I have of late, wherefore I know not, lost all of my mirth...
Man delights not me; no, nor women neither.
In my dreams (and increasingly during my more whimsical waking moments) I wander through Movieland. Sometimes I chat to Kelly McGillis about being in a 4G inverted dive with a MiG-28 while a strung-out Withnail stands close by complaining about going on holiday by mistake. At others a xenomorph near the bus stop rips off Forrest Gump's head before being machine-gunned by the ED-209. I close my eyes, take a contented breath, and reopen them to see Frau Blücher upsetting the horses again as Tony Montana snorts coke and tells the permanently agitated Don Logan that this town is like one giant pussy waiting to get fucked.
I wander and I wander and I never want to leave...
Some movies, you see, contain magic. Magic that seeps into your soul and becomes a part of you. I mean, why waste your time travelling the world, having a career, nurturing dreams or taking a woman seriously? Such pursuits involve a great deal of effort and invariably end in disappointment. Surely it's better to stay invisible at home while exploring a rich cinematic odyssey alongside the likes of Marty McFly, Jessica 6, the Black Knight, Bill Kilgore and a Stepford wife or two?
Come now. Partake in the madness. Let me hold your hand and lead you nowhere.
