Long ago you died, Mr Bergman.

I watched you from the centre of my weary pupils. The dancing death. The men questioning what is what. The farce that is played out on the theatrical stage of a grand plague. The warrior’s prayer to Death to have some mercy upon him, and if not upon him then upon the others who he thinks deserve to live a little longer. But everybody’s time comes, and in your clever act it did come and with or with no love, men’s hearts were extinguished. The uneasiness, the fears all put to sleep. The darkness flew away and began another day. The kid lived. The cunning died without water, their legs thinner than wires, their spirits corrupted. They died while they were still damned. No salvation. I watched your genius and I thought, if this is not something worth watching, then what is. A world overflowing with man’s shit. You aren’t alive and I am glad you aren’t because now, it’s just all the good cinema getting murdered.

Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

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