“Diacritics.”It’s high summer in NYC. The Knicks won, there was a parade, etc. The World Cup is happening in a parallel universe; I thought I’d be more invested. The heat has gone placid, smoothing out into a breezy lightness. And now rain. Even as I give in, I feel a special kind of despair at seeing that it’s nearly July. How does this happen? The other day I read a beautiful poem by a friend in probably the most well-known literary magazine in the world. She has two small children and multiple professional responsibilities—sometimes I think scarcity drives its own productivity. A part of me wants to make myself poorer of time, so that I can value it more. In the studioPhysical therapy is a marvel—I should have gone sooner. Progress with the film is steady, if slow. I’m coming up to what feels like an inflection point; it inspires the anxiety of a mirage, but the only way to traverse these stretches is to suspend disbelief and proceed.I’ve been working on a long sequence, “intro to…
No comments yet. Log in to reply on the Fediverse. Comments will appear here.