This entry will only contain one single word, because, again, I’m short on time. Here it is: And, by the way, I’ve probably already written this word before — I should have performed a thorough search of my diary’s archives before committing my thoughts to the page on this stormy morning — however, amen (in this instance, I intend “amen” to mean “let it be”; also I referred to this morning as “stormy” because the Sky God is raining hard; and there’s lightning flashing, and thunder booming continually, causing us to love life).
The notion has been put forward to our Movie Committee that film strips should contain not just image-plus-sound but also scent. I’ve raised an objection to this idea, reasoning that the addition of aromas would cause the movie-watching experience to be too much like the present world; for we aim not to ape but to escape reality. That’s why black-and-white cinematography is officially labeled “glorious”; and 1940s-style acting trumps today’s “reality television.”
But this subject lured my mind to wander, and I began to think about dreams. I suppose you could say that I began to daydream about daydreams. Consider a nightmare: the fear that one feels is like a third element in a filmstrip, replacing the smell of that stupid idea above. The image of an elephant wearing a top hat does not affright me; but, if you add a menacing noise on the soundtrack, and fright itself on the feeltrack, I’m sure I’ll get scared. My point is that one really has no choice: the terror of nightmares is a cheap trick: it’s like a magician instructing the audience, “Just close your eyes, and I’ll make this country disappear.”