on 11/28/1973 i watched the movie cabaret at the union cinema.
i wrote up a summary adding my judgement:
I don’t know
where’s the charm in this movie that won it eight oscars.
and a few months later cries and whispers.
and last tango in paris. at the time
i watched a lot of movies,
attended the week of soviet films,
the minifest which followed the belgrade one.
but for years i mostly made music charts.
all of my music idols were rebels of some kind.
i translated dylan’s lyrics,
cut out pictures of singers from stop magazine and glued them into a notebook.
sometimes a pic of a well-built young man in trunks also found its way
nto those pages. we were all rebels at the time.
we looked down on marriage, we were disgusted by the image of a family
driving off in a vw beetle on a sunday trip.
we despised money, everything associated with it.
we walked around in shabby clothes, somewhere on the margins,
searching for tiny sparks between us.
until the revolution.
or counterrevolution.
then the sparks got lost,
margins were tumbling down, everyone around me started to fight
for marriages, families, sunday trips with kids,
young men started to show up only for money,
they didn’t touch me lightly with fingers,
didn’t feel my shivers, they didn’t know what to fight for.
EN 
MK