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allweknewisdead

Teorema (1968) - Pier Paolo Pasolini

Mi accorgo ora che io non ho mai avuto alcun interesse reale per nulla.

aestheticvh

sovietpostcards

Irkutsk (Eastern Siberia) on vintage postcards from 1970s

blytthe

The hopeless dream of being. Not seeming to be, but being. Conscious and awake at every moment. At the same time, the chasm between what you are to others and what you are to yourself. The feeling of vertigo, and the constant hunger to be unmasked once and for all. To be seen through, cut down… perhaps even annihilated. Every tone of voice a lie, every gesture a falsehood, every smile a grimace. Commit suicide? No, too nasty. One doesn’t do things like that. But you can refuse to move or talk. Then at least you’re not lying. You can cut yourself off, close yourself in. Then you needn’t play any roles, wear any masks, make any false gestures. So you might think… but reality plays nasty tricks on you. Your hiding place isn’t watertight enough. Life oozes in from all sides. You’re forced to react.

Persona (1966) dir. Ingmar Bergman