Fin d’homme fandom

The challenge of being — “boring” is a tensionless, meaningless word for the much stranger magic going on here. What is the magic? Here it is: the blue light, which flickers down three then speeds up. Like film rewinding. A cultural reset. An intervention into the unconscious. The revelation of fictions, illusions as wide as movie movement to the fantasy of control to the transactional relationship network (TRN) in which we are enmeshed. How to escape it?

My theory is that every night Jeanne and Son go to the movies. Every night. “We ate late,” Son says, “Can’t we skip it?” “No; we go,” Jeanne says back. They are receiving an education. They stare at a blank cinema wall — maybe a Mike Snow or a Joyce Wieland, maybe a Burnett or an Apichatpong — feeling everything they’re not allowed to feel at home, as their murmurs of the heart shape into: a dialogue. A mute rapport. Between mother and child, human and animal, boy and woman, in a word: intersubjectivity. And here’s what they say: