Exhibition

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Review: Morvern Callar

Girl (Morvern Callar) works dead end job in supermarket. Girl (played by Samantha Morton) comes home to find that her boyfriend has bled out all over the kitchen floor, wounds self-inflicted, note tapped out prior and beckoning to her from the computer screen.
And then things get weird.
A book has been written. There's some cash left in the bank account. And the hard truths that nobody else knows don't have to be faced, don't have to be dealt with, do they?
"Be brave", says the suicide note. "I wrote the book for you", it says. And so we follow Morvern around, as she erases her past and springboards off of death into a new life that she will create for herself in the colors of sunset and flowers left for the dead, in a haze of cigarette smoke and "e".
It is a dark and beautiful movie, and when it works it is brilliant, and when it doesn't you just want to reach through the screen and give Morvern a good shake. Not sure if it is worth seeing, but it is definitely something different from the usual tripe out there.
Rating: three of a kind.

imagined conversation #3

I asked you once if you were ever engaged.
And I said no.
But I never asked if anyone ever proposed to you.
Well, obviously, if anyone did, I said no.
You're not answering the question.
Nobody ever asked.
Why do you think that is?
What do you mean?
I mean, do you just project a sense that you don't want marriage, or are you afraid of commitment, or what?
Maybe I just don't want to settle.
Ah, yes. You still think perfect exists.
Why shouldn't I think that?
Can you prove it does?
Can you prove it doesn't?
I can make my case more easily than you can.
I suppose. But that doesn't mean I should give up on it.
What if perfect is what you create, not what you find.
You're chastising me now.
Am I?
You're telling me that I date around too much, and that I should just settle on someone and mold him into what I want.
Yes, but not exactly. I'm saying that you should look for quality over quantity.
But I have to look in a lot of places to find quality.
Fair enough. Find it yet?
No.

pictures of you

Pictures of You, by The Cure

i've been looking so long at these pictures of you
that i almost believe that they're real
i've been living so long with my pictures of you
that i almost believe that the pictures are
all i can feel

remembering
you standing quiet in the rain
as i ran to your heart to be near
and we kissed as the sky fell in
holding you close
how i always held close in your fear
remembering
you running soft through the night
you were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow
and screamed at the make-believe
screamed at the sky
and you finally found all your courage
to let it all go

remembering
you fallen into my arms
crying for the death of your heart
you were stone white
so delicate
lost in the cold
you were always so lost in the dark
remembering
you how you used to be
slow drowned
you were angels
so much more than everything
hold for the last time then slip away quietly
open my eyes
but i never see anything

if only i'd thought of the right words
i could have held on to your heart
if only i'd thought of the right words
i wouldn't be breaking apart
all my pictures of you

looking so long at these pictures of you
but i never hold on to your heart
looking so long for the words to be true
but always just breaking apart
my pictures of you

there was nothing in the world
that i ever wanted more
than to feel you deep in my heart
there was nothing in the world
that i ever wanted more
than to never feel the breaking apart
all my pictures of you

pictures of me

Pictures of Me, by Elliott Smith

start stop and start
stupid acting smart
flirting with the flicks
you say it's just for kicks
you'll be the victim of your own dirty tricks
you got yourself to tease and displease
doors swinging wide
you walked in to hide
looking at your feet
failure's complete
saw you and me on the coin-op tv
frozen in fear every time we appear
i'm not surprised at all and really, why should i be?
see nothing wrong
see nothing wrong
so sick and tired of all these pictures of me
completely wrong
totally wrong
go walking by
come another guy
jailer who sells personal hells
who'd like to see me down on my fucking knees
everybody's dying just to get the disease
hey hey hey hey
i'm not surprised at all and really, why should i be?
see nothing wrong
see nothing wrong
so sick and tired of all these pictures of me
completely wrong
totally wrong
i'm not surprised at all and really, why should i be?
see nothing wrong
see nothing wrong
so sick and tired of all these pictures of me
oh everybody's dying just to get the disease
everybody's dying just to get the disease
everybody's dying just to get the disease

kodachrome

I am not photogenic.
Thus I am thankful for digital cameras. Now, no money need ever be wasted on having a picture with me in it printed.
There are perhaps two decent pictures of me taken in any given year, since about the age of 7, when I stopped being cute and transitioned into slightly geeky, sort of shaggy, definitely self-conscious.
This isn't a lament or anything. Just one of those simple truths that one must face.
I sort of raise one eyebrow when I try to smile. I don't know why. It gives me this weird half-squint look. Catch me off guard, and maybe it'll come out okay. Or when I am in the midst of a truly happy or content moment. But I can't force my smiles.

Review: Oryx and Crake

"When any civilization is dust and ashes, art is all that's left over. Images, words, music. Imaginative structures. Meaning - human meaning, that is - is defined by them."

Atwood's vision of the future builds on what we know of the world today: science, technology, climate change, geopolitical conflict, class issues, and so on. It is a land of bioterrorism where the elite are hidden away in their protected, germ-free domes, using their skills to build what they hope is a better life, or at least one free from the pain of the outisde world. As is typical of any fictional utopian/dystopian vision, things fall apart.

"How much misery...how much needless despair has been caused by a series of biological mismatches, a misalignment of the hormones and pheromones? Resulting in the fact that the one you love so passionately won't or can't love you. As a species we're pathetic in that way..."

But why do things fall apart? Is it about our excesses, either self-destructive in and of themselves or aided by nature taking a hand in curbing them, or is it a question of how we relate not only to the world but to each other? And in the end, what exactly is human nature, and is it inherently good or evil? There are the questions Atwood raises, and while she doesn't exactly answer them, she makes her point in the midst of a well-told, chilling narrative.

Oryx and Crake, by Margaret Atwood (2003). Rating (using the poker hand scale): four of a kind.

red lobster

Spent the day at the 57th street beach (with J & K and Soren).
Do I ever learn?
The spots where I usually burn: those are okay.
The spots that I perennially forget about? Oh, yeah: burnt.
I've been to Phoenix in the summer a few times, and today felt like that, only more humid.
Needless to say, I won't be doing any limbo dancing or other non-esssential moving about this evening (or the next day or two, most likely).
And yes, cheapskate bry has turned the a/c on, so don't worry, my poor kitty cat will not collapse under her fur coat from heat exhaustion.