Stuck In Zhivago

But not opposed to dialogue at all

Happy Solstice plus 11, to all those who pay attention to such things. I work here for respite, but I admit being off the feed, mostly, recently. How much evidence does one need? I am bored to death with all this fascist BS.

My brain has shifted into Zhivago mode. I am looking at clouds, trees, and robins in bare branches. I am listening to the wind right now. I have not watched the film in a long time, but I recall the dialogue being minimal. I might have to correct myself, and will, should another look prove me wrong.

In my mind, I see the emotion on Sharif’s face as he observes the landscape. Perhaps I am projecting a bit more than I should be. My damaged psyche moves between decades, off the page, and out the window, and back to Zhivago in winter, or more accurately the way Sharif played him. I see him in the distance as part of the landscape, walking in snow towards the dacha.

Perhaps I also see a lone paddler, our Laska, heading up or down river, from afar as well. I recall walking out of Sandy Hook towards the Highlands during a rare deep freeze of the bay. The tide was going out under the ice, and when the sheet dropped it sounded like a lightning strike, scaring the crap out of me. I have never seen the bay freeze like that since.