It's not nostalgia

Einar 2022-11-30 00:49:47

How deep can the imaginary space be. What is the magic of fiction. I don't know if this one of mine is right or not. The emotional entanglement, the anxiety of the next work forever, and the gap between reality and the reality that I think are all put into fiction and let it be disturbed. Stir up the doubts in front of the presumed facts, and become the interpretation of the works in the real facts, bury the hypothetical real and the facts that may happen in the future, see if it can be accepted, and whether it will really become the current or future life. .

The appearance of the daughter was difficult at the beginning, and the writer took advantage of it. The daughter saw her model, and then she tried to make the writer kill her lover. A series of ordinary, twists and turns, absurdity, are all fictional, and it is only at the end that I know that they all exist in the writer. in the brain. This all reminds me of the news of Haruma Miura yesterday, saying that he changed his household registration to the later Miura instead of Sasamoto one month before his death. This seems to have changed from fiction to reality, creating a name for another world, because this world is unsatisfactory. , instead of throwing away the real name that was born from the fact, and choosing a false name as a footnote to leave this world, at this moment, it seems that fiction is farther from reality, standing high at the end, giving people a sense of reality, the latter can't escape even if he wants to escape. Things, it's better to give a big frame earlier, frame some edges and corners, and make the bars smoother, in fact, the latter sadly never needs

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Swimming Pool quotes

  • Julie: [sauntering over to Sarah's lounge chair, bikini bottom without the top, long legs, bare breasts, charming raw European accent] You not too hot?

    [the older woman wakes up, startled]

    Julie: Sorry I woke you up.

    Sarah Morton: [composing herself] No.

    [sitting up]

    Sarah Morton: I was just dozing.

    Julie: [soft laugh, casually sitting down flat next to Sarah's deck chair, not at all mindful of her lack of dress] You must be working too hard. You should take a swim in the pool. The water is cold. It will wake you up.

    Sarah Morton: Ah, well, thank you for your advice, but I absolutely loathe swimming pools.

    Julie: Yeah, I know what you mean. I prefer the sea too. The ocean,

    [smiling fondly]

    Julie: the crashing waves, that feeling of danger that you could loose footing and be swept away... Pools are boring, there's no excitement, its just a big bathtub.

    Sarah Morton: [coldly summing up] It's more like a cesspool of living bacteria.

    Julie: [looking back, clearly more optimistic about life] Oh that? No, it's just a bit of dirt and leaves.

    [Sarah nods, unconvinced, set in her ways]

    Julie: So, what are you writing? A romance novel?

    Sarah Morton: [smirks at the very thought] God, no, I write crime fiction.

    Julie: Oh, yeah.

    [disapprovingly:]

    Julie: That's how he makes his money.

    Sarah Morton: [haughtily] And that's how he can afford to buy a beautiful house in France for his daughter to enjoy.

    Julie: [slight frown, reminded of her status as Daddy's girl] What about you? Are your books selling well?

    Sarah Morton: [grimly] I can't complain.

    Julie: [chummily] What is this one about?

    Sarah Morton: [as if to quell her enthusiasm by pouring cold water over her] Murders. And the police investigation.

    Julie: [giggling] In the Luberon? With rich English stories?

    Sarah Morton: [her impatience now all-out] Listen, if you don't mind, I do have work to do.

    Julie: Okay! I leave you alone, Miss Marple. I need to make some phone calls anyway.

    [walks off, her wedge heels clattering, leaving Sarah to the emptiness of her departure]

  • Julie: [in French; subtitled] AHH! You scared me!

    Sarah Morton: [in French] Who are you? What are you doing in my house?

    Julie: [in French] Your house? This is my house! I should be asking you.

    [short pause; now speaking English]

    Julie: Are you English?

    Sarah Morton: [in English] That's correct. I'm Sarah Morton, I'm a writer and my publisher, John Bosload, is letting me have this house.

    Julie: Ah, so you're Daddy's latest conquest.

    Sarah Morton: You're his daughter?

    Julie: So what? He didn't say I was coming?

    Sarah Morton: No, he didn't tell me you were coming.

    Julie: I'm not surprised. Is he here?

    Sarah Morton: No, I'm here on my own and I'm here to work, and not expecting visitors.

    Julie: [lights a cigarette] So he's not here.

    Sarah Morton: Are you going to be staying long?

    Julie: I don't know. I don't have much work these days. So, which bedroom did you take?

    Sarah Morton: The one upstairs overlooking the pool.

    Julie: Of course. That's the best one. Well, I better unpack.