my anguish prevents me from revealing myself.

the child always surfaces.one interpretation is the adult is scared of the him. when the adult shows himself it's a defense mechanism. to protect the child from the father.

 his life is just what you see. it's all hid.

he says, cinema destroyed my life, but he smiles later and while it's true you feel he's just being cinematic.

 hossein says, when it comes to real love, there's always helplessness, failure & disappointment. his not fitting, his not fighting, his dreaming love.

 there are so many crooks in this world and nobody gives a damn. -hossein sabzian

in the cyclist he had to go on after the contest was over. i'd have to do the same, at least for my own sake...or perhaps i'd have immersed myself in a kind of nostalgia, my loneliness.
-hossein sabzian.

all jumbled. can't think. strands of light in dark dreamtime. america gets stranger and stranger. also me, i get stranger, or am i still becoming myself. i saw Close-up again. i felt distant until i saw the additional documentary on the same subject, a guy who is lost and in love with flickering images in the dark cinema and poses as an iranian filmmaker. in the "fiction" film everyone acts themself and reinacts the "crime". and it's more a inquiry into how we see ourselves, how complicit we are in our collective fictions, etcetera, but..distant somehow. it felt like everyone was acting. in the documentary the perpetrator comes out as passionate, a poet crushed by both cinema and society. i felt similarly when i saw the next day A girl Walks Home Alone at Night, by an american by way of iran, a film about dark dreaming too, with fields of thrusting, sucking oil derricks, and a lone vampire in a chador beautifully moving through the wasted industrial landscape on a skateboard. i can't think, but i feel something, something dark and strangely poetic. something by now seems inexorable about technology, war, $, and america.