Through a crowd his mind walks open
And cannot recoil from the humanity it sees
Each face a mirror—he must gaze
Beyond walls he cannot pass
Into memories of sorrow he cannot know
And forget himself among their numbers
A millstone turns in skies above
Showering their heads with obsidian rain
He gathers fragments to store away
As reminders of a softer world
And a home now lost over the horizon
Storm clouds came when the walls were torn down
A touch of lost hope grew stronger
As voices which had never spoken began to scream
And raindrops like glass began to draw blood
—
Every time I watch La Dolce Vita (1960) I fall in love with it all over again. Nearly a three hour runtime, and yet I never get bored. The final scene is perhaps the most poignant of any movie I’ve seen—poetic, and even though I know what will happen I catch myself hoping each time it will go a different way.
I should visit Rome…
—
