Gloria has gone away into herself. I wonder what she’s thinking, but I suspect she’s only feeling, because she is nobody-but-herself, and I’ve been reading E.E.Cummings today: “Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a…

Each of us is complicit in the fast-forwarded modern world’s conspiracy to direct our attentions only to what’s most obvious. So stop asking yourself whether that cigarette is lit or not. The buzz is surely imminent, and will come and…

Bogart’s bottom lip gleams white today, as if the flame is passing into him. I’ve been reading about quantum entanglement theory, the physical phenomenon of particle exchange between bodies in close proximity, such that one body can then no longer…

Probability guarantees that I’ve misinterpreted almost everything. So maybe we’re the ghosts stuck in time, while Riggs moves freely through ecstatic dimensions. Just thinking that briefly transported me off into an ecstatic dimension, but don’t worry, I’m back. How are…

I honestly have no idea what Riggs – the ghost in a fedora who haunts Britt from the back curtains – is doing. Today I notice he’s suddenly moved down to a spot just over Gloria’s left shoulder. He appears…

Every smoker holds a lighter between fingers and a thumb, but have you ever seen one hold the bottom with the thumb and flick the flint with the fingers? Fascinating. Somebody needs to do a documentary on this 1/24th of…

And today, for the first time, I notice what looks like a gold horsefly on Gloria’s black dress just to the right of her gin-and-tonic. It’s astonishing how much we miss of what’s right in front of us, and I…

She’s excited for him. I feel it. Fellow druggies. Addiction’s a shared secret, and we’re all addicts of something. The trick is to find, or avoid, your secret sharers.⠀

Checking in on blonde Britt in the background, slightly more of her revealed each day, I’m alarmed to find that the bright spot of her earring is shadowed on her neck, just as Gloria Grahame’s is shadowed on her shoulder…

Today her devouring glance appears aimed not at him, but at his cigarette, as if she’s imagining smoking it too, right out of his fingers. He’s no longer a man. He’s a delivery device.