Dust of an old soul

You closed me with keys of drama and night street tears.

Left me lying in haze of tabacco smoke.

Turned away your gaze.

Took away bodily delights.

However, despite your cruelty, you made sure I wasn't left with nothing.

Before turning the keys, you'd clothed me with a thick cloak of insensibility and egocentrism.

After disturbing yet enchanting Martha Marcy May Marlene seen last week, I'd chosen another indie film for this weekend. The aesthetics of We Need to Talk About Kevin is mind-blowing. Photography, short but pointed shots, enriched by the soundtrack and Tilda's pure and flawless performance make it an absorbing piece of art. Crawling between before and after, reality and pictured anxiety of mind, awakens long untouched areas of perception, which I love about cinema the most. Certainly, a movie to go back to.

I truly adore a mind renaissance of visual and sound delights from the past. Lately, I've been recalling the beautiful Carnivàle and its soundtrack, by Jeff Beal, which I've been listening to passionately.

Have a wonderful Sunday. (Mine started shortly before 6 AM; why.)

Babylon by Jeff Beal