Thanks, Michael, for the joy you left behind. Sorry you had it so rough otherwise. I guess they're right: gaiety is not happiness, nor is joy a measure of simple smiles. It's only been a few days, of course, but this is just another reason I wish I was in Brooklyn tonight. I'm sure every bar is popping, dancing, singing, crying, celebrating. I'm sure everybody partaking feels thrilled to be alive. Me? I watched the NBA Draft, tweeted a bit about it, and now plan on some ice cream before bed. Remember the time, people, when this reaction was standard. I wish I was dancing with my friends. UPDATE: Read my friend Odie's remembrance over at Big Media Vandalism.
This took too long. But, better late than never. Take a look at how I see In The Realm of The Senses and Intentions of Murder over at The Auteurs. Part One is called "Lockdown". Look for Part Two, called "Shuttered", tomorrow (the link will work then). Each post has the same introductory remarks, including the line: "both films portrait an abject sexuality based primarily in violence and crudity—lust is battery here." You guessed it: it's been a weird couple of months. As can be expected given all my dirtywhirl of messiness, I've no use for non stop rape parables. Thus, this bit of violence on my part.
—Many thanks to my boy, D-Kaz, for, among everything else, the Photoshop help. Looking forward to one last Steinhof Monday before a summer of pot roast and, I'm guessing (hoping?), manual labor outside the city.
I'm not telling you to make the world better, because I don't think that progress is necessarily part of the package. I'm just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To try to get the picture. To live recklessly. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it. To seize the moment. And if you ask me why you should bother to do that, I could tell you that the grave's a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. Nor do they sing there, or write, or argue, or see the tidal bore on the Amazon, or touch their children. And that's what there is to do and get it while you can and good luck at it. — Joan Didion
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