I have a sudden urge to drive a dark gray Daimler Double Six again.
The catalyst for this feeling is this flyer.
The Red Shoes
A digitally remastered edition is being revived under the supervision of director Martin Scorsese.

Is the urge to see something beautiful a sign that my vitality is waning?
Perhaps my vitality is waning?

Suddenly, such baseless nonsense comes to mind.

I was also struck by the overflowing vitality in "Daydreaming" by photographer Ryan McGinley, whom I met yesterday, but I must also accept the sadness that his work is simultaneously tainted by the pungent stench of today's rotten, irredeemable world.

And "The Red Shoes," this classic beauty, revived by digital power, carries a faint, sweet, nostalgic scent of an era when people dreamed of a brighter future.

I haven't seen this digital version, so I'm just making things up here, but
What these two beauties, seemingly unrelated, have in common is

perhaps a beauty that exists only in memories we can no longer touch.

I've always liked nostalgic things since I was young, but
I feel like I'm finally starting to understand why. Seriously?
The memories encoded in my DNA are, naturally, not just from my own generation.

This means that the concepts of "when I became conscious" or "childhood" are not entirely accurate.

The moment I consciously began to search for memories, a vast amount of them came flooding in,
and isn't it true that everyone can't help but feel nostalgic?

People are not new at birth.

At birth and at death, people are both new and old.

Therefore, the memories from my own lifetime are like mere dust,

so instead of shrinking back and calling it "unexpected," let's not be so petty.

Like "Daydreaming" by Ryan McGinley,

"I love the idea of the unexpected."

Everything is pitch black.
Nothing makes any sense.
Whether I look right or left,
fools and idiots are entangled.

To stubbornly survive a life full of scars,

it's all about how much you can enjoy the "unexpected."

I want to somehow manage to survive my remaining years too~

← Diary-T 86–92