48.0

Yesterday night was fantastic.
I'm so transfixed by movies. I love them. So it's no wonder that I anxiously count down the days in February until the fateful awards ceremony of red carpets and golden statuettes. I follow it religiously.

I'd write more about it but I can't seem to muster the words. No description seems to fit the moment very well. There's just this culmination of white teeth, sweaty palms, glamour, talent and nostalgia all crammed into one theater. Simply watching it through the television leaves me dazzled. The amount of people crammed into that one theater never fails to amaze me. The artists, the musicians, the cameramen, the technicians, the writers, the actors---
All storytellers.
A profession that has lasted for centuries on end.

There's this generic idea of the movies involving popcorn, coca-cola, couples making out in the back of the theater and mothers having to constantly step outside to calm their screaming infants.
A waste of time and money. Especially now with movie tickets going for almost $9 a pop.

But popcorn is the last thing on my mind when I think of movies. And sometimes, money is back there too.

Because honestly, people pay good money to get a high on whatever. It doesn't even have to be illegal. But the point is that people are easily addicted to that strange sensation that they can't really explain and want to feel it over and over and over again in the hopes of being able to properly analyze it and know what it is.
People go broke trying to re-create these feelings and experiences when in reality all you need is the movie basement in the library.

How else can you conjure spinal shivers that come with a Shakespearean monologue?
The visual spectacles leaving your jaw weak and your eyelids peeled to the edge of their sockets?
The euphoria of an orchestra?
How can you substitute the madness,
the melancholy,
the ecstasy?
This emotional cacophony can be found through the silver screen.

Each little theatrical jewel is a portal to these potent emotions that we harbor somewhere deep in our brains and our hearts. It feels fantastic to have the work of someone else take your mind and soul and distort it, color it, turn it inside out, break it, and put it back together again.





I'd fix this, and I'd write more but I don't want to.
I can never finish thoughts. But that's all right, I guess.