On the making of Les Amants and an interview with Jeanne Moreau

EVERYONE SHOULD BE MURDERED

That way, it's easier for me to quit hoping.

I am pretty disappointed yet at the same time still increasingly hopeful. It probably has something to do with the whole notion of never giving up on something I want until I get it, lest I be a total brat about it and start complaining until I get it anyway. Nevertheless, there are some things I just hope would've come easier for me. I'm pretty self-centered that way, really. I've really grown to dislike always having to stretch myself thin over things that for the most part remain uncertain. Yeah, I'm pretty hard to please and I'm even harder to get along with but I don't think it would be right for me to pretend I wasn't. People will always end up seeing through me anyway so I don't see the point in going the extra mile until I find someone who doesn't mind what she sees past all of the pretentious art bullshit I try so hard to espouse. It's sort of like getting an unlimited number of allowable absences if you're a dean's lister or something.

As defined by one of my professors, love is the hypervaluation of another's subjectivity when two phenomenological fields come together. Leaning towards being a figurative drifter, wayfarer or flight attendant, I guess I end up crossing other people's paths on a regular basis. I fall in love with the thought of new beginnings rather quickly and I seldom ever fall out if it just so happens to be exactly the way it is the way I see it. What sets these people apart, then? What makes them so special? Among the 392473287432 phenomenological fields I come across, why should I pay attention to just one? I can't really say for sure. I don't think anybody could ever give a straight answer for anything of the like. Some people just aren't like everybody else. I don't know what it is that makes me stay up all night for you, I barely even know you but that's not stopping me. It scares me to a certain extent. What if the spark never leaves?

All I know is I feel something and my heart would only ever race for something (or someone) no less than monumental. I don't know how long this would last; it probably isn't forever but my heart is still racing.

I just wish I made yours too.

"Take my hand."- Jeanne Moreau's lover in Les Amants