Goodbye, Dragon Inn

Goodbye, Dragon Inn ★★★★★

Sixty in September: 22/60

Cinema of my dreams.

About looking. At people. At movies. At people in movies. At people through movies. At yourself. About remembering. Remembering movies. Remembering people. Remembering yourself.

Reaching out and standing next to and breathing the smoke of and lighting a cigarette and next to someone's feet.

Rain indistinguishable from the hum of the projector. Ghosts. Memory. Death of cinema. Love of cinema. Loss of cinema. Remembering. The process, the cycle of cinema going, film watching. Arriving, watching, walking home. Communing alone.

I have empathized with no moment in movies more, perhaps ever in my life, than when the film oscillates suddenly back and forth from the ticket girl to the warrior girl. The pinpoints of light on her face, her eyes completely alight. I saw myself seeing myself.

Above all, an eternal love of movies. Being haunted by them. Remembering them. Elegy for all the souls who go looking in them, all the souls in them. Who are haunted by them, who haunt them. A song for the wonderful, sad mystery of what movies are, always fading, fading away.

Alone. Together.

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