..that Istanbulesque scent of rich melancholic hurt accepted and flavored into something like a nourishing. Movement and senses. The emergent magic of place, the irrelevance of time, the relevance of events. A fairly frilling my type of movie. I would that it weren't.
The differences between rhythms, inevitable sadness and joy inherent in a kitschy waltz already in the past as you dance it, your expressed presence preparing for only the next moments maybe within a tango. We can be so rhetorical. And foolish.
Comments
Post a Comment