Tuesday, May 02, 2006


United 93 is a fascinating experience, beyond even its correlation to history, in that it leads to consideration of the trappings of fiction. Watching it, you realize the incredible preponderance of narrative contrivance necessary for telling a story. In that this is essentially a re-enactment of maybe two hours on September 11, there are no backstories, sideplots, character arcs, etc. No one speaks in movie language: people chat about the weather, magazines, anniversaries, or they're gripped by breathless, sweaty terror. Paul Greengrass never intrudes in his direction, using a lot of hand-held camera, some actual footage, and many people playing themselves. The now mythic "let's roll" is barely audible, a frantic whisper. Weird, too, is how you find yourself rooting for the passengers when they make their terrifying rush towards the cockpit, hoping they'll save themselves, even though they don't, of course. It's a wonderful movie, though probably the sort you only want to see once.


New issue of Diagram here.


It was bound to happen, it had to happen: yesterday's mail brought the first rejection for my manuscript since I started sending it out again. Yay me, I suck.


Charles said...

You don't suck.

LKD said...

Paul, you don't suck.

And the poem you posted above is...

geez, there's really no proper word for that slot.

I could say it was incredible or perfect or beautiful or amazing but honestly, none of those words begin to cover it.

I guess I'll just say thanks for posting that poem. I feel lucky to have happened upon it tonight. I think you're the only person in this world who's ever managed to come close to articulating what I think happiness is.

I know happiness and love and anger and sadness are all just chemical reactions in the brain....but...

Just but.


Oh, and Charles--I ordered your chapbook and it still hasn't arrived.

Oh, and hey: Sew? Or, sow?