Blue Velvet (1986), George Dibble

I was in the library and it was the winter and the winter was so hard; I've learned to grieve, so I've learned to understand winter. Outside, the trees were dead. Leafless. Barren. They hunched beside the windows as if telling me my same end. I was sitting in the library with my friend and he was telling me about different thinkers. I couldn't agree with a lot of them. How can I look to the future in such cold. How could I look inward in such cold. But he said that one philosopher—I forget who—said that the only reason to live is for love. That love is the only thing that can pull you outside of yourself. To forget the absurd world. To remind you of the life that exists: birds perched in the black-bark trees, water still moving under ice sheets, a moon, distant, alone in the darkness, still giving itself, still lighting the world at the park I silently lie at. And to embrace it not knowing its consequences. 

I now know what he means.

Love is never clean. And you never enter it clean, either. It is a union of two imperfect people seeking understanding. Comfort. Safety, within a world that denies them such. What does it mean to be fully understood? And how can you fully understand another? With care. Gently. Patiently.

At In'N'Out I was with some friends and we were talking about my youngest sister. How she's still so young and my parents caught her with alcohol in her backpack. Dad asked me what he should do. I said: "Don't do what you did to me." But where does that leave him? What would I do differently than how I was shaped? An excuse I've given for substances is that "When I have kids, I'll know what they're going through, and I'll be so honest with them. And if they do what I'm doing, I'd react differently. Because I've been where they'll be." But when Dad asked me for that advice—for me to "react differently"—I only thought of what happened to me. But at the In'N'Out we were talking and we were all stumped and instead of taking the door of her room, or grounding her from her phone, or her friends, or lecturing her, I was hit with an image: a dinner at a candle-lit restaurant and just me and her and we're talking. Having caught her, I would take her to a nice dinner—maybe even the nicest in my town—and I would sit down with her and we would eat and we would talk and I would ask her questions, and let her know she is heard. And appreciated. And I wouldn't bring up the incident until the end, where I would tell her my love for her. Tell her that my world revolves around her. And that if something happened to her, I would no longer move, breathe; live. I am only I because of her. And I would tell her how dangerous what she's doing is. My concerns. And, again, confess my love. Then get desert. Go on a drive. Go home, tired, ready for the next day. Knowing that we are both loved. Needed.

I wish I was treated like this. I don't know if I would've looked to scary places for this affirmation, recognition. Appreciation. 

Because love wins. It always does.

RATING: 5/5          DATE: 6/8/25

We were both on the swim team. She was older. When I moved away I sent her an Oasis song. She sent me a Facebook message the week later and said she liked it. She joined the Coast Guard after she graduated. She means nothing to me. If I live forever I will not forget her.

RATING: 5/5          DATE: 5/20/25

La Ciénaga (2001), George Dibble

Lying on the couch. Staring at the ceiling. Sister watching reels full-volumed. Dad arguing at Mom for the type of alarm-tone she'd set. "It's ridiculous. Stop it. Stop it are you serious" and "This is the standard one I don't know what you want from me I didn't change anything." The ceiling fan rickety, shaking, shaking as if the house was on the axis of some tectonic split and only the sounding-ceiling bore truth to the events outside. Hot. Humid. The unused pool in the back a dead leaf mat. I stand from the couch. Peel off my shirt. Walk outside. Mosquitoes already at my ankles. I dip a foot into the bobbing leaves. Clear a hole. Dive.

The cold water angrily comforts. As if a dog, apologetically, places its mouth on where it'd bit you.

RATING: 4.5/5          DATE: 5/19/25

I had the best time at the park today. The shade was perfect, the grass was oh so green, and the food was delectable. I’m still thinking about that goddamn sandwich. And oh, the watermelon! Don’t even get me started on the watermelon! I had some spicy ghost pepper chips (you know—the ones from Trader Joe’s) as well. I kept putting those bad boys on my sandwich. I don’t remember where I first learned to do that. Probably the cafeteria in elementary school. I feel like Cheetos were involved. But alas, I just can’t know these things. I polished it all off with a pumpkin bar covered in cream cheese frosting. Everything is meaningless.

RATING: 4.5/5          DATE: 5/9/25

The Gospel According to St. Matthew (1964), George Dibble

Gummo (1997), Charles Quaid

Edge of Tomorrow (2014), Ethan Anderson

My most emotional moments happen while running.

RATING: 3.5/5          DATE: 12/31/24

Babygirl (2024), Ethan Anderson

I’ve been drunk since 4 pm.

RATING: 4/5          DATE: 12/27/24

Queer (2024), Ethan Anderson

My dad used to buzz my head for the first 10 years of my life. A nice close shave right against my skull. My skull had great shape. I don’t know why I only ever had buzzes for so long, but I know when I started to grow my hair out I also started to become moodier. My mom used to tease me and say I was nicer when I had short hair and that every time I cut my hair I had a weight lifted off of me. My “countenance“ became lighter without the long strands of hair weighing me down. 

I remember when I first started getting my hair cut by a stylist instead of by my dad in the kitchen. The soft touches of middle aged women against my head and neck had quite the effect on me. To this day the back of my neck is still the most sensitive part of my skin. I don’t know if I discovered that fact by getting my hair cut, or if getting my hair cut caused my neck to become sensitive. I won’t ever know. Chicken or the egg question I suppose.

RATING: 4.5/5          DATE: 12/15/24

Batman: The Dark Knight Returns, Part 2 (2013), Charles Quaid

I was in the library and it was the winter and the winter was so hard; I've learned to grieve, so I've learned to understand winter. Outside, the trees were dead. Leafless. Barren. They hunched beside the windows as if telling me my same end. I was sitting in the library with my friend and he was telling me about different thinkers. I couldn't agree with a lot of them. How can I look to the future in such cold. How could I look inward in such cold. But he said that one philosopher—I forget who—said that the only reason to live is for love. That love is the only thing that can pull you outside of yourself. To forget the absurd world. To remind you of the life that exists: birds perched in the black-bark trees, water still moving under ice sheets, a moon, distant, alone in the darkness, still giving itself, still lighting the world at the park I silently lie at. And to embrace it not knowing its consequences. 

I now know what he means.

Love is never clean. And you never enter it clean, either. It is a union of two imperfect people seeking understanding. Comfort. Safety, within a world that denies them such. What does it mean to be fully understood? And how can you fully understand another? With care. Gently. Patiently.

At In'N'Out I was with some friends and we were talking about my youngest sister. How she's still so young and my parents caught her with alcohol in her backpack. Dad asked me what he should do. I said: "Don't do what you did to me." But where does that leave him? What would I do differently than how I was shaped? An excuse I've given for substances is that "When I have kids, I'll know what they're going through, and I'll be so honest with them. And if they do what I'm doing, I'd react differently. Because I've been where they'll be." But when Dad asked me for that advice—for me to "react differently"—I only thought of what happened to me. But at the In'N'Out we were talking and we were all stumped and instead of taking the door of her room, or grounding her from her phone, or her friends, or lecturing her, I was hit with an image: a dinner at a candle-lit restaurant and just me and her and we're talking. Having caught her, I would take her to a nice dinner—maybe even the nicest in my town—and I would sit down with her and we would eat and we would talk and I would ask her questions, and let her know she is heard. And appreciated. And I wouldn't bring up the incident until the end, where I would tell her my love for her. Tell her that my world revolves around her. And that if something happened to her, I would no longer move, breathe; live. I am only I because of her. And I would tell her how dangerous what she's doing is. My concerns. And, again, confess my love. Then get desert. Go on a drive. Go home, tired, ready for the next day. Knowing that we are both loved. Needed.

I wish I was treated like this. I don't know if I would've looked to scary places for this affirmation, recognition. Appreciation. 

Because love wins. It always does.

RATING: 5/5          DATE: 6/8/25

We were both on the swim team. She was older. When I moved away I sent her an Oasis song. She sent me a Facebook message the week later and said she liked it. She joined the Coast Guard after she graduated. She means nothing to me. If I live forever I will not forget her.

RATING: 5/5          DATE: 5/20/25

La Ciénaga (2001), George Dibble

Lying on the couch. Staring at the ceiling. Sister watching reels full-volumed. Dad arguing at Mom for the type of alarm-tone she'd set. "It's ridiculous. Stop it. Stop it are you serious" and "This is the standard one I don't know what you want from me I didn't change anything." The ceiling fan rickety, shaking, shaking as if the house was on the axis of some tectonic split and only the sounding-ceiling bore truth to the events outside. Hot. Humid. The unused pool in the back a dead leaf mat. I stand from the couch. Peel off my shirt. Walk outside. Mosquitoes already at my ankles. I dip a foot into the bobbing leaves. Clear a hole. Dive.

The cold water angrily comforts. As if a dog, apologetically, places its mouth on where it'd bit you.

RATING: 4.5/5          DATE: 5/19/25

I had the best time at the park today. The shade was perfect, the grass was oh so green, and the food was delectable. I’m still thinking about that goddamn sandwich. And oh, the watermelon! Don’t even get me started on the watermelon! I had some spicy ghost pepper chips (you know—the ones from Trader Joe’s) as well. I kept putting those bad boys on my sandwich. I don’t remember where I first learned to do that. Probably the cafeteria in elementary school. I feel like Cheetos were involved. But alas, I just can’t know these things. I polished it all off with a pumpkin bar covered in cream cheese frosting. Everything is meaningless.

RATING: 4.5/5          DATE: 5/9/25

The Gospel According to St. Matthew (1964), George Dibble

Gummo (1997), Charles Quaid

Edge of Tomorrow (2014), Ethan Anderson

My most emotional moments happen while running.

RATING: 3.5/5          DATE: 12/31/24

Babygirl (2024), Ethan Anderson

I’ve been drunk since 4 pm.

RATING: 4/5          DATE: 12/27/24

Queer (2024), Ethan Anderson

My dad used to buzz my head for the first 10 years of my life. A nice close shave right against my skull. My skull had great shape. I don’t know why I only ever had buzzes for so long, but I know when I started to grow my hair out I also started to become moodier. My mom used to tease me and say I was nicer when I had short hair and that every time I cut my hair I had a weight lifted off of me. My “countenance“ became lighter without the long strands of hair weighing me down. 

I remember when I first started getting my hair cut by a stylist instead of by my dad in the kitchen. The soft touches of middle aged women against my head and neck had quite the effect on me. To this day the back of my neck is still the most sensitive part of my skin. I don’t know if I discovered that fact by getting my hair cut, or if getting my hair cut caused my neck to become sensitive. I won’t ever know. Chicken or the egg question I suppose.

RATING: 4.5/5          DATE: 12/15/24

Batman: The Dark Knight Returns, Part 2 (2013), Charles Quaid