I’M THINKING OF ENDING THINGS (Charlie Kaufman, 2020)“Coming home is terriblewhether the

I’M THINKING OF ENDING THINGS (Charlie Kaufman, 2020)“Coming home is terriblewhether the dogs lick your face or not;whether you have a wifeor just a wife-shaped loneliness waiting for you.Coming home is terribly lonely,so that you thinkof the oppressive barometric pressureback where you have just come fromwith fondness,because everything’s worseonce you’re home.You think of the verminclinging to the grass stalks,long hours on the road,roadside assistance and ice creams,and the peculiar shapes ofcertain clouds and silenceswith longing because you did not want to return.Coming home isjust awful.And the home-style silences and cloudscontribute to nothingbut the general malaise.Clouds, such as they are,are in fact suspect,and made from a different materialthan those you left behind.You yourself were cutfrom a different cloudy cloth,returned,remaindered,ill-met by moonlight,unhappy to be back,slack in all the wrong spots,seamy suit of clothesdishrag-ratty, worn.You return homemoon-landed, foreign;the Earth’s gravitational pullan effort now redoubled,dragging your shoelaces looseand your shouldersetching deeper the stanzaof worry on your forehead.You return home deepened,a parched well linked to tomorrowby a frail strand of…Anyway…You sigh into the onslaught of identical days.One might as well, at a time…Well…Anyway…You’re back.The sun goes up and downlike a tired whore,the weather immobilelike a broken limbwhile you just keep getting older.Nothing moves butthe shifting tides of salt in your body.Your vision blears.You carry your weather with you,the big blue whale,a skeletal darkness.You come backwith X-ray vision.Your eyes have become a hunger.You come home with your mutant giftsto a house of bone.Everything you see now,all of it: bone” -- source link
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