Solaris was a slow, beautiful, quiet movie that I enjoyed very much. Elara was not as impressed as I was and I've read a lot of reviews that were not so fond of it, but I really thought it was a heartbreakingly beautiful story about loss and redemption.
I'm sitting downtown on a parkbench, taking a break from my bikeride, using free, wireless, internet access to update my journal and answer some emails. Someone told me people used to go out to interact with other people, not the same machines they interact with at their home. I wonder if that's true or an urban legend.
Sometimes I feel like I could go the rest of my life without interacting with any other poeple face to face. I could lock myself up in my apartment living off delivered chinese food and tivoed sitcom reruns. Safe, untouched and untampered routine. No surprises or complicated emotions, just the business end of life: respiration, consumption, distraction.
But then you do go out of your house and the dreadlocked, freckle-faced girl at the burrito stand smiles at you while you wait for your credit card receipt to print out and you recosinder your reclusive resolve, don't you? Maybe you'll give this real-life-human-interaction-thing one more shot, what's the worse thing that could happen considering the burrito girl smiled at you?
Home and Safe or Out and Alive? When you're young you think life is short and you should try to accomplish and experience as much as you can in as short a time as you can, go out and do things. Hitchhike across the country, travel through europe, perform a daring bank heist, suck the marrow out of life, or whatever it is they tell you. I think though, the more you do the older you get, regardless of how old you really are. Sometimes I think I tried to cram too much living into too short a period of time, I rushed life, and am middleaged, grey haired, bespectacled and tired, more than anything else, really, tired, before I should be. I am looking forward to a depends dependancy by age 30. Can living too much make you tired to soon or do I just need to cut back on the carbs? I hear those all protein diets really give you energy.
I like the babbling. It's easier than the formulation of words and thoughts into a coherent narrative, much better than the usual cliched over emotional vignettes. Just randomness. What's that lyric? Do monkeys like the zoo?
41% battery power left on the powerbook. tick. tick. tick. tick.
The girl who runs the flower shop on the corner of Morrison and Broadway, dark hair pulled back tight into a long, thick ponytail, thermal underneath t-shirt, dirty blue jeans, sweeps flower petals off the sidewalk with an intensity usually reserved for emergency room surgeons. Beads of sweat form on her forehead and she wipes them away with the end of her scarf, she half sings, half whispers the same sentence over and over again as she sweeps: "Ma Ma, he treats your daughter mean."
I anticipate future change, but when the change occurs I do not take the time to enjoy, being too busy anticipating the next change. When she marries me we'll finally be happy, and I spend the wedding day hopeing for a pregnancy. It's hard to articulate. I prefer working towards a goal to achieving one. The rare, drug or sex-addled moments of intense appreciation for the present aside, I live life almost entirely regretting the past or anticipating the future, unhappy in the skin shedding off of me like a molting rattlesnake.
Blah. Blah. Blah. Back to bikeriding, concerned, as I am, about those abused lungs.
I'm sitting downtown on a parkbench, taking a break from my bikeride, using free, wireless, internet access to update my journal and answer some emails. Someone told me people used to go out to interact with other people, not the same machines they interact with at their home. I wonder if that's true or an urban legend.
Sometimes I feel like I could go the rest of my life without interacting with any other poeple face to face. I could lock myself up in my apartment living off delivered chinese food and tivoed sitcom reruns. Safe, untouched and untampered routine. No surprises or complicated emotions, just the business end of life: respiration, consumption, distraction.
But then you do go out of your house and the dreadlocked, freckle-faced girl at the burrito stand smiles at you while you wait for your credit card receipt to print out and you recosinder your reclusive resolve, don't you? Maybe you'll give this real-life-human-interaction-thing one more shot, what's the worse thing that could happen considering the burrito girl smiled at you?
Home and Safe or Out and Alive? When you're young you think life is short and you should try to accomplish and experience as much as you can in as short a time as you can, go out and do things. Hitchhike across the country, travel through europe, perform a daring bank heist, suck the marrow out of life, or whatever it is they tell you. I think though, the more you do the older you get, regardless of how old you really are. Sometimes I think I tried to cram too much living into too short a period of time, I rushed life, and am middleaged, grey haired, bespectacled and tired, more than anything else, really, tired, before I should be. I am looking forward to a depends dependancy by age 30. Can living too much make you tired to soon or do I just need to cut back on the carbs? I hear those all protein diets really give you energy.
I like the babbling. It's easier than the formulation of words and thoughts into a coherent narrative, much better than the usual cliched over emotional vignettes. Just randomness. What's that lyric? Do monkeys like the zoo?
41% battery power left on the powerbook. tick. tick. tick. tick.
The girl who runs the flower shop on the corner of Morrison and Broadway, dark hair pulled back tight into a long, thick ponytail, thermal underneath t-shirt, dirty blue jeans, sweeps flower petals off the sidewalk with an intensity usually reserved for emergency room surgeons. Beads of sweat form on her forehead and she wipes them away with the end of her scarf, she half sings, half whispers the same sentence over and over again as she sweeps: "Ma Ma, he treats your daughter mean."
I anticipate future change, but when the change occurs I do not take the time to enjoy, being too busy anticipating the next change. When she marries me we'll finally be happy, and I spend the wedding day hopeing for a pregnancy. It's hard to articulate. I prefer working towards a goal to achieving one. The rare, drug or sex-addled moments of intense appreciation for the present aside, I live life almost entirely regretting the past or anticipating the future, unhappy in the skin shedding off of me like a molting rattlesnake.
Blah. Blah. Blah. Back to bikeriding, concerned, as I am, about those abused lungs.
VIEW 13 of 13 COMMENTS
Yes folk's. its the 21st century. I can coin any name for stuff that I damn well please.
Don't feel so bad buddy. I have a friend who just went through basicly what you and Dia are feeling. You hit the Mr. Cleaver phase for a while then it'll die down.. Then you're 30.....
ok.. so that probably did'nt help.
Sorry.