We got a Norwegian James Dean, who conveys a whole universe of plagued inner life behind those intense eyes and with a magnetism that comes through the screen in a way we have never seen on Norwegian screens before.
Happy 49th Birthday Gillian Anderson - 9th August 1968
“She’s a funny creature, Gillian Anderson. I warm to her for various reasons. She’s got a nice line in non sequiturs. She’s un-grand. She’s wearing an eccentric pair of white patent leather heels, a tatty old pair of combat trousers and a violet jersey. She swears brilliantly. She gets excited when a waiter carries a tray of puddings past, and races off to feed the parking meter so she can have the lemon tart brulee (‘and please get the sticky toffee pudding’). She doesn’t have a watch. She’s capable, even on a day like today, of moments of almost painful candour. Last but not least, I like her because when the interview is over, she will say goodbye and attempt to leave the restaurant not through the door, but through one of the plate-glass windows. She is, I think, not altogether cool.” (x)
We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves. I wish for this all to be marked on my body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography—to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience. All I desired was to walk upon such an earth that had no maps.
It’s like the end of the “Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” The kids go through the magical kingdom, have a whole life, and then just on one random day, they get spit out of the wardrobe, and they can’t go back and it’s gone.
One of my old stories. The tales from before my son had been born, from before the life we had on this world. To him, they were only legends and myths - that was a good thing. They should stay that way, remaining in a galaxy and a time far removed from our own, something he would never experience out here, in the fields. It had taken years for the dark dreams of that time to end.
Those scars ran deep, almost too deep, but eventually they subsided. Now, all that remained was a torrent of dim memories, loosely connected events, all of it ancient history. Tragedy upon tragedy. My past was a trail of corpses and dead worlds. How it all went wrong.
“Which one do you want me to tell you about?”
All three of us were laying on our backs across the blanket, my wife tucked into my arm and our son under hers. I smoked from a small ivory pipe: crushed flowers of a sweet plant that gave off a pleasant and rejuvenating aroma. A large cerulean moon now climbed above distant mountains that sat opposite the sea - our homeworld’s sister satellite. Over the course of the year, both spheres would dance their way around the impossibly massive anchor planet they orbited.
if there’s no great glorious end to all this, if nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do. because that’s all there is. what we do. now. today. i fought for so long, for redemption, for a reward, and finally just to beat the other guy, but i never got it. and now you do? not all of it. all i wanna do is help. i wanna help because, i don’t think people should suffer as they do. because, if there’s no bigger meaning, then the smallest act of kindness is the greatest thing in the world.