“Te rindes?”
Are there any words more alluring than those?! I can’t go into more detail at this time because everything is still too raw but I suspect it shall be touched upon again in the future. This jade pendant is always so lovely. Sound and color and portion.
You know I actually own copies of both versions of Solaris: the 1972 original directed by the late great Andrei Tarkovsky and the 2002 remake directed by the on time and also great Steven Soderbergh. I find them both to be lush, achingly beautiful films though it is difficult for me to choose which one I prefer. Though I suspect if someone broke into my posh flat and stuck a standard police issue Glock 9 millimeter handgun to my venous temple and threatened to blow my fucking brains out I would choose the original. It is just a tad more supple and satisfying (and sans mid-movie montage). Criterion put out a slamming blu ray of this a few years back and I picked up a copy at Ye Olde Conglomerate shortly before I went bankrupt on the tail end of the housing bubble bursting. Still, man, the photography on Soderbergh’s is just absolutely fucking gorgeous and I give ample kudos and props to Peter Andrews (tee hee) for his work. It makes me want to know who I have to kill in order to see it have a blu ray release. I recall a young couple I used to know opted to make out for the duration of the 2002 version while at the theatre and I will forever regret not being afforded the opportunity to discuss the film with them due to their inability to resist for 98 minutes the temptations of the flesh. However I am not judging, merely mourning the lost opportunity. Amazingly, I have never read the book Solaris though I suspect I shall have to remedy that oversight at some point in my miserable life. I also do not own the soundtracks for either of these motion pictures despite both of them – the first by Eduard Artemyev and the second by Cliff Martinez (alum of Red Hot Chili Peppers and Captain Beefheart) – being rather beautiful. I think I shall correct these mistakes very soon and then wrap a blanket around myself and contemplate finally ending it all. Ultimately though, nothing mentioned previously can compare to the original adaptation of Solaris which was a two-part Russian TV movie released in 1968 and co-directed by Boris Nirenburg and Lidiya Ishimbayeva. I’ve yet to find a Region 1 copy but I’ve only just begun my worldly travels to track one down. Such is the nature of wisdom.
That black and white compilation truly was a life-changer.
Yes, cut-ups. I think that is what I mentioned in my last post. Does it make any damn cents? Probably not to those not in the know. But I don’t say that in a condescending manner. I would never want to condescend. For goodness sake, I assure you I knew nothing of the horses or those strange, alternately horrifying voices they used. I was just a little girl who never left her room. I do wonder why every time I open my eyes the world has a blue tint. Why do you both own me? One in orange and one in grey. I swear these sounds could bring me back to life if the situation called for it. Everything is teetering on icy glass surfaces and pivoting on unexpected alien highways at the dawn. There is so much discordance and what a world of good it brings to me. This stack of brilliance gets me through everything.
I think he saw her once and fell in love immediately. We only deal in fragments and clues and the risk is all this passion becoming nothing more than pastiche and existing on the surface. Do you not see what happens whenever you put your hand on his shoulder? Black on blonde. This is the combination that most comes to mind. What a truly unholy vision. Yet what delights it offers. They would surely both be amateurs but would that not make it so much better in many ways? Every ways? Can you hear the sounds? And the sights! Denier. That would truly be a gift of sound and vision.
I bought some yellow legal pads the other day and some new Bic writing sticks. I think I’ll brain-shit-storm elaborate ideas on those pads. I’m quite wondering if she can hear me right now. There are so many shadows in my home. The previously mentioned vision only leads to others, all equal in their glory. Limbs wrapped around limbs.
If I’m not there no one is going to notice.
The trailer for Lucha Underground season 2 makes me so giddy with excitement. I need this premiere now. What a television junkie I am. Is the only choice self-immolation? More slow-motion running please. But what are you running from? That is the real question. And of course I spit my coffee out with the revelation at the end.
Judy, just go out and
fucking buy Tilt right now! That goes for all of you too!
That source of inspiration is something she needs to murder and revive on a constant basis. It is the only way she knows to keep moving. Sometimes she is nothing more than a small frightened boy. There is so much confusion in consciousness. She is not entirely sure what gifts she has bequeathed. When she looks out the window at night she is horrified to see a face staring back at her. Those lucky bastards still have a huge world waiting for them. But I hope they are very careful with what they discover. There is only the logic of a dreamworld, of retribution, birth and murder.
There are castles in mountains and my bloodied face is a portrait on the walls. A generous woman made of clay is dancing in front of the portrait and subsequently gives in to a process that does not involve counting. The master is screaming orders and then is screaming in agony as the flesh of his back is torn and peeled off like a piece of parchment. His bones are exposed and there is a strong hand gripping his spine. Motorcycles roar outside though the drivers lie dead – their heads irreparably crushed like grapes reserved for barefooted wine-making – beside them on the ground. The clay never hardens though she never stops smiling.
I’m gonna have to punch a big slab of meat on my next recording.
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