I, too, am plagued with a memory.
Not any memory in particular. Just a memory. Where one might say, “a photographic memory,” “elephantine,” or “damn near perfect,” I just say, “a…”
I am plagued with a memory for people, events, and the details in between. Conversations play back in crystal-clear audiophilic fidelity, years after the fact. My stomach gurgles at the sound of my own voice echoing in my head—the idiotic words it’s said. I’d say I’ve spent two thirds…
Probably the absolute wrong place to say this but... I found a Guy.
In a similar vein to those screenshottable instances of a dude's essence captured in an image, along with the caption, "I found a new type of guy," but this Guy cannot be pinned down to just one screenshot—except maybe to the one of his Instagram Live video titled, "Drunk depressed and want a REAL WOMAN IN MY LIFE," paused at the second where his eyes are half-closed…
After the plot I confessed to in the last one, you're probably expecting me to go even bigger and better for number 2—to reveal that I pulled off something higher stakes and almost got away with it. Truth is I did pull something, years ago, and not on my own family this time. But I got away with it, so to reveal it here would be a confession to a crime it seems no one noticed. Let's just say, hypothetically…
After those Anoracdotes about me and strip clubs, now I bet you're expecting to hear about my big heist.
Thirteen years old. Late night at summer's end, in the computer and scrapbooking room of my childhood home. I stood on an office chair to yank the ceiling fan's pull-chain to speed it up, and there they were, atop mom's scrapbooking cabinet, 10+ manila envelopes, bulbous and terrible. I opened one. Opened another. Identical contents. Cash money in hundred dollar bills.…
The thing I would do so inhumanly well that I break the simulation is brushing my teeth. I would be going at it for 5 minutes, getting every crevice, scrubbing plaque away better than those damn dentists' tools ever could, finishing it off with a tongue-brush so thorough and so deep that I throw up, awakening my body in the real world and becoming aware of the matrix. The bathroom mirror glitches into a million pieces and my dentist materializes…
Curent [former] top review of this is an insufferable shit pile. The writer blithely introduces the review by referring to the film as "crap." Then waxes impotent about how art can never be apolitical and Tsai's film's political stance is that movie theaters are the superior viewing method, and the writer's political stance is that this is a blatant show of privelege from Tsai.
The film just shows different areas of a theater being bathed in light. Get over it,…
