3AM Cinema Club
Hemingway was resolutely alone. A reporter faithful to his profession, he went in and out of wars and revolutions in order to observe, not to participate. Maybe he believed that there was no point in attempting to change the nature of things. Maybe he preferred to imagine rather than to take action. And when reality became suffocating, he looked away, a gesture that, if impactless, is at least tender.
“So, who are you?” The woman at the grill asked, with the professional smile of a hotel receptionist.
“Hey. I did some work on my screenplay. I was wondering if I could show it to you sometime,” I said.
1. The limbo between fantasy and reality. The violence that fantasy inflicts upon reality—That’s what I shall explore (as an individual and as an artist).
The flight attendants started delivering refreshments again. I wanted to throw up, but couldn’t make it happen. So I thought, maybe this was a good time to reflect on my life. I tried to meditate by imagining myself as a compact cassette. The play button popped up with a crisp sound as the stop button was pressed, then the tape went “whoosh” like a roaring train, screeching to a halt when there was only white leader on the left reel.