1985

Diary Entry for1985

lonnie ๐ŸŒ's profile
lonnie ๐ŸŒ
Wednesday, 6 May 2026

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Other Diary Entries for1985

Lex's profile
Lex

1985

It's a Good year for black and white films!

3d ago
nathansnook's profile
nathansnook

1985

It makes sense that itโ€™s in black and white, he says, putting our wine glasses in the sink. I think everything looks better in black and white. Do you think film begged for color with its first taste? Technicolor mustโ€™ve been delicious, I say, stretching myself out on the couch. Do you think a mother knows best? Like from the beginning? Do you think she knew her sons were gay? Does your mom know? Sometimes I think she does. She has this way of looking. How does she look? She looks sad I think because she sees sadness in things. What do you mean? Sheโ€™s disappointed in a lot of things. Like the weather, he said. He looked out the window, but there was nothing to look at because it was dark out now. I look at him. I pretend to see like his mom does. He sees it. His motherโ€™s eyes in mine. He turns away. Why do amateur filmmakers always keep the camera so still? Yen Tan holds the camera as if itโ€™s a heavy thing to move, like heโ€™s unsure of how to use it, he complains. I think itโ€™s because theyโ€™re afraid of it. Heโ€™s shy around the camera. Thatโ€™s why heโ€™s behind it. And the actors are so stiff. They feel like student actors. I think thereโ€™s a charm to it. Itโ€™s trying to be what itโ€™s not, set in the mid 80s, Reaganโ€™s time, but itโ€™s not. Itโ€™s pretending. It pretends like we do. Do you wear a mask around me? No. Iโ€™m myself when Iโ€™m with you. He imitates the sound of puking over where the clean glasses are now. His hands are wet with suds and he walks over to me, to hug me, drying his hands off with the back of my shirt. I step on his foot to push him off and weโ€™re laughing. Thereโ€™s a childlike ใ……ใ…‚ in our throats and I step on my tip toes over his and I think Iโ€™m floating a bit, like an ornament, light and tinsel and glowing. I could fall and break and that could be the end of everything with gleaming finery. I could call it a life, a love, and lull out in a song. Weightless. Airy. A bit like magic. โ€œ๐˜ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏโ€™๐˜ต ๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ท๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ, ๐˜ถ๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ญ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถโ€™๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ฅ๐˜บ. ๐˜ˆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜โ€™๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ต๐˜ณ๐˜บ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ฅ๐˜บ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ.โ€

8d ago

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1985

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