Long misunderstood, even by his biggest fans, Lost Highway isn’t as impenetrable as it seems. This is not a typical film review. It’s a reflection on how we learn to watch—and feel—a film built like a feedback loop of dread, guilt, and denial.
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I didn’t expect London to feel familiar. But I suppose love has a way of softening even the sharpest new corners.
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I’ve been doing this same walk for years. Or at least it feels like it. I have the entire route down to a science. I know exactly how long it takes to complete. Two hours and twenty-five minutes. No more, no less. If I deviate from this, I won’t know who I am.
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A short entry from my reading life—a few notes, thoughts, and feelings stirred up by recent books.
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