All language subtitles for How to shoot a ghost

Before they were ghosts, they were people.
In the city.

They met on the day after the last day of
their lives.

On the last night of his life, he stayed
up late translating Thucydides.

On the last night of her life,

after the fight in her father's kitchen,
she set the family record on fire.

That night, he ran into fate disguised as
the dawn.

And when he walked out of the sea, he was
a ghost.

A blue door opened to a blue world.

Blue, blue.

A strap fell from the shoulder of the sky.

The city spills with ghosts of those who
could not let it go.

She swallows, notes her throat's
vanishing.

Chris?

In the city, the color of the truth
changes like the color of a ghost in the
light.

I don't want to see you everywhere.

I just want to remember.

I arrived before the war.

I never liked the city I left behind.

They told me where to find love.

I looked elsewhere.

Did you think it would be like home?

Home is an idea I never had.

The history of the plague of Athens is not
a medical account,

but a moral story posing as a medical
account.

I moved here for my father. But he’s a
fake. Nothing here is real.

Even the marble is repainted.

The marble is fake, it’s from the 60s.
It's made of plastic.

The marble was eaten by pollution because
nobody cared.

The marble is the most beautiful thing
I've ever seen.

Also that.

She went to the wrong party. She fled her
own reflection.

She ran into the deep, bright city night.

Here, even darkness is a kind of light.

What do you want to remember?

The chocolate hazelnut paste of his eyes.

The stain of honey on cardboard.

What do you want?

Anthi You can die of wanting, and go on
doing it.

I spent my life being ignored by
everything I want.

I can't spend my death that way.

]

In the city, thirst is not quenched,

it is erased.

Being here was supposed to make me someone
else.

There is still time.

When the plague hit the city, many died.
Not Thucydides.

I always think... I can't help it, I think
he must have done something unspeakable.

I mean, how else does one survive?

I didn't. Did I?

Outside the old police station on
Bouboulina Street,

a girl waits forty years for her lover

who's never emerged.

Narrator: In the city, even cheap romances carry
scars from the junta.

Fragrant rosacea of the summer trees

where the jackboots of the riot cops echo.

The air is lilac and diesel.

The past is thick enough to choke on.

The juntas ghosts linger. There is no
package tour through the torture rooms of
the CIA.

An aggravation of the existing calamity
was

the influx from the country into the city,
and this

was especially felt by
the new arrivals.

What's the difference between a refugee
and a tourist?

The tourists are everywhere.

They are hungry. They are lost.

Hmm. What's the punchline?

The whole street is a gift.

A pigeon in a state of
rampant death on the road,

wings outstretched. How does the heart fly
so far from the body?

Up, up, up, past the awning.

They turn a corner

and suddenly the police are beating this
guy in the middle of the street.

He's lost a flip-flop.

The bystanders are just... standing by.

- Shaking their heads.
- This doesn't happen in
Greece, they say.

The guy's face is just blood and noise.

And then he's gone.

The cops are gone.

The empty plastic flip-flop lies there in
the road.

I found a body in a taxi and it was me.

The body was made of marble. The taxi was
made of smoke.

The millennia got lost down an alley and
returned, out of order.

At work, we used to think language was
carved in stone,

but it's more like water.

I drank so much salt water and it did not.
Erase. My thirst.

History is written by the victor. It
elbows its way into the present,

where you can die of it.

Find me the victor.

At café tables in every square, they splay
the yellowed paper of their hands.

They say, in a country like Greece, every
fucking stone has underneath it blood.

I dreamed the skin of this city fell off
and there were no bones underneath.

No. Nothing but the space between where
the bones had been.

I lifted a stone and found
nothing.

Like one day, you’ll lift the stone of my
life. Or not.

What are you thinking?

I think of my mother always preparing
dinner for the daughter-in law-who never
arrive.

There are words you cannot carry. Words
rush in with their history,

make shrapnel of themselves.

Could we visit?

She so adored the son I could have been,
had I been anyone else.

Anthi It is enough.

They came to a place known, as if for the
first time.

Where the fabric of existence was ripped,
possibility flooded in.

The moon white as bitten skin. She says,

“I can taste the fruit stains on your
hands.”

He says,

“People are nothing but lines on paper,
and we've been written in water.”

The night a broken tiara, the night’s
eyeliner running.

The city is a girl getting ready for the
wrong party.

His lungs fill with liquid.

She starts to shake and shake and shake.

Unbelonging is a homeland.

Unbelonging is a homeland.

Unbelonging is a homeland.

This is not their place to haunt. It was
never theirs.

Waves of gray sky congregate over the
city, softly in the wake of their regrets.

She went to the wrong party. He had always
been the wrong person.

Into her ear he whispers, but the waves
are so loud.

A country without history, a family
without a past.

This isn't suffering.

It is enough.

Believe it or not, all of this is true.

Just a perfect day drink sangria in a park

and then later when it gets dark we go
home

Just a perfect day feed animals in the zoo

and then later a movie, too and then home

Oh it's such a perfect day I'm glad I
spend it with you

Oh, such a perfect day You just keep me
hanging on You just keep me hanging on

Just a perfect day, problems all left
alone

Weekenders on our own, it's such fun

Just a perfect day, you made me forget
myself I thought I was someone else,
someone good

Oh, it's such a perfect day I'm glad I
spent it with you

Oh, such a perfect day You just keep me
hanging on You just keep me hanging on

You're going to reap just what you sow

You're going to reap just what you sow

You're going to reap just what you sow

You're going to reap just what you sow