“…there were no survivors.”
It’s been a hell of a week, so I’m kissing it goodbye at the beach bar. This is my happy place.
I haven’t posted for six weeks and I *still* don’t have anything interesting to say.
I was drinking alone last night, and as I am wont to do on such occasions, got to thinking about Why I Am the Way I Am. I ended up writing a 2000-ish word piece about seeing Close Encounters of the Third Kind in the fall of 1977 and connecting it to my discovery of François Truffaut and Jules and Jim and then to Alfred Hitchcock and over to Rod Serling and the Twilight Zone and then somehow back to Truffaut and Ray Bradbury and Douglas Adams and Neil Gaiman and David Fincher and the short sci-fi film (shot on a Betamax camera the size of a Prius) that I made for my gifted class project when I was 10.
It’s a good piece, but I’m not going to post it here. It needs some work.
Also, you people don’t come here for my reflective, thought-provoking stuff. So here is a cat gif for you. You internet dicklicks sure do love your cats.
He imagined himself going on across the world, all the way to the sea. He imagined himself growing up and growing older, bringing himself up by his bootstraps. Somewhere in there he would become fabulously wealthy. And then he would go back to the house with the twins in it, and he would drive up to their door in his wonderful car, or perhaps he would turn up at a football game (in his imagination the twins had neither aged nor grown) and look down at them, in a kindly way. He would buy them all, the twins, his parents, a meal at the finest restaurant in the city, and they would tell him how badly they had misunderstood him and mistreated him. They apologized and wept, and through it all he said nothing. He let their apologies wash over him. And then he would give each of them a gift, and afterward he would leave their lives once more, this time for good.
Snacktime.
(Taken with Zuckergram at Delgrossocorp HQ)
The secret blog of Tony Delgrosso: