there is an extremely intense laser beam the width of my hand. i know because i put my hand in front of it and only my fingers are left visible and glowing on the other side. the beam is encircling us, hovering over the smoking river. it hurts (many people scream when I touch it) at first very badly and then not at all. my memory has been burned away that fast and i don't care. i can just feel the light passing through me - can feel the soft edges of the flickering beam and it feels like what i have imagined the edge of fire would feel like if we could touch it: it's gentle and of a wholly different order physically than anything we are used to.
The longer I hold my hand there the more I can see Hanguel shapes (this obviously from a student report last night on a Korean graphic designer) floating down from very high up in the sky. they contain within them (though unrecognizable from their outlined forms) actual dinosaurs. I say aloud, "Really? There are actual dinosaurs in there?" I don't understand the possibilities of scale. Other Hanguel shapes, in different colors, contain other life forms: trees, barracuda, mice, whatever.
They are floating down out of the night sky. The planet is being seeded for a new epoque of life on earth. Humans won't be part of this. Most of us are watching, leaning our back against a giant hill that is encircled by the smoking river and the laser beam that is buzzing above it.
I think we are all surprised that the end would be so peaceful, that it would be so easy to let go. In any case, there not much we can do about it.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Sunday, December 2, 2007
no music for old men
just saw "No Country for Old Men."
uh....damn!
that's one sinister movie. I would think the main guy - the psychopathic killer - would be just a parody as he is very simply - EVIL, but pretty quickly this vaguely eastern european guy with a silly page boy haircut became the face of whatever has ever scared me: the man in my sister's psyche, the figure in all my photographs, the guy on the creek road, the guy in the bootleg, the possibility of pure evil which i'd never really felt impacted directly by before until about 2003 but consider more now, not necessarily as one of two sides of a god-debate, but as an actual force to be acknowledged (and ideally avoided, naturally) nonetheless.
though I don't mean it to be deranged itself, I have long wanted to write a paper about the Creativity of evil, the improvisational inventiveness of the truly pathological. I am curious why the violent act invites prodigious almost playfulness with the variables of pain and disfigurement and death. The Last King of Scotland, which was great, could be sited. The Killing Fields. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, A Clockwork Orange. Eegads!, why are these the movies that stick with me? I guess many movies are about just those possibilities of dark and individual inspiration, but somehow this character was different. Utterly unredeemable, not just a man with a damaged inner-child, but the 'force' itself.
A stunning movie, I thought. It wasn't until the very end that i realize there was no soundtrack at all. My heart was pounding so much (in the first half, at least) that I didn't miss it. I think the silence had everything to do with how scary it was - just the sound of shoes, shoes stopping, a curtain blowing, the desert itself a character, the spooky oak panelling in those icky hotels... a car on the highway, maybe a little wind.
anyway. deeply creepy.
loved it.
uh....damn!
that's one sinister movie. I would think the main guy - the psychopathic killer - would be just a parody as he is very simply - EVIL, but pretty quickly this vaguely eastern european guy with a silly page boy haircut became the face of whatever has ever scared me: the man in my sister's psyche, the figure in all my photographs, the guy on the creek road, the guy in the bootleg, the possibility of pure evil which i'd never really felt impacted directly by before until about 2003 but consider more now, not necessarily as one of two sides of a god-debate, but as an actual force to be acknowledged (and ideally avoided, naturally) nonetheless.
though I don't mean it to be deranged itself, I have long wanted to write a paper about the Creativity of evil, the improvisational inventiveness of the truly pathological. I am curious why the violent act invites prodigious almost playfulness with the variables of pain and disfigurement and death. The Last King of Scotland, which was great, could be sited. The Killing Fields. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, A Clockwork Orange. Eegads!, why are these the movies that stick with me? I guess many movies are about just those possibilities of dark and individual inspiration, but somehow this character was different. Utterly unredeemable, not just a man with a damaged inner-child, but the 'force' itself.
A stunning movie, I thought. It wasn't until the very end that i realize there was no soundtrack at all. My heart was pounding so much (in the first half, at least) that I didn't miss it. I think the silence had everything to do with how scary it was - just the sound of shoes, shoes stopping, a curtain blowing, the desert itself a character, the spooky oak panelling in those icky hotels... a car on the highway, maybe a little wind.
anyway. deeply creepy.
loved it.
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