“A filigranic rubber-twisting kid. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, he moved as if he was from a different specie.”
my… Bristol friends in their moments of true torment. This is how I imagine them to be, beyond the garishness of house or circus after parties. A caring balance act of friends as they carry each other’s darings and insecurities through the night of life.
A recurring image as dancers jump and twist with ecstatic denouement then die. People dragging their dead loved ones around like precious bags of memories. Very touching but sometimes hard to watch; …emotionally.
Hugged for long with Erica (the actors made us 🙂 ) – a lovely girl a coté – lived in Ldn, just moved to Paris. Kept taking notes hiding away in her diary. Curvy but sexy. 27ish. Jeans cut mid-thigh with black embroidery in-threaded partly covering the cut. Open face. Not so much body posture way tho. Pitty 🙂
Who’s this guy? where does he get his hope from? Seems more at the end of it than me! I pass by the stash of discarded things the next morning. He’s right. There is still some, left there on the bottom of that pandora box – a trace of humanity.
Casual smiles, writing their dance not just on the blue surface, but in the air as well. A fluid intensity interspersed with moments of abandoned “post orgasmic” breaks, gasps on the floor
haze and rain stitched me to, into and around the bed. Wavering between editing my best day of film in the LFF festival and re-watching some dance treasures I keep scattered around my bed