And another one: RIP PSH


It’s hard not to feel a bit buffeted, isn’t it.

Here’s what I just wrote on my Facebook:

Well THAT was a rollercoaster! Amanda Knox, then Woody Allen – and no, I don’t want to hear what you think of it please! And no, every statement isn’t an invitation to hours of relatively hostile cross-examination, that is not always what a ‘conversation’ is – and then the final episode of The Bridge, which left me a depleted husk. Then I shut my thumb in the balcony door, which made me feel actually upset for ages. Then I cut my hair; if you are one of the people who is seeing me this week, don’t be surprised: it’s short, and a little bit crap. Then I went for a long walk, came home, and the first thing I see is that Philip Seymour Hoffman has died. With a fecking needle in his arm. If that isn’t a waste I don’t know what is. Now I’m going to eat some oven chips, drink some red wine, and do some of the mountain of work I was supposed to do today, and please keep your fingers crossed – because I need the touch of genius on me this week…

I’ve been meaning to write a post about the thing I’m working on at the moment, but my head (or maybe it’s the project) is too scattered. I thought of writing some blog post about Woody Allen but that’s too boring and obvious. We weathered the death of Pete Seeger earlier in the week, which felt like the final passing of a set of ideals we can never get back; and the world they pertained to, which is long gone; and I never wrote about that.

Now this. This isn’t going to be one of my old brilliant obituary posts of yore; I have lots of work I have to do before tomorrow morning so there’s just no time, and everything is taking me ages at the moment: it feels momentous, somehow, to be writing anything at all. But it’s a distracted, sad evening. And the drugs, and the whole addiction thing: such a waste.

I love this picture.

Here’s the trailer of ‘Synecdoche New York’:

And here’s a clip from ‘Capote’:

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