100% did not remember Richard Pryor or Marilyn Manson being in that film… feels like entirely distinct eras overlapping.
Lynch’s Lost Highway, a darkened room, a wintry evening.
A non-zero chance my sanity won’t hold.
The little section of my back garden that the birds routinely attack also appears to retain snow after a melt.
It’s not really snowing, more raining directly into ice.
Another day of accidentally making myself a nice cup of steamed milk instead of actual coffee…
When you know before opening the blinds that there’s been snow overnight from the increase in reflected light.
There may be a point where an absurd lack of physical dexterity becomes life threatening.
Just folded close and sealed up a package and now blood is streaming from both of my hands despite them interacting with nothing but cardboard.
It’s so unseasonably bright and mild that I’m already being peer-pressured into cutting the grass by the sound of other people’s lawnmowers.
Rewatching Columbo and every male lead has a voice that sounds like it actively hurts to use.
(Other than Severance)
I think Andor may have broken all other TV sci-fi for me.
The blandly grey days between two winters, a Northern Irish tale.
(Except the bit in the middle when it’s briefly too bright to see)
That slightly dazed level of tiredness when your eyes start to snag on things; you’re not looking quite where you intended, just somewhere along the way, stopped at something too visually heavy to get all the way past. Sometimes mid conversation.
The inability to read properly in dreams feels like it’s solving the same problem as the no-signal/broken phone trope in modern horror.
I like the impossible vastness of the bath implied there.
Just cobbled together an accessibility ramp for a spider trapped in the bath. It has retreated further into the bath.
The kind of winds that you hear at a slight remove. Somewhere just above, probably the other side of the street. Giant balls of atmosphere rolling.
Weird stray memories from the brain-cooking of a slight head-cold - the primary (nightmare inducing) worry that I had as a child, I’m sure over multiple years, was that I would somehow get my head stuck between railings.