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nathaxnne <3 [hiatus]’s review published on Letterboxd:
80's Amblin Family Vehicle Hijacked Straight To Hell Whereupon Reverse-Engineered Into The Weapon Of War It Never Knew It Was But It Always Was
Multivalent Allegorical Structure That Isn't About One Thing But A Complex Of Interrelating Systems Of Pressure And Feedback Revealing A Different Picture From Every Nth-Dimensional Angle But It Is All The Same Picture
Bilateral Asymmetry :: :: The Mirror Does Not Fold
(((((((((((((((((((((((((((My War)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
(I got hurt going into Us. I picked the left-hand path to the bathroom rather than the right-hand path and the left-hand bathroom lacked a hydraulic close so when a draft came through the ventilation system the door slammed shut so hard the metal face plate impacting the doorjamb and a shockwave burst with nowhere to go but through me. Somewhere there was a right-isomer of me who had gone to the right-hand bathroom, someone who didn't get hurt, who didn't experience a change in consciousness, a migraine, speech impact, hand tremors, who then tried to explain what had happened to their GP less than an hour after the movie ended and couldn't explain right due to brain trauma and so couldn't explain and everything came out wrong in a wrong voice. Somewhere there was the me who took the right-hand path and who could write a good review of Us, the one they would have written if they hadn't gotten hurt, if their skull hadn't exploded apart, the reverberation in the cracks and the lining of the skull flaring and receding, the nausea, the confusion, the hurt. This is the me that I am and I am afraid of and cry for the other versions of me who are hurt worse than this, who don't get to go to the movies or write on the internet or drive a car. But I wish I was the version of me who didn't get hurt today, who just used the bathroom and watched the movie and loved it and wrote something awesome and went to the doctor and explained the difficulty properly in complete sentences and got the proper referrals. This version of me has learned that I should not try to make things better because they always end up like today. Trying to go to the doctor and explain what it is like to experience brain reinjury to someone who has never had a brain injury to begin with, let alone a constant stream of continuous damage is difficult enough without an actively inflamed brain. I wonder what the other versions of me are doing right now. How many of them are thinking about me writing this. If their apartments are nicer, if they are hurt by them too, if they still are with their families, whomever they are, and how many are dead or incarcerated. I think of how lucky I am to have the standard of living that I do, the quality of life that I do such as it is.)
When I was young, in the 1980's there was a myth of the Middle Class. it didn't exist but it was a lie we told in order to believe that we were a society all together, some richer, some poorer. I used to belong to that middle class. Everyone thinks this. It was always a war. it doesn't have to be. it is structured as a war because the war isn't about winning it is about waging. the staging of tactical permanent defeat. there is no victory. there are no victors. there is a pyramid of crushing loss, its apex hidden or decapitated or absconded or never built only hallucinated or built as a flickering 4d hologram ad we were so sure would just be everywhere by now and while you were watching it was watching you, well, maybe that did happen. What are you watching? What are they doing? What do they look like? What are they wearing Can they see you? Can they see you from there? Are they starting to come over?
Whose home? Whose invasion?
Maybe The Pyramid Is Only Its Apex And It Is The Base We Cannot See That Supports This Our World
