Feelings and thoughts at first appear so pure, so natural. Why is it that I look back on them with guilt, disappointment, or detachment? Is there something about their purity which offends me?

What Time Is It There? (Tsai, 2002) (10/10)


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The Element of Crime (Von Trier, 1985) (8/10)


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maybe i should start posting deep dark secrets here. nobody would ever find them...

To give you an idea of my recent sleeping schedule...

I haven't seen the sun in two days, I slept for 12 hours yesterday until 6pm, I haven't been asleep since then. I started a ten page essay 6 this morning and just finished. I probably wont go to sleep until late tonight.

Bob Le Flambeur (Melville, 1955) (6/10)


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Central Station (Salles, 1998) (5/10)


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Notre Musique (Godard, 2004) (8/10)


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Alphaville (Godard, 1965) (10/10)


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The Passion of Joan of Arc (Dreyer, 1928) (8/10)


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