syringe syringe syringe

is there a term (i'm sure there is) for when you're watching a movie, say, that you've already seen before (or maybe you haven't) and you're screening it through the eyes of someone else because you want them to like it or maybe you just want to gauge what their response will be? i get that feeling quite often. it's weird to think what sort of affect just knowing someone else can have on your perspective which is never entirely your own. my mind and the way i perceive things is so dependent on how i hope to relate to other people. i evaluate things according to how i think other people evaluate things, even if most of the time i like to pretend that i don't care how other people feel about things and that my opinion is truly unique or original.

i think what it's all about--life, that is--is finding the right people to surround yourself with because it's these people who determine who you are; who shape your personality, your interests and so forth, for better or worse.

still: i feel that there is an essential quality that is particular to each individual human being which cannot, no matter how hard one tries, be abolished.

the self prevails--like a weed that can never be truly eliminated. it is impossible, it seems, for one to completely uproot themselves.

so why worry?

speaking of uprooting:

i had a wisdom tooth extracted today. i wrote about it in a mass txt msg, so i don't feel like writing about it anymore here, except to provide the more grotesque and remarkable details.

that the instruments they used looked primitive and medieval.
the syringe looked like something straight off a dungeon-wall--big and metal and ornate with holes for the surgeon's thumb and one other finger.
once extracted, they held the tooth out in front of me, a bloody stump hovering above a blood-splattered bib, alongside even more blood-covered instruments.
i could feel them break the tooth off from my jaw. i could both hear and feel the crack.
a pesky bit of the root remained, embedded in my gums--they had to go back and dig it out with what looked like pliers.
the numbing agent they used made the whole left side of my face numb--tingly-numb, not completely unfeeling-numb. when he actually stuck the needle in, i could feel it and whatever anaesthetic he used penetrate the surface tissue. i could feel it in the deep corner-pocket of my jaw, like being stabbed at an odd angle through the mouth by a ballpoint pen--the closest i'll ever come to knowing what it's like to be a fish hooked through the mouth.
the whole time they (the oral surgeon and his assistant) were performing the surgery soft-rock radio was playing lightly in the background and, as if that wasn't ironic enough, before he actually began the procedure--which i had no idea he was going to do (i was told i was going in for a consultation)--the doctor took a reflective glance out the window and made a casual remark about the "dreary day" outside. "it was nice and sunny yesterday," he said, to his assistant. "i know," she said. "one in a long streak of dreary days," he said. "well, winter will be over soon." he said all this in a hurried sort-of mumble so that, thinking back on it now, he may or may not have told me in advance that i was supposed to have the operation done today--but i'd have no way of knowing because i couldn't understand anything he said through his thick slur. it struck me as odd--even if he had done the surgery countless times before--that he could be so nonchalant about the whole ordeal.
at one point i thought i was going to pass out and i never pass out or feel like passing out at anything.
the whole experience was so fascinating and i'd definitely do it again if i had the choice. in fact: i recommend it to anyone wanting to take a vacation--from work or the humdrum day-to-day routine of compromised living. i could spend my entire life trying to write about it and document every gory little detail. i can't say the same for vacations i've spent on anonymous beaches in florida or looking at monuments to things which have no business being celebrated--especially not in the form of slabs of stone.

plan plan plan

in an attempt to alleviate some of this stress, i've decided (upon kristen's recommendation) to make a list of things i hope to do or achieve in the near future. i'm also going to try to make a list of priorities. i need to consolidate my pursuits and interests so that i can focus on one thing at a time.

first of all:

graduate--get through this current semester, apply for graduation and do it

get a new set list together--decide which songs i want to play with tfos and which songs i want to pursue on my own or with jim

submit a story to genesis--possibly the one i sent to jim

maintain friendships--devote due time to different friends; perhaps: establish a schedule

get through work--not a biggie; just need to stop calling in all the time

get this pesky wisdom tooth extracted

talk to my psychiatrist about my meds

take it easy on how much i read or watch in one day--maybe only watch or read one thing for each day so that i don't overload myself

devote a good healthy amount of time to kristen--this should be prio no. 1; maybe work on stuff throughout the week, practice on saturday with the band and then spend the rest of the weekend solely devoted to kristen--not allow myself to think about all the other bullshit



this is sort of a rough draft or replication of the list in my head but it makes things easier when i can see it all before me. hopefully: it helps.

slip between the cracks

i've been feeling really overwhelmed lately. i've tried describing my symptoms to several people close to me and i'm having trouble articulating exactly how i feel.

i think i'm exhausted. i feel like a hysterical housewife at the turn-of-the-century who could benefit from a rest-cure.

the trouble, i think, is that i'm spread so wide. i can't decide what i want to do or who i want to be. i want to do everything and be everybody all the time. i know it's foolish to think i can do this or to attempt it--even if it is out of my control. it's completely debilitating but i don't know what to do to stop it. there's just so much i want to accomplish right now and i feel like if i don't act on it immediately, it'll never get done. i willhave contributed nothing artistically and all this creativity and effort will go to waste.

i want to be in a relationship. i want to be in a band. i want to write songs. i want to write words and stories and poems and watch movies and write about those and make insightful diary entries and think of funny things to send my friends in txt messages because that's what maintaining friendships is all about and i want to maintain my friendships. but it's so difficult to attempt all this at once. i need to narrow my focus. murder one task at a time. otherwise: i become bogged down--inundated with all this bullshit--this urgent compulsion to create.

the problem is: i focus on one thing and then another thing pops into my head and i feel like i need to address that first before i can complete the original task. inevitably: something else creeps in and then i have to address that too until my brain just accumulates so much--so many tasks--that i can't make sense of it all. like a kid in a candy store who wants everything he sees but is only allotted enough money for a few pieces of candy.

it's horrible.

i'm going to talk to my doctor today and try to get this sorted out.

woke up with this in my brain

the concept of maturity has always seemed suspect--if not completely absurd--to me; a term like love that means so many different things to so many different people.

at some point it's expected that you outgrow and abandon like shit-filled diapers stinking up dumpsters the notion that you are important and unique and beautiful and worthy of everyone's attention--though you still demand these things in the form of loving affection from a spouse or partner or family member or friend.

you learn to settle. you learn to settle for a life that only tastes vaguely like the one you wanted--the one you imagined and ultimately aimed to realize--a life that resembles your ideal like a home movie resembles a major hollywood production.

what's the significance--where's the glory in being recognized for who you are? is there truly validation in being noticed; in not simply toiling away on earth, establishing a network of close friends and family and then vanishing as if you'd never really happened at all?

i think what it comes down to is wanting to establish a legacy--a monument to yourself; to your own bullshit existence which would otherwise be forgotten. this is why people have children. this is why people write and create things. it's an act of desperation--a frenzied attempt to establish themselves forever in the form of artifacts and surnames which can--if anyone in the future cares enough and is willing--be traced back to their original self-important creators.

the truth is: people often get recognized because they're lucky. they're in the right place at the right time. they know the right people. therefore: they're given an opportunity--the necessary tools and the proper format--to reach a wide audience and thereby establish their legacy. it's not that they're brilliant or exceptional--because they're not. they're just as brilliant and exceptional as you or me. the only difference is: they're famous and we're not. they've passed through all the requisite loops and as a result they have the necessary resources at their disposal to reach so many people.

the spectrum of celebrated people is populated by both remarkable and less-than exceptional personalities and everyone in between. there are fantastic, incredibly idiosyncratic and brilliant people who never get recognized--for anything. and there are some who somehow squeak by--slip through into the elite pantheon of worshipped human beings. i know people funnier than the funny people i see on tv. i know people who write better than the writers i find in major bookstores--the writers often topping bestseller lists. i know musicians with more imagination and talent than the ones i hear on the radio--than the ones with multi-million dollar contracts and access to state-of-the-art studios. imagine: if we gave the average musically-inclined person free reign in a professional studio--the work of "brilliance" he or she might create. the only difference between this person and the "legends" we idolize and write so much fluff about now is that the latter have access to these studios. as i said: they have the necessary resources to express themselves fully. whereas the struggling musician or artist gets by with what he can. certainly: in a lot of cases this forces the struggling musician or artist to be more creative--to, in turn, work with what they've got. but that doesn't mean they're anymore creative or full of potential than the artist working with anything he demands at his fingertips.

what i'm saying is this: it doesn't matter that you'll likely never be remembered or celebrated--in this lifetime or centuries down the line. it doesn't mean you're a failure. it really does not mean that at all. what it means is that:

tbcontinued

hhhhh

this is how i feel about the economy--domestic and global--sometimes:

dollars and cents
bulls and bears
pounds and pence--
i don't care!

there's a tendency, i feel, when one is discussing politics or thinking seriously about one's political views in relation to others to focus solely on matters of money and overlook more important issues. not that money isn't important, it's just so hard to get a grasp on how exactly the economy works when the average person lacks the language to fully understand the encrypted babble of financial and economic experts. it's a bit of a deterrent.

perhaps this is intentional--a way to keep those at the lower end of the financial totem-pole effectively quiet--uninformed and unable to decipher their own predicament. this seems like the sort of thing bullshit conspiracy theorists believe. what i think happened is that we've grown so fast in so many different directions that it would take a lifetime to fully master--let alone understand--any one concept.

either way, i feel like life is too short to devote so much of my allotted time on earth to trying to figure it out. this is why i consider myself far more left-leaning in my politics. i don't care what any republican or conservative tries to tell you: they're all the same. their only concern, really, is money. democrats and liberals on the other hand like to think about social issues--which is why they are often branded "socialists." it seems sort of childish and stupid but, then again, most of what constitutes "politics" in this country is--it's been reduced to wwf heels and heroes type entertainment by those who need to understand it superficially--for those who still cling to or never really got over the classic good-guy/bad-guy black and white archetypes of their childhoods.

democrats and liberals aim to create a world where no one has to suffer.
republicans and conservatives consider this touchy-feely bullshit and instead choose to focus on what they stand to gain personally--the issues that affect them directly vs. anyone else.

dems and libs are sympathetic and caring.
reps and cons are self-involved and greedy.

it's not that those of us inhabiting the left are socialists or commies--terms which, in and of themselves, do not necessarily translate to evil. we just want everyone to have a fair chance. we're not out to enslave everyone or appoint dictators to tell us what to do--these are uninformed ideas about communism and socialism that reflect less the ideologies themselves than they do what people have historically done to corrupt these ideologies--to take them and run with them to promote their own self-important agenda.

i don't know where i'm going with this. just wanted to get some ideas down before i go to bed.

synchronicity: ex nihilo

i wouldn't doubt that
right now someone
or a whole bunch of someones
is reaching the same profound
conclusions, coming to the same
explanations and insights, as
myself
and that
tomorrow or--
who knows how long it will take--
they'll be telling me something
i already know
because, like them,
i've thought about it before

shave the baby

there is a scene playing in my head right now and it goes like this:

a man is running down a dark alleyway at night. he looks behind him and in front of him and left to right, short-winded and wide-eyed. he seems to be running from something--but what?

he dips into a dilapidated building underground. he removes his hat--immediately he feels warm. he knows he'll be sweating in a minute. it must be eighty or ninety--even a hundred--degrees.

an old man with the voice of william s. burroughs is sitting at an accountant's table reading out loud from steppenwolf by hermann hesse. there is one lamp on the table which provides the dim light by which the old man reads. it is the only light source in the room.

he takes this all in--the warmth of the room and the simple network of dark shadows and stark illumination--like a chiaroscuro painting. it seems from what he is able to see that he and the old man and the lamp and the desk and the old man's booming voice mixed with the incredible heat (which makes him think of holocaust-era gas chambers) are the only things filling this room.

he takes a few tentative steps forward--into the dark of the room. he imagines himself walking past the man and beyond, for surely there is something beyond what is ostensibly there; what is immediately visible in the strange light--or lack thereof.

he walks past the old man, bumping into the lamp on the way. the old man is unfazed by this--continues reading in his voice that is loud and full of authority but at the same time very dry and monotonous and comforting like the heat might be to geriatric patients on the verge of death and taking up space in the old folk's home.

ii

criterion update:

today i watched au revoir les enfants--another film by louis malle focusing on the turbulent nature of adolescence. this time, however, the turbulence was exacerbated by the film's setting, world war ii france.

i liked the movie. the lead actors were great, especially for being so young. the film was pretty depressing, though i kind of expected this much--most world war ii movies are. something about the bleak nature of war that contrasts nicely with the general minutia being portrayed on screen--a great formula for romance (something i've always felt). you can't have romance without danger or the hint of tragedy.

mission statement and a handful of reviews

i've decided recently for no reason in particular to attempt to watch every single criterion collection release. i know this makes me seem terribly, if not tragically so, hipster-ific. but: i'm resigned to my destiny. if nothing else, this will afford me the opportunity to see a few decent flicks.

so far (in the past week or so): i've watched five films. the following is a list of these films, accompanied by a brief review blurb.

revanche: german. understated (read: boring as hell). the film has a number of highly disturbing sex scenes involving ex cons and blubbery germans with moustaches. actually: there is only one mustachioed blubbery german ex con, but we see his unsightly dough-y physique so much that it feels like nothing else happens in the film. the film's one redemptive quality is the old man who plays the blubbery german ex con's father. i had trouble understanding exactly how this movie earned its prestigious (dubious?) honor as an official criterion title. apparently: the first first-run feature released by janus films (criterion's partner distribution company) in thirty years.

murmur of the heart: three-fourths of the movie is brilliant--an unflinching look at the strangeness of new-found adolescent sexual stirrings. then the director (louis malle) decided to become a freudian blowhard and ruin everything.

ratcatcher: i liked this m o v i e a lot. it's a scottish film. sparse dialogue. moody and atmospheric. somewhat perplexing, which i found refreshing. bleak.

amarcord: fellini. not his best, but not too bad, either. it had its moments.

jeux interdits: kristen had me watch this. it was very good. war-time melodrama, but insanely romantic at the same time. the epitome of depressing foreign art-films.

paris, texas: thus far, my favorite (of the films i've seen recently). the film is gorgeous. stunning light and set-design. a great story, told in an interesting way (unraveling slowly but never too sluggishly--just enough to keep the viewer engaged). the movie every slow-burning indie film tries to be. like revanche but better because it allows itself to stew in its own mythology.