I Could Not Make A

It Was A Real Whale, A Photograph Of A Real Whale. I Looked Into Its Tiny Wise Eye And Wondered Where That Eye Was Now. Was It Alive And Swimming, Or Had It Died Long Ago, Or Was It Dying Now, Right This Second? When A Whale Dies, It Falls Down Through The Ocean Slowly, Over The Course Of A Day. All The Other Fish See It Fall, Like A Giant Statue, Like A Building, But Slowly, Slowly.

Most Of Life Is Offline, And I Think It Always Will Be; Eating And Aching And Sleeping And Loving Happen In The Body. But It's Not Impossible To Imagine Losing My Appetite For Those Things; They Aren't Always Easy, And They Take So Much Time. In Twenty Years I'd Be Interviewing Air And Water And Heat Just To Remember They Mattered.

He Was Worried She Would Not Let Him Love Her With The Stain. He Had Already Decided Long Ago, Twenty Or Thirty Minutes Ago, That The Stain Was Fine. He Had Only Seen It For A Moment, But He Was Already Used To It. It Was Good. It Somehow Allowed Them To Have More.

The Level Of Control, That's Part Of What's So Appealing About Filmmaking - You Have So Much Control Over What The Reader, The Viewer, Is Noticing From Moment To Moment. They Can't Do That Boring Boring Boring Thing As Easily.

Was She Terrifyingly Beautiful? Was She So Ignorant She Didn't Deserve The Truth? Was She Also A Liar And Thus It Was Something They Did Together? I Don't Believe In Psychology; Which Says Everything You Do Is Because Of Yourself. That Is So Untrue. We Are Social Animals, And Everything We Do Is Because Of Other People, Because We Love Them, Or Because We Don't.