I don't give a damn if a woman's breasts are like magnolias, or like figs. If her skin feels like a peach or sandpaper... It's irrelevant if she wakes up with breath like an aphrodisiac, or an insecticide. I'm perfectly willing to put up with a nose that'd win first prize, at a carrot show. But on one thing I am intransigent.
On no account whatsoever will I forgive a woman, who cannot fly.
But how do you love and ask for nothing in return?
A man, who speaks to cows, is hounded by lady death and looks for the woman that flies - who is searching for love, finds a whore and a blind girl who can tell color by touch.
But don't be afraid. It's not good to be alone. We grow old too soon.
It took me till the end to realize the trapdoor in the bed was but a metaphor, though. I thought he was a serial killer till then. That the movie was a strange mix of sensual, morbid magic...
I'm glad they clarified this wasn't the case, and yet I am a little disappointed.
And yet this is everything.
This life. This is death. This is love. This is what it means, as bizarre and brutal as that may be.
This too wasn't at all what I thought it'd be, but it's one of those movies that'll stick with you. That'll maybe change your view of the world. That'll maybe drive you crazy; make you a fool and absurd but all I know.
Is this makes me go. And I love the poetry.
rated 5/5: friggin awesome
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