Notes from my Black
Sometimes Hollywood gets it right.
I’ve have these small boxes of movies on dvd. Most of them are slated to get donated. A few I set aside because I had never seen them. Very few I kept because I really liked them. I’ve been pecking away at the small collection for a few weeks at night while I am free to do so. Tonight I watched “In Love and War”. This was a movie I’d not seen.
In the movie, and real life actually, a young Ernest Hemingway gets his heart broken. This movie put to imagery, what I’ve been trying to put to words. My switch has been flipped. I can’t seem to make myself see the good in myself. I haven’t given up on me, but I have lost a great deal of what I was probably supposed to be. I’m not a raving cynic like Hemingway, I also don’t have his talent. From pure emotion greatness is birthed. Hemingway had that in spades and by blunt force trauma. I have my own madness via a long slow drip to the forehead. It was predictable and soothing in its predictability. It has left me dim in many regards.
Now I am numb… but have shit to do. Perhaps I will.