Lana has always been a difficult figure for the public to pin down—too ironic to be sincere, too aestheticized to be real. Perhaps Blue Banisters is where Lana invites us to reconsider it all.
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At first, it was just a tree—until it wasn’t. The bark rippled and the branches curled like fingers. His feet sank into the soft ground. A cold chill slid down his back. The wind cut out—absolute silence.
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A few months ago I quietly began working on a manuscript for a true crime fiction novel. An idea struck, like a bolt of lightning, and it just kept getting bigger and bigger the longer I thought about it. As David Lynch might say, “an EXPLOSION went off in my mind!!” I had to pay attention to it—I had to give it life. But I have never written anything more than 10-15 pages, double-spaced—how the hell am I going to write a novel?
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LA 92 can certainly be watched passively (i.e. as just an assemblage of video clips and sound bites; as riot porn) but its Truth lies in its ability to become the guillotine to our notions of history and progress.
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