more hopelessness
okay, so today, because I have absolutely NO life whatsoever, I sat around watching an independent film entitled "Passion in the Desert". It's about some French captain who gets lost in Egypt during the time of Napoleon and falls in love with a leopard or something. I liked it well enough; I mean, the plot was actually pretty interesting, barring the strange beastiality vibe I got from it.
The very first scene is kind of like, the end of the movie really. The main character guy is lying in some makeshift hospital and some people are treating some wounds he's got on his arms. I think they had to chop off his fingers or hand or something; I'm not quite sure. They were doing something painful looking with sharp medical instruments, at any rate. Anyway, the doctors hold him down and he screams something awful, and then the camera pans to the wall, where a smear of his blood lands before it fades to black and the opening credits start. Then it goes back in time and blah blah blah, the rest of the movie.
Here is where the problem lies:
That part where the camera pans to the wall? The second I saw that, my mind supplied this helpful narrative: "Astreak of blood--splash of technicolor pain across muted alabaster skin--shines, bright and ubiquitous, against the sun-warmed rock of the desert death-trap"
WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??? I have obviously been reading far, far too much. James Joyce, in particular. In case no one's ever even heard of James Joyce (author of 'Ulysses, which apparently, can only be tolerated by lovers of language and pompous english professors), here's a small excerpt of some of his work:
"...A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning the curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, a seal's, far out on the water, round.
Usurper..." ---Ulysses, (24) pg 23
What I need, I think, is to rot my mind with some pointless, brainrotting television. MTV, perhaps, since it requires absolutely no upper brain function to watch...
The very first scene is kind of like, the end of the movie really. The main character guy is lying in some makeshift hospital and some people are treating some wounds he's got on his arms. I think they had to chop off his fingers or hand or something; I'm not quite sure. They were doing something painful looking with sharp medical instruments, at any rate. Anyway, the doctors hold him down and he screams something awful, and then the camera pans to the wall, where a smear of his blood lands before it fades to black and the opening credits start. Then it goes back in time and blah blah blah, the rest of the movie.
Here is where the problem lies:
That part where the camera pans to the wall? The second I saw that, my mind supplied this helpful narrative: "Astreak of blood--splash of technicolor pain across muted alabaster skin--shines, bright and ubiquitous, against the sun-warmed rock of the desert death-trap"
WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??? I have obviously been reading far, far too much. James Joyce, in particular. In case no one's ever even heard of James Joyce (author of 'Ulysses, which apparently, can only be tolerated by lovers of language and pompous english professors), here's a small excerpt of some of his work:
"...A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning the curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, a seal's, far out on the water, round.
Usurper..." ---Ulysses, (24) pg 23
What I need, I think, is to rot my mind with some pointless, brainrotting television. MTV, perhaps, since it requires absolutely no upper brain function to watch...