INVERSION OF FICTION & REALITY.
i’m low-spirited, feeling indefinite, the desire for photography is starting to burn again; i miss it quite infallibly, genuinely, i long for&yet, i think i’ve forgotten how i don’t know if it will be the same, feel the same, translate and t e l l my developed moments close-mouthed communication, i’m afraid. there’s a fearful amount of possibility in my current pondering, that This is how i’d be acting if i was sedated at all hours - this is maybe generally how the world would appear to be manufactured if seen through strait-laced drug approval, self-contained girdled by the whitewashed walls of some mental facility emptier than the docile looks intent upon them a lesser form of living it’s like i’m there & i’m not even that kind of broken, yet. yet. my resort as of late has been the library, yesterday i managed to displace my coffee-to-go upon one of the many shelves while browsing through books of passing appeal, pretty fucking sour for me and i guess pretty fucking Good for any other bookish fellow with a caffeine addiction that happened to be at the right shelf and the right time in the wake of my presence. . . . i braced this discovery with either feeling like death or, i shrugged. the correlation of the two is opaque; proceeded with going outside, lay on a wooden bench regarding a sky of infinite blue for the rest of the afternoon, a colour that either clashes or compliments the flourishing flare-up of clorophyll depending on the shade, unhurriedly the air filled up with a sly approaching aggressive number of seagulls(!) chasing each other lively around all while shrieking in their characteristically unforgettable way & sometimes making plunges towards human heads and bodies. i remained on my back, luckily unharmed.
i didn’t get the job, which comes as no big surprise, however there’s still chagrine, displeasure, as i would have translucently loved it, i couldn’t have asked for a more fitting job “in my current state” and now this completely screws up the outlines of this summer, meaning i’ve had no luck with other applications and summer will thus be utter restlessness, drifting, dreaming, who knows. . . . on the upside i might actually have somewhere to go at the end of august, a small apartment only a couple of blocks away from my current residence, somewhat shabby from the outside & i would prefer to move to a neighbourhood where i haven’t already lived but this one of the rare times where i can’t afford to be exclusively Picky. regarding the architectural exterior, it’s the interior design that matters, and it will be Mine. of course nothing is decided yet and i shouldn’t Go Ahead like this, as the present female tenant appears to be disreputable&sordid, unpresentable irresponsible - making it unnecessarily difficult for me to even get a viewing. . . . misfortune after misfortune have spiralled me diagonally downwards, my father and sister especially have suffered major setbacks and some things i am not sure how it will affect the family, but at least we’re all still alive unlike my aunt’s best friend who recently died in a car crash in italy, my aunt&her husband smashed some teeth, broke some bones. such things and others, a distress inside of me devours devours devours it will not ever stop and there’s no way out there’s no escape this is what i am, this is what i am. & then. then there’s the profane spiral eternally present, pressing, the modern day slavery of sex trades, the deaths of polar bears; reversing the noun to the present tense bleeding verb. sometimes certain things seem so far away and so much closer, sometimes it’s so hard to bear, anything potentially Dangerous is alone, what attracts.
for the two past hours i have been staring into the animated rectangle upon this monitor that is shiki-jitsu - international title; ritual - a japanese film long, slowly outdrawn without much of a developing plot or any kind of Action or breaking point that isn’t emotional, psychologically severing nerves but, it’s cinematically perfect, p e r f e c t. i love this film for the exquisite camera work, the unsettled atmosphere, it’s a work with distorted bleak touches from amélie, a wonderland with no wonders, and the portrayal of an mentally ill corrupted woman is delivered with such magnificence by ayako fujitani, that from what i can tell from the reviews, many people wonder how much of her acting was simply acting, and how much came naturally - i wonder now, too, as well &i desperately want to read the novella that this very girl wrote, upon which the film is based upon. . . . today i also had a package waiting for me on the kitchen table as i got home, a belated birthday gift from my incredibly kind and generous musician friend in washington; the package containing the photography book immune by floria sigismondi, catching the big fish by david lynch(!) and two beautiful photographs of two beautiful different skies, thank you ever, most sincerely, sam. & floria, her photographical work and talent within video&film is nearly too painfully immense, implausibly spectacular, it’s too astonishing for me to even comprehend, the woman could very well be one of my versions of “holy.” if i’ll ever come within distance of mastering what she does, there might be some hope for me, too.
should i stop this, i think i should. during a bath i graphed with my fingernails the scars surgically or unexplainably inflicted, i am still so silent unspeaking my voice does not sound, is an ability unfamiliar. . . .
i should . . . . Go.