alien light blinding my heels. Soon I run out of neighbours and fences and yards, and at the edge of the last lawn on Earth is a deep red canyon, and over the pit the light chases me. My feet catch a slope, and instead of tumbling down, I keep running. I run faster down that hill, which doesn't seem to end and only gets steeper, until I go so fast and the hill gets so steep that I can't tell if I'm running or falling. I stop dreaming somewhere around there.