Fucky Film Review!

chronic nostalgia

there’s a guy i know, a man of my own heart. some of you may know him, or of him, or perhaps you’ve never heard his name, but if you did, it would resonate, recalling a conviction you’d never before acknowledged – that such a man exists. yet even the people who know him cannot say for sure whether he truly exists. i am perhaps the most doubtful of all.

he is at once grounded and ethereal, at place anywhere, and immediately integrated everywhere he goes. but nowhere does he better thrive than his old world cradle.  europe brings out his very quessence. she unbridles him and stimulates the actualization of his manifest potential. 

my speculations on what magic europe stirs in this man are irrelevant; i prefer, anyhow, not to think about it. her appeal is sensual. the mind in this respect an organ on even ground with the others. ideas tickle, which quickly becomes a delectable form of torture. awareness of being reaches greater dimensions — the rumbling of a train, an excellent mustache, the chance matinee on a rainy afternoon, the ground beneath the pavement soaked with the blood of centuries.  

fucky film review wishes our friends the best, wherever they are, and always, many returns.

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