Him isn’t a bad movie with interesting ideas, it’s an interesting idea that never survived becoming a movie.
Him isn’t a bad movie with interesting ideas, it’s an interesting idea that never survived becoming a movie.
I don’t love American football, but Football made it uncomfortably clear that the things we obsess over don’t need our approval to define us.
This isn’t the album Megadeth needed, but it’s the one Dave Mustaine insisted on having, and somehow that feels like closure.
Cronenberg doesn’t want you to understand The Shrouds. He wants you to feel the gap between knowing and letting go.
This is a genre built on patience, decay and the stubborn refusal to let anything go too fast.
Merzbow doesn’t offer relief so much as perspective and Nocturnal Forest is what that perspective sounds like after midnight.
Ellroy still has the questions. I’m just no longer convinced he cares about the answers.
Train Dreams argues, without ever raising its voice, that the fastest way to feel real might be to stop checking whether you matter.
This isn’t a book you finish so much as one that finishes with you and whatever’s left unresolved afterward is the point.
I don’t listen to You Are Safe From God Here to feel better, I listen to it because it understands why I don’t.
Vermis doesn’t insist on meaning. It creates the conditions for it, then steps aside.
Die My Love exists in that awkward half-space between looking good and actually being good.
