Closed space
The number of stars in the sky that is not susceptible to adequate awareness, but an even greater number of luminaries are within the human body. Planets of values and nebulae of reflections, meteors of tragedies and comets of happiness - the inner telescope is not able to immediately cover all this frightening space, it often has to be repaired, because from collisions with foreign galaxies the lenses crack and the device gets off the right angle. However, endless curiosity - what else is there? - does not allow to spare time for its setting: one thought about the infinity inside itself turns on the ignition of interest in controlling the shuttle of life. The technical difficulty is that in order to obtain the most accurate observation data, it should be done alone. Only you and the endless spiral of the inverted eight.
Is that why some people are so lonely seeking? Understand yourself, establish the exact coordinates of the value system or, in the most ordinary way, boast about yourself, presenting yourself as a voluntary recluse, and catching respecting-evaluating views - each has his own reasons for going into silence. However, few imagine the scale of the vacuum, where for every cubic centimeter anything falls tons of emptiness. Vacuum is a great conductor of thoughts, but it is difficult to cope with stress alone, so you create numerous copies of yourself responsible for multiple postings of information: think about yourself, about your family, about the world. Thoughts need to be transferred somewhere, with someone to share, but they have to stew in their own juice in the inner cauldron, for there is no one for millions of light years around you.
Sam Rockwell, a man who combines the charisma of a notorious scoundrel and the owner of a dog-like devoted eyes, is in a sterile solitude, maximally purified from external emotions and upheavals. Empty white color, blurred outlines of the day and the closed space pressing on the skin. Closure, melancholy, reflection, hope, and again melancholy - his emotional sensors scale, and the same fatigue is on his face. The world in which the most humane character, the talking robot, is doomed, even if it belongs to embodied memories. Rockwell fills the gaping spaces of almost Buddhist shunyata, dwelling in the actor's nirvana acting. It was he who made a living creature from a car, from the surrounding oblivion - an ocean of reflections. He does not feel the attraction of clichés; he leaps by air along the honest history of the other side of loneliness, which has lost all flair of attractiveness and imaginary mystery. The hero suffers in each of his guises, and it seems that his endless pain will not endure a single planet.
The moon seems so huge, and the Earth is so small - everything is seen in a different light: someone changed the lenses in the telescope or simply cleaned them of the accumulated dust. The shuttle slowed down and drifting uncertainly through personal space, choosing the correct coordinates for the rest of the journey. During the forced delay on board, some changes occurred, and another person appeared on the ship’s crew: the captain decided that he could not cope with the Galaxy alone.
8 out of 10
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