part one
bucking the draw of delving into sleep post calisthenics,
divad q. nead hastily surfaces in hogye with the bends
and depressurizes to christopher nolan's "inception",
a haute couture jaunt into the subconscious of dreams.
down from a run in the foothills in a humid summer rain, fighting
sleep, i ventured deep into the love motel district of old bisan to catch
chris nolan's first original screenplay since
"following", which I recalled
struck me as wonderfully paranoid and thickly thieving b&w british.
packed bag with gun, sandwiches, and three asahi premium cans,
i rose eight floors into the old kinex 10 gone corporate, stuck sardine
in the lift with florally tinctured local girls, some holding the wrists of
their friendos. i was late for the meet, but ju-lee had the spots sorted
and we hunkered into a couple's seat [double-wide], reclining opposite
elbows, digging the corn. it was then that she sighed and said, "why not
the imax, daw-ling?", to which i replied, "have you the legs for seoul, doll?"
neither of ...
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