today was my last day in my creative writing class and my teacher gave everybody a piece of paper to write down a contract and to put it in our wallets. she said she did the same thing when she was younger and every now and then she’d brush by it and remember that she wanted to write. everybody took time to write out what they wanted and I just sat at the back of the class, sitting on the windowsill and I knew there was only one thing to write but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. at the end of the class after everybody left, I went to thank her for the year, and she told me that people should be reading my words for a long time, but they won’t be able to do that if I’m not around to write them. I showed her the blank piece of paper, and she said it was okay not to write anything, and then I wrote this. I learned the power of words in that class, I learned it was okay to vomit up half a dozen notebooks stained with blood and exploded pens because it means you have something to say.
"Gyllenhaal is a revelation once again, and the control of his instrument is a wonderful thing to witness. The character is unhinged, but precisely pitched. Unblinking and haunted, one imagines a rich back story for this character. While it’s never explicitly stated, much is suggested by Gyllenhaal’s fractured, on-the-edge performance and the environment around him; a lifetime of loneliness and isolation from an indifferent world that’s about to crack and manifest itself in all kinds of ugly fissures. The harsh fluorescent brilliance of “Nightcrawler” is just how in tune Gyllenhaal, Gilroy and the movie are. Bloom and the movie slowly uncoil in tandem lock and step to unveil much more than an unsocialized loner who’s listened to too many of Tony Robbins’ motivational speeches. But Gyllenhaal isn’t scene-chewing, and the humanity glimpsed early on is perhaps what makes his sinister transformation so creepy." [x]