Casually steeping the intertextual typography for a poppy paranoid
streetwise technovernacular, real horrorshowlike, frenetically
interspersing euphoric and trepidatious tremors, bumptiously,
offhandedly, and rupturously stimulating abbreviations, while
synthesizing an intertemporal suicidal personalized universal, Rian
Johnson's Looper ruggedly relies on standard fictionally
scientific reflexivities, without deflating their zeppelinesque
thermocline, to romanticize a gritty, graphic, gregarious shock, while
autosuggesting, an intransitive perpetuity.
As the crow flies.
One loop sees a job well done, followed by a carefree binge, a requisite regression, and vindication through love.
In the other, to sustain and avenge said vindication, a monstrous methodology metastasizes.
Either way the outcome is inevitable.
But
a third way does present itself, nurtured by a split-second revelation
based upon the prior knowledge of a definitive causeway the agency of
which is too much to precondition.
So, rather than embracing what seems like predetermination, the agent spontaneously disorients his 'historical' trek.
Stretching through the void.
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