This Damned Ranting About Doom. Is That

No Other Art-medium–neither Painting Nor Poetry–can Communicate The Specific Quality Of The Dream As Well As The Film Can. When The Lights Go Down In The Cinema And This White Shining Point Opens Up For Us, Our Gaze Stops Flitting Hither And Thither, Settles And Becomes Quite Steady. We Just Sit There, Letting The Images Flow Out Over Us. Our Will Ceases To Function. We Lose Our Ability To Sort Things Out And Fix Them In Their Proper Places. We're Drawn Into A Course Of Events–we're Participants In A Dream. And Manufacturing Dreams, That's A Juicy Business.

I Feel Very Strongly That I’m Surrounded By Other Realities.

I Hope I Never Get So Old I Get Religious.

I Am Living Permanently In My Dream, From Which I Make Brief Forays Into Reality.

When You Feel Perpetually Unmotivated, You Start Questioning Your Existence In An Unhealthy Way; Everything Becomes A Pseudo Intellectual Question You Have No Interest In Responding Whatsoever. This Whole Process Becomes Your Very Skin And It Does Not Merely Affect You; It Actually Defines You. So, You See Yourself As A Shadowy Figure Unworthy Of Developing Interest, Unworthy Of Wondering About The World - Profoundly Unworthy In Every Sense And Deeply Absent In Your Very Presence.