Oh shit. I fucked up.
Oh shit. I fucked up.
graphite and cheap ass ballpoint pen in Moleskine
(VERY FAST Pen Noise in my Moleskine of Love)
I’ve loved film noir since I watched my first one when I was about seven years old. Even when I was that young, the aesthetics lured me in and I was hooked on those blackest of blacks and the criss-cross shadows showing criss-crossed lives where everyone is out for himself or herself and they fuck everyone and themselves over in the process.
Most importantly, I always identified with that Point Of No Return Moment, when the character realizes there is no turning back, that there is some inherent flaw in the fabric of life - of his life, of her life, of life in general. In other words, the Oh Shit I’m So Fucked moment. The best noirs really are not just about existential quandaries but about the inability to get out of the web.
The fact that I understood this on such an emotionally visceral level at age eight says something about something. I’m 51.5 years old, and not a week goes by when I don’t have an Oh Shit I’m So Fucked Moment. The great thing about Film Noir is that it turns those moments into cinematic art, into the most starkly rich photographic images. I have loved these films forever.
On the grand scale of life, if you haven’t had an Oh Shit I’m So Fucked Moment, then maybe you ought to check inside your chest and see if you have a heart and if you are actually human. As humans, we pretty much are all So Fucked. We just make the best of it. One of the ways to make the best of it is with movies and art. That we can feel a little less fucked.