SC3

Tried to watch Dreyer's early films and felt compelled to cut that journey a little short. Of what I watched, Day of Wrath and The Passion of Joan of Arc were my favorites. The treatment of witchcraft and his continual focus upon satanic elements make Dreyer somewhat unbearable. The Passion of Joan of Arc deals in questions that have a more impressive bearing upon the church than Day of Wrath. Although the question of killing witches has its place, it seems out-dated compared with Joan's dilemma of a military tribunal manipulating her comments upon faith to justify condemnation beyond a status as military enemies. The hypocritical church would overlook its role in the military dialog of punishment.

Stuckness Minus St.

Some king
Listening to Bob Dylan
Like really listening
Fourtimes
Killed fifty mean tuesday type gentlemen
Hadtogetsomewheredeciding
On the hopethat itresolves
Fascists can suck my boot
Iwould notsuffer ahomelesspersontodothat
Iwould try to treat themasthough we wereequal people
But at thecrossroadsIcould still not give up my room
How I love the spacewhere Ihangmy draws
Kill therest of those bobs in their shelterclosets
If I can only hold dearly to my head and buttocks this chair, these keys
Do not even skip along the same grass as these six walls
Shelter from the cane
Now I'm not even close
To have a roof means to have a ground
For your children
Forbidden afternoon shaves
Busted flats on the way to Disneyland
Itallputsforththejourney and says
"If I were a movie how fun it all looks
And even in the confines of the room."
Something in that camera makes it all worthwhile I suppose

Its a trick!

Story of his life.

This is the story. A ranger stepped onto the ground. Now this wasn't any old kind of ground like we're used to stepping on because this ground had thick, bulbous weeds growing like uprooted grass that's pulled from the ground like laid wire. But these big things pulled their own roots from the ground to churn the soil, so that their smaller roots could take further hold of the ground and move deeper to assure the home of this plant and its seed. Only nobody particularly wanted this plant around. Many of its kind choke flowers and other decoratives, who tend to have a more delicate speed of living.
The ranger had stepped on this kind of ground, in fact, for most of his life. When he was just newborn, he was only allowed to walk on sand. He was an adept baby and walked on sand quite well, even for a ranger. But to get bogged down in his history for now would only bore you, because at the very moment I speak, he steps. Once more.

And again. Stops. The ground squiggles under his feet. It tries to grow on him. No such luck. Something in the ranger thought of processed meat. The strange foot had calloused, like any good ranger's foot. The foot's strange to an average person, and it's strange to the grass. Waiting, is he, the grass might have begun to think. Taking him long enough. But if the grass knew the mind of a ranger, it would not be grass. The ranger darts, ditches, dares, stares, and kills.

Serious to do list:

1. Learn to play/improvise guitar
2. Cut a dollar in half, tape it to another dollar I've cut in half
3. Read Moby Dick
4. Read the gospels
5. Read The Decameron
6. Read The Iliad
7. Converse with dream woman and others without self-conscience
8. Make a top 100 films list
9. Read Dante's Comedy
10. Play Hamlet and Laertes

Between Them and the Films

Who am I listening to that makes me have to choose a "winner" between No Country for Old Men and There Will be Blood? I can love them in their own right. Love is a word for so many things and love for a film, Derrida would say, is a different kind of love from love of a person. It is in fact the only way he could say it (love for things/love for beings). So forget about the Coen Brothers or P.T. Anderson when looking at those movies. Because the fight already has forgotten, between them and the films.

IM not Bitter

And adults sulk and sit alone
To pick at ever-thinning bone
In order, please, from one to three
Of sanity and memory

I hope to nothing, them in verse
Forthwith that rock and roll will be
To crud and mud the given curse
For little husbands, thinking free

She's making me the perfect man
I come to see what she has done
The cuts and ramblings of the plan
Scrape simple things and it'll run

I heart Hearst's hearse
Or head in reverse
Our villian scheme is dead
When was it jealous

Call them all my favorites too
Kris Kringle fits religious view
But they named it my favorites first
The bowl of jelly bound to burst

And adults jog alone
And memories
To pick at

Rambo and Its Relation to Human Tragedy

I only saw it once. Once is enough. It just wasn't fun from the start so didn't get fun later on. It got redundant.

Rambo's the hero of the franchise. He knows what's going down because he's the greatest warrior of all time sort of thing. And Stallone doesn't do anything for the first 45 minutes but direct Asian men to torture Asian men and women by setting them through land-mine traps. The subjects of the violence and the graphic nature with which Stallone films it, and films himself, is too tended to observing (to the point of applauding) the violence for the entirety of its realistically oriented duration. The details of gore, and the torturous nature of most of it, with a dialog so self-conscious and contrived, falls short of watching the evening news and is nearer to the level of the hanging of Saddam Hussein.

New kinds of movies are an inevitability, but what we have here is pure savage gore trying to top itself in the realms of exhibited violence mixed with realism! Instead of any attention paid to the action filmmaking we are being hand-fed by a sadistically constructed nationalistic figure of pseudo-redemption spectacle. A film about sadists isn't a new or impossible concept, but Hitchcock knows that the most powerful and terrifying statements on the imagination leave room for it. See I'm Not There for how much Haynes trusts his audience to fill in the blanks. Stallone has filled in every conceivable blank with the process of watching Southeast Asians splatter.