St. Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, Minnie Driver, Robin Williams
I stroll, strut and jive and she casts me a sideways glance that screams gravy and John Barry horn licks. Minnie Driver's phone number, a dusty textbook and a magazine cover reading: "WINONA STOLE MATT". All for sale and cheapish at Hassan's Rumpus Room. And the angels fly down on scholarly wings, pure mathematics and half a chance. Yes, but it's got nothing to do with archaeology. The half day closes, the new dawn fades and Conrad sits uneasily in my bag, a burden still. We can be heroes, just for one day. When will I be like the swallow? All the greats on tape for the first time, induced in slumberous satisfaction. Walking down Sunset Boulevard at a run, gutters widening, inspired beyond my capabilities. And something about nakedness and shedding my skin in the forest. Safe!
An artist rendered assunder. A prodigy all a bluster. Here's your own close-up at the Academy Awards. It's Oprah's universe, we just live in it. This is Hardcore. I miss you like sleep. Cafes in well-lit alleys, and an ironic post-mortem discussion...
( The jury deliberates, the fifth official happy to just be there, before the raising of large numbers skyward. Acting 8/10. Script 7/10. Overall 7/10. Well Les, you can't help but feel the whole team will be a little disappointed with those results )
I wondered whether time would tell, whether it would last any longer than necessary. A John Grisham initiation ceremony, a Stephen King funeral procession. When confronted with the inviolable truth, so many cried, reborn in the unavoidable purity of light, coughing "It's not your fault". They knew they'd get through the night.
Cervantes and the unavoidable fact that we are amongst lives, picking existences for ourselves, keeping busy like Beckett. Will Hunting is the barroom intellectual, quoting Mill and then swill swill swill. But Hagar, I've forgotten the words. And my favourite scene? Where the snotty (Miss Greenwood, there all snotty, and none of them love you) college student is shown up by the salt of the earth, our contender eternal. The message? Get your head out of books, get a life, get some friends. And that is why I drink to Gus tonight, and to the blessed face. God bless the fucking lot of us.