We alone exist.
Nothing else is. Not rocks.Not trees. Not hares. These things are just ideas in our heads.
(A loose translation of Martin Heidegger’s Man Alone Exists.)
We alone exist.
Nothing else is. Not rocks.Not trees. Not hares. These things are just ideas in our heads.
(A loose translation of Martin Heidegger’s Man Alone Exists.)
It’s always where you’re not. You try to find it, knowing it won’t be there. Or maybe it is there, an instant, through a crack, sudden and clear. And then it isn’t. Like music. You remember and think. You dream of getting back there to how it once was. It’s a disease like that. The only trick is to forget.
Philosophy dictates that we must continue down the same path, always the same, down, wanting more, knowledge perhaps, consuming, further ensconced in our depravity. This dictum is written in our genetic core. So they say. When you think about it, you might realize that you aren’t supposed to think for yourself.
Conjecture on missing Malaysian Flight 370 might make for a good story, even if the cable channels bleed it dry.That said, relentlessly filming grieving relatives is not news. Nor will it ever be.
If these ambulance-chasers really want to get to the bottom of this kind of misery, all they have to do is read Agamemnon, indeed any Greek tragedy. Failing that, they could kill each other – or go missing – and their relatives could be interviewed instead.The problem being that no one in their families would care, knowing the disingenuous and self-serving nature of these jabbering shits.
Cormac McCarthy and Ridley Scott’s joint project The Counselor shocks to sell. Brutal imagery and non-stop sex banter aside, a main selling angle is in the exotic cats. Offered as colorful metaphors, the cheetahs – to say nothing of the film – quickly become blunt and unwieldy. Meant to convey, as Cameron Diaz’s puerile character explains, examples of killing “a quarry with elegance”, they are realized only as gimmickry, much like Diaz’s cheetah tattoo. “It is our faintness of heart that has driven us to the edge of ruin. And the slaughter to come is probably beyond our imagining.” Hopefully not words for a sequel.
Lars von Trier’s cinematic mission to shock audiences continues with the release of Nymphomaniac.
Using scandalous images to sell isn’t a unique plan.
But instead of shocking, this tack becomes more a source of amusement, the kind of thing that sells t-shirts. Which seems to be all they’re trying to do.
I applied months ago; their reply looked like spam, another petition.
We regret to inform you that the selection committee has decided not to extend you an offer. Your application was given every possible consideration by the faculty, but you must understand that there are a number of qualified applicants.Please understand that your writing and qualifications simply do not measure up to our most fine institution. However we do encourage you to apply again next year.
Yes, I admit this is both anal and childish, but I like to remember the places where my thoughts worked best – even if I didn’t remember much of it at show’s end.
10. Ravi Shankar, Roy Thomson Hall, Toronto (1983) Beautiful hall, incredible music.
9. Emmylou Harris, The Boot Saloon, Toronto (1992) A honky-tonk night.8. Tragically Hip, Cleveland Flats, Cleveland (1995) Canada’s greats, straight & full-on.7. Guided by Voices, Fillmore West, San Francisco (2002) The club is open. 6. Jane’s Addiction, Key Arena, Seattle (1995) Farrell and Navarro in summer dresses. 5. Low, The Aquarium, Fargo (2012) Three full sets. 4. My Bloody Valentine, Roseland Ballroom, New York (2008) Ears are still ringing.
3. Noel Hill & Tony MacMahon, Mother Red Cap’s, Dublin (1994) The pure drop in a tavern.
2. Sufjan Stevens, Bowery Ballroom, New York (2013) The end of the world – December 21, 2112 – with a few hundred others. 1. Grateful Dead, Oklahoma City Zoo, Oklahoma (1985) Full moon, at a zoo. (walstib)
They beat it out of you, and by they I mean we. It’s us, just us, with our wisdom and cruelty, our dreams of being whole and true, yeah, lying about that. We’re good at that, pretending to be on the subway, losing the call, sitting on our friend’s lap and saying we are laughing when that isn’t inside at all.It’s our demise, our degrading bodies, our trip into the nothing, not loving, not dreaming, not slimming down our skirts as we sit, but just standing there, thinking we might be something and then remembering we’re not.
Social Widgets powered by AB-WebLog.com.