Life Is Not So Cruel



by Masha Tupitsyn

Last night I dreamt of a New York landscape that doesn’t exist. A historisization, not a history. The lost city of Acropolis, curated from and by and for film. By longing. A set but real. I asked, “Has this always been here? Why didn’t I ever know about it? I’ve been here my whole life.” Then someone—the dream itself—pulled me away before I could look at anything. I’ve been pulled away like this before. Right out of someone’s arms.

Then years skip.

The dream city was a lost lover tagged and ornamented and recouped by the fear of never knowing what or who you want to know. It turned out that NYC had been living its life just fine for years without me. It was just where I’d left it, better than I’d left it, like I’d never even seen it before—–preserved, unchanged, glowing, endless. Never lost. And who was I—Jimmy Stewart peering into his life’s snowy window in It’s a Wonderful Life. When he gets it he gets it back.



Death is just a trial for appreciating life. In movies lovers almost always come back. Leaving is a lesson, a trial. But not a waste. And letting someone go, saying goodbye to them, watching them walk away from you, is a theme because return is possible even if you don’t know it is possible. You will get another chance because life is not so cruel. And the destinal is an epistemology you must master. What if you live in a world that doesn’t believe in the world you still believe in? What then? You think it’s like the riddle of Sphinx, but it turns out there is no password. No other side. No way in. You have information that gets you nowhere. But it fills you up. It fills you up.

Crossposted with Love Dog.