it’s devastating that lovers each become dust and the wind blows it to different directions.
silence. it’s only a moment.

I read almost all of this diary, starting from 2003 (2001 in fact, I have privated two years of preposterous entries). It’s glaring throughout how unapologetically, innocently, unknowingly, annoyingly*, wildly autistic I was. Since the formal diagnosis ten years ago I hide it, I try to, I hide, I have disowned myself, lost myself, a lobotomy, a Frances, a pitty.. I prefer him, to me, though he wouldn’t survive today and in fact, didn’t. The pleb producers are fucking my film and soul. The patience I have forced myself to muster the past 5 years will either literally kill me or perhaps afford me some self respect. Whatever the outcome, my staggering, overwhelming contempt for humans is a shrilling billowing burning sun.

I had cut that out from somewhere around the time I left home at 17.

* for those around me.

Can’t sleep can’t sleep can’t sleep can’t sleep can’t sleep can’t sleep

There exists no fucking Greek word for locket.
Mmm, yes, it tracks.

Neurodivergents, serving the community since the caves.
You’re welcome, peasants.

A friend, to endure life with.
Iykyk ←

→ color

→ color

the past few days I cannot turn off the incessant maniacal onomatopoeia in my mind, it’s all it’s doing, dictating those preposterous names and words and phrases; simultaneously soothing and exhausting.

Zazie “Tout le monde” (1998) directed by Jean-Baptiste Mondino, cinematography by Jérôme Nouvelle.

I have nothing to wear so I mended an ancient frayed white linen shirt using grandma Smaro’s αυγό καρικώματος / darning egg / œuf à repriser, or stoppeæg -for our Danish readers. Nailed it, no? Rather literally.

I miss grandma.

→ color

Be careful what you wish for.
The goddamn universe always be eavesdropping.

→ color

After conducting an admittedly quite half-assed research, it appears that so far into 2026, the word husbandry was used 4 times by The Guardian, 4 times by the BBC, 3 times by ​​The Independent, not once by The New York Times or CNN and once each by Fox News and Wall Street Journal. ’Tis a pity; ’tis a good word. Perhaps its meaning is too stressful or—God forbid—triggering, for the brittle snowflakes of today. 

(also lighting a tall ass candle for the indignant fate of our dear fallen friend—the em dash.)

Tzenifer died today. T called me to tell me.

Saturday, 15 July 2017 – 10:33am
I had been walking to a lunch date, I heard crying. I searched and I searched. I looked up. She was perched atop a 3 meter iron door, crying. I gather her family was probably on the patio on the other side of the door. I immediately climbed and brought her down. She was instantly calm and purring in my arms. I cancelled the date and took her straight home, a warm bath, a fluffy towel, she fell asleep on top of me, we dozed off. The most affectionate, tender, trusting, sweet natured cat I have ever met. I had to ask T to adopt her, I was too scared of the attachment; how damaged my mind is. They became inseparable, he loved her hard. He’s devastated.

I’m so heart broken, she was the kindest soul. I hope I did good by her. Poor darling.
Typically unfair; I wish it had been A. instead.
It was c4nc3r.

( click = color )

This film completely shattered me, sobbing.

→ July 2009, summer of death.

two mice fell in a pail of milk
one of them yelled for help and drowned
the other kept paddling around and around
’til in the morning he found himself on top of butter.

Typically while watching a film I simultaneously check everyone’s imdb and it turns out the director of Jany’s Les Anges du Péché, Robert Bresson, also made Les Dames du bois de Boulogne (1945), one of my long time favorites. He also made Au hasard Balthazar (1966) “The story of a mistreated donkey. A study on saintliness.” which I will never watch. While I’m generally indifferent to people being mistreated in films, maimed, mangled – mauled even, esp by animals, I’m sure the 7 donkeys “used” for this film* were surely abused and that makes my blood boil. As well as sharing a penchant for awkward non-actors** Bresson also flogs the Pasolini variety of pseudo academic cruelty as a means to canonize his subject. I don’t know why Bresson bugs me so much, I suspect displaced rage. Apparently Andrei Tarkovsky considered Balthazar one of the greatest films ever made, so the joke’s on me.

Back to Les Anges; there are two female leads both built like supporting roles; or two supporting roles both built like leads. Whenever you see one, the other feels principal. It’s like they are both 64% – each, or 36% – each, making a combined total of 100% impossible, something is always lacking or is too much. However, the ending made some sense of that, and my eyes welled up.

———

* “..in a notorious scene, a piece of newspaper is tied to the donkey’s tail and is ignited. This was tightly controlled by handlers to ensure the fire never reached or burned the donkey’s skin.” – Sure, Mary. Like I said, abused.

** “..his film Pickpocket was banned in Finland because of its depiction of authentic pickpocketing techniques.” – Documentaries are not cinema.

→ color

Dug up an article on “Maisons d’artistes” from the May 1953 issue of France Illustration featuring Jany’s houseboat / boathouse La Garonne on the Seine, providing also a delicious Jean Marais connection. 

→ enlarge

Here is a translation:

“Jany Holt, the well-known actress, has made her home on a houseboat near the Neuilly Bridge. She has furnished her floating home with great taste. Here is the spacious and welcoming living room.

Fine furniture and decorative ornaments are among Jany Holt’s favorite possessions. The corner of the houseboat shown above was decorated by herself in a modern style.

From her houseboat, Jany Holt can see Jean Marais’s houseboat.

Life on a boat is truly ideal. Jany Holt has Jean Marais as her neighbor, and from her window she can see La Nomade, his boat.

Every modern convenience has been installed: an electric kitchen, a refrigerator, and central heating. And when Jany Holt goes up onto the deck early in the morning, she has, for a moment, the illusion of being at sea.

Who would believe that this elegant interior was created inside a former tugboat? Jean Marais designed the entire layout himself, where the only thing that disturbs his solitude is the telephone.”

★The term bohemian lifestyle emerged in 1830s France refering to artists’ unconventional way of living that prioritizes creative freedom, artistic pursuits, wanderlust, and community over mainstream materialism and societal norms.  

Panique (1946), L’alibi (1937), Le pays sans étoiles (1946), Le baron fantôme (1943), La Marie du port (1950), La fiancée des ténèbres (1945), back to back to back, so it’s now one 12-hour long French b/w film in my mind; I can vaguely attest to how much La Marie and her damn port sucked, Panique had unfathomably perfect sets and lighting, as did La fiancée des ténèbres which had rich atmosphere but literally no story. Le pays sans étoiles was boring and slow. L’alibi was quite nice, Erich von Stroheim can carry a film any day. Le baron fantôme is a blur, but what a cool title.

An actress by the name of Jany Holt was the star of most of these films. Didn’t know of Jany, I liked Jany, a lot. Unconventional looks, lived through two world wars, born in Romania, moved to France, had one hell of a run in pictures – while simultaneously working as an active secret agent in the Resistance, for which she was awarded the Croix de Guerre by General de Gaulle, lived to 94 years, spending her last few decades alone on a retrofitted barge named “La Garonne” permanently moored on the Seine (!!) with her cats Microche and Képi.
Bloody fucking hell.

So there, I found a new friend, it’s Jany and since it’s only 6:13am, I’ll watch Les Anges du péché (1943) filmed during her active secret agent era, in which she stars as a convict nun.

Just before daybreak I revisited Puzzle of a Downfall Child (1970) for the 7 millionth time and then ran back to Paris for En cas de malheur (1958) which messed me up badly; so much loneliness pain and cruelty. Fantastic sets and lighting ↓ at Franstudio, Joinville.
Gabin perfection, Bardot terrible.

Followed by sad B-rated lazy mystery Toi… le venin (1958) with the wonky Vlady sisters.
Funny how there is always a Françoise Dorléac in every sisterly duo.

Manic with displaced pent up energy, I filled the day (and night) with Blue (1968), Viva Maria (1965), L’enfer d’Henri-Georges Clouzot (2009), Autour de Jeanne Dielman (1975), Le Parti des Choses Bardot et Godard (1964), Vie Privèe (1962) and, for the umpteenth time, La Veritè (1960), after which I sobbed like it was June 2009. Charles Vanel so super cool, Bardot sublime, probably because Clouzot beat the shit out of her, figuratively and, apparently, also literally.

Yet another Avion production meeting Monday.

7:30am, the fucking peasant sun is creeping up, utterly impossible to fall sleep, agitated and restless, yet listless; I’ll watch Diabolique. Clouzot and 50s France is so comforting.

..also, Ascenseur pour l’Échafaud (1958) & Voici le Temps des Assassins (1956, with amazing sets ↓ at Billancourt Studios.)

“Au Rendez-vous Des Innocents”

—

(I hadn’t noticed before that in La Veritè, Bardot’s lawyer is carrying an Hermès Sac à Dépêches, in black box leather, exactly like mine. I wonder how many retards have ever noticed that inane detail. – Chouette.)

touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, touch and go, stop and go, going on 7th goddamn year, retarded fucking greeks. *SPIT*

Hikikomori.

“I found that the only well-paying career open to me, as an unsuccessful actress of thirty-six, was that of a call girl… and began to flirt with the fancies related to little bottles filled with yellow sleeping pills.”

                                                                                                                           Louise Brooks