Here, In My Solitude, I Have The

There Is No Art Form That Has So Much In Common With Film As Music. Both Affect Our Emotions Directly, Not Via The Intellect.

Fellini, Kurosawa, And Bunuel Move In The Same Field As Tarkovsky. Antonioni Was On His Way, But Expired, Suffocated By His Own Tediousness.

Either I Did Away With That Fear Through Writing, Or In The Course Of Writing, I Discovered It Was No Longer So Intrusive Or Threating. The Bottom Line Is, It's Gone.

This Damned Ranting About Doom. Is That Food For The Minds Of Modern People? Do They Really Expect Us To Take Them Seriously?

Sometimes I Go For Days Without Speaking To A Soul. I Think, “i Should Make That Call", But I Put It Off. Because There’s Something Pleasurable About Not Talking. But Then I Love Talking, So It’s Not That. But Sometimes It Can Be Nice. It’s Not Like I Sit Here Philosophizing, Because I’ve No Talent For That. It’s Just This Thing About Silence That’s So Wonderful.