http://youtube.com/watch?v=5kYcoD5U2wo&feature=related
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Luna Meets New Friends
I'm constantly meeting strange folk in the Desert. They get in my face, they double cross me double quick, finding their own way through the heat. But this time, I met two classy gents who gave me hope that there's a shady tree waitin' for me to get to it. I cross my chest as I wade through this infernal oven.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Heaven
Just saw the film "Heaven". It was euphoric and ego-drowning in a way that was not sick or disturbing-- you know those films I'm talking about-- sick and disturbing for us-- coke candy for looters and moochers. Like "Grizzly Man". Where you end up becoming obsessed with story and characters to the degree that it is disruptive to your life. Bad dreams, constant confusion regarding the dilemma of evil and human nature and their complex, projecting domino effects.
No, "Heaven" was redemption in a non-depressing way, in an aesthetically-pleasing manner, with a particularly beautiful ending of hope and triumph and sheer coolness. Freedom and the human spirit shine, and you can't help but think that helicopters don't fly that high, but who cares? They do in "Heaven". Giovanni and Cate made magic together. Loved it. 10 stars.
No, "Heaven" was redemption in a non-depressing way, in an aesthetically-pleasing manner, with a particularly beautiful ending of hope and triumph and sheer coolness. Freedom and the human spirit shine, and you can't help but think that helicopters don't fly that high, but who cares? They do in "Heaven". Giovanni and Cate made magic together. Loved it. 10 stars.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Part I -- Father, Good Godzilla
My father was a good man. At least he was to me. Tried to be, for me. Other people loved him too. (In the clip below, he's the one on the red tractor).
It was my mother who didn't always think so. Which was funny, because he was so charismatic when he was "out there". You know, saving the world with his smile. Maybe that's what it was, for my mom. Maybe what it was, for my mom, was that "smile" and everything behind it. It was like she had x-ray glasses, seeing the sockets of lightbulbs, the inner workings of clocks.
After a few years of marriage, a smile can cease to be a smile anymore. It can be-- well, you know, not fake-- not intentionally anyway. One can feel good and have legitimate problems. But I suppose, it can be a facade-- but only if what is beneath it is always left unexamined. Always swept under the rug, as-it-were.
Perhaps that is how it all began for him. My father, I mean. Most people don't examine what's under the rug for examination's sake. They look so that they can remove what is causing the uncomfortable bump in the floor. Right? Right? I think my father could see that my mother oftentimes got rather addicted to looking. Even when nothing was there. That was the rabbit in the hat for them. She became a hook for him to hang his coat on-- the all-encompassing thick, wool, black coat. The one with the hood. It was so easy for him to hang it on her. You see, he could sense in her this compulsive detective work. I think she seriously resented being his coat rack. But it was so easy for her to stand there, holding his coat for him. Her muffled protests coming up between the seams.
It was my mother who didn't always think so. Which was funny, because he was so charismatic when he was "out there". You know, saving the world with his smile. Maybe that's what it was, for my mom. Maybe what it was, for my mom, was that "smile" and everything behind it. It was like she had x-ray glasses, seeing the sockets of lightbulbs, the inner workings of clocks.
After a few years of marriage, a smile can cease to be a smile anymore. It can be-- well, you know, not fake-- not intentionally anyway. One can feel good and have legitimate problems. But I suppose, it can be a facade-- but only if what is beneath it is always left unexamined. Always swept under the rug, as-it-were.
Perhaps that is how it all began for him. My father, I mean. Most people don't examine what's under the rug for examination's sake. They look so that they can remove what is causing the uncomfortable bump in the floor. Right? Right? I think my father could see that my mother oftentimes got rather addicted to looking. Even when nothing was there. That was the rabbit in the hat for them. She became a hook for him to hang his coat on-- the all-encompassing thick, wool, black coat. The one with the hood. It was so easy for him to hang it on her. You see, he could sense in her this compulsive detective work. I think she seriously resented being his coat rack. But it was so easy for her to stand there, holding his coat for him. Her muffled protests coming up between the seams.
Part II-- Father, Good Godzilla
There were pictures of them falling in love from the beginning. She often confessed that she felt akin to those eyes of his, all-a-twinkle, right from the start. Now that I'm an adult, I can speculate that for many couples it begins thataway. That "driveless drive", that ambiguity of quote, unquote love. After a month, two, three, whatever it takes-- the masks come off and the projections begin to circulate like so much bad breath around the room.
My father was a good man. At least he was, to me. But there it was, this small thing-- he'd forget to put a cork in his alembic and there were many times what was brewing inside of him would simply spill out all over us. He couldn't seem to be able to distinguish what was himself, and what was my mother. It was as though all boundary lines had ceased to exist, and his own interstellar wars from within became major battles within our kitchen, living room, car-- on our outings and on the phone; no place was safe.
The beast came out unexpectedly, and when he did why, he'd smash up everything in site. Even the hearts belonging to the people he thought he loved. As I got older, I began to suspect that my mother would actually go crazy, with this false picture of reality always presented to her as a mirror. Either that or die of a heart attack. But she didn't. She got angry. She became an all-consuming tornado tearing it up on every divorce blog she could find. Self-defeating behavior, finally acquiescing to the images Godzilla threw at her face.
It didn't take Mom long to figure out she didn't like being the bride of Frankenstein. She didn’t threaten to leave. She sadly acknowledged that she would.
(Or, if you prefer Xena)
My father was a good man. At least he was, to me. But there it was, this small thing-- he'd forget to put a cork in his alembic and there were many times what was brewing inside of him would simply spill out all over us. He couldn't seem to be able to distinguish what was himself, and what was my mother. It was as though all boundary lines had ceased to exist, and his own interstellar wars from within became major battles within our kitchen, living room, car-- on our outings and on the phone; no place was safe.
The beast came out unexpectedly, and when he did why, he'd smash up everything in site. Even the hearts belonging to the people he thought he loved. As I got older, I began to suspect that my mother would actually go crazy, with this false picture of reality always presented to her as a mirror. Either that or die of a heart attack. But she didn't. She got angry. She became an all-consuming tornado tearing it up on every divorce blog she could find. Self-defeating behavior, finally acquiescing to the images Godzilla threw at her face.
It didn't take Mom long to figure out she didn't like being the bride of Frankenstein. She didn’t threaten to leave. She sadly acknowledged that she would.
(Or, if you prefer Xena)
Part IIl-- Father, Good Godzilla
As strong as my mother tried to be for herself, in the end, she didn't have to leave. It's simplistic to say that Dad simply learned how to tame his anima, but indeed that is what happened. Like spontaneous combustion. That hag within him, his all-consuming Hydra, learned how to speak. English, too. And that's when everything around us started to change. The world suddenly seemed lighter, the air easier-- everything took on a sort of roundness to it. It became, enjoyable. For all of us. All the time.
I asked my mother several times, "what happened?" How did it work, exactly? I wanted the tips for any marital catastrophes looming in my own future. She didn't know. She said something like I could take care of myself, figure out reality from where I stood. In the end, it was all about that. When I approached my dad a month before he passed, he listened in silence, hearing what Mom had told me years earlier before old age had finished its last pages upon their faces. Was it the mirror, Dad? Did you finally take a good look in the mirror? Was it Mom? When she said she was going to leave if you didn't give your monsters a name and a place, was it that? Dad?
Silence.
"The monsters are still there. Always will be," he said. "But that's not really why she wanted to leave." He paused. "Yes. Giving them a name, and a place-- it encouraged me to see them-- help them. But what it really was, is that they helped me. Yes . . . yes, they helped me in point-of-fact, to see her. Your mother. My wife."
I asked my mother several times, "what happened?" How did it work, exactly? I wanted the tips for any marital catastrophes looming in my own future. She didn't know. She said something like I could take care of myself, figure out reality from where I stood. In the end, it was all about that. When I approached my dad a month before he passed, he listened in silence, hearing what Mom had told me years earlier before old age had finished its last pages upon their faces. Was it the mirror, Dad? Did you finally take a good look in the mirror? Was it Mom? When she said she was going to leave if you didn't give your monsters a name and a place, was it that? Dad?
Silence.
"The monsters are still there. Always will be," he said. "But that's not really why she wanted to leave." He paused. "Yes. Giving them a name, and a place-- it encouraged me to see them-- help them. But what it really was, is that they helped me. Yes . . . yes, they helped me in point-of-fact, to see her. Your mother. My wife."
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