Break My Heart With Beauty
Why do I write this journal? The same reason I brought my mother flowers when I was a little boy. I know now that writing is more than a search of one's soul and, in my case, more than a search for the truths of nature - human and beyond - a killing field for hypotheses - to catch and bloom or die and wither. Writing, for many, like all art, is a plea to some lost parent or love - a drive to forever connect, to blame, to forgive, to ask forgiveness. We believe there is truth out there in the universe, when it is really our own sad, naive love.
Some cast stones into the night, never really knowing why. I know why. And some fly too deep towards lakes of oil, thinking it water, and drown. Convinced of a mirage, there is no stopping insanity. As it is with the individual, so it is with society. For this reason, I know that there may come a point where there can be no more support of someone casting about, already decided, already stuck in denial - of love, of self, of death. And so, the only way to keep these people from drowning in their own dark tar pits, is to part with them. Otherwise, one is part of the problem.
Sometimes, the best thing to do is to say goodbye. After all, it is from death that flowers bloom. Death of one love for another. Death of some parent misconstrued. Death of some wildfire through a rampaging community. Death to the big mistake, that takes and breaks and makes us ache - which we meant to be love, but was hate.
Today, some things combined to make me a little sad, including the continuing loss of Dolores O'Riardan, and too much wine the night before. My dog knew to be gentle with me. He cozied up to me in the futon in the back bedroom. It reminded me of how Kurska once pressed her entire body up against mine, when she saw me freezing in the woods, meaning to keep me warm. On this warm foggy day, my heart felt cold and abandoned.
Tonight, I watched, "Edward Scissorhands," again. This really is a masterpiece, and a goth cult classic, barring none. It contrasts the lackadaisical, pastel, artificial happiness of the 1960's (roughly), with the terrific darkness of Edward Scissorhands life. And then these two meet and try to reconcile their differences - but society, mob rule, steps in and prevents this from happening. The love that was meant to be had to end, on account of man's inhumanity to man. In this situation, the best thing was for Johnny Depp and Winona Rider to say goodbye.
What is interesting but unseen in this movie is the inevitable commentary on the psychic schism of the 1950'/1960's: The bright modernism versus the dark underbelly, which could be compared to the racial and political problems that existed in those times - not to mention the evil spectre of the nuclear bomb hanging over it all. So, fittingly, the only black person in town, who was the main cop, was the one who twice let Edward off the hook, and let him go, despite the urgings of pathologically white society. Clearly, the black cop had some understanding of, or experience with, the darker side of those times.
This movie mixes humour and horror, romance and deep pathos or feeling concerning human suffering, the ideal of beauty as created by the human heart, versus the petty artifice which so often passes for beauty, lulling people into a false sense of happiness, and, sometimes, of mission. In the end, it is this Big Mistake by society that wins out, physically - but not transcendentally.
Love, compassion, care, sympathy, beauty, suffering, innocence - these are the things that ultimately transcend the petty populace, to the achingly beautiful strains of an angelic boys' choir, performing the music of Danny Elfman, through showers of ice flakes from the work of Edward Scissorhands, striving away, tearing his heart out and transforming it to works of unimaginable beauty, up there on his hill.
In fact, I am listening to Elfman's soundtrack as I write this. I checked out an Elfman box set specifically for these tracks, one of which I want to put into my LJ mix. Let me tell you, this movie cuts to my core, more and more the longer I live, in this ridiculous life. You may not not see it, but I have a kind of Elephant-Man alienation from normal society, and I can relate to the pain that this disabled soul goes though, fighting for what he feels to be true and right in his heart.
So, it should not surprise you that this movie so fits the theme of my journal, as well, "Wisdom is the retention of Innocence through Adversity." That is why I write. The preservation of our first basic love, wherein all greater things thrive.
My best friend from high-school loved this movie. He always had a little torturous thing in his Catholic soul, of the sad beast beaten down by cruel society. The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Frankenstein's monster. The Elephant Man. This movie has all those elements, together, and the music is absolutely gripping, inspiring and tormenting. Out of all this darkness comes a greater, more powerful beauty which is so real it is simply heartbreaking.
So, I wonder if any of you know of movies that have this power, being so beautiful it makes you cry.
"Eraserhead," this is not. I would compare it more to, "Linger."
I am delivered.
Some cast stones into the night, never really knowing why. I know why. And some fly too deep towards lakes of oil, thinking it water, and drown. Convinced of a mirage, there is no stopping insanity. As it is with the individual, so it is with society. For this reason, I know that there may come a point where there can be no more support of someone casting about, already decided, already stuck in denial - of love, of self, of death. And so, the only way to keep these people from drowning in their own dark tar pits, is to part with them. Otherwise, one is part of the problem.
Sometimes, the best thing to do is to say goodbye. After all, it is from death that flowers bloom. Death of one love for another. Death of some parent misconstrued. Death of some wildfire through a rampaging community. Death to the big mistake, that takes and breaks and makes us ache - which we meant to be love, but was hate.
Today, some things combined to make me a little sad, including the continuing loss of Dolores O'Riardan, and too much wine the night before. My dog knew to be gentle with me. He cozied up to me in the futon in the back bedroom. It reminded me of how Kurska once pressed her entire body up against mine, when she saw me freezing in the woods, meaning to keep me warm. On this warm foggy day, my heart felt cold and abandoned.
Tonight, I watched, "Edward Scissorhands," again. This really is a masterpiece, and a goth cult classic, barring none. It contrasts the lackadaisical, pastel, artificial happiness of the 1960's (roughly), with the terrific darkness of Edward Scissorhands life. And then these two meet and try to reconcile their differences - but society, mob rule, steps in and prevents this from happening. The love that was meant to be had to end, on account of man's inhumanity to man. In this situation, the best thing was for Johnny Depp and Winona Rider to say goodbye.
What is interesting but unseen in this movie is the inevitable commentary on the psychic schism of the 1950'/1960's: The bright modernism versus the dark underbelly, which could be compared to the racial and political problems that existed in those times - not to mention the evil spectre of the nuclear bomb hanging over it all. So, fittingly, the only black person in town, who was the main cop, was the one who twice let Edward off the hook, and let him go, despite the urgings of pathologically white society. Clearly, the black cop had some understanding of, or experience with, the darker side of those times.
This movie mixes humour and horror, romance and deep pathos or feeling concerning human suffering, the ideal of beauty as created by the human heart, versus the petty artifice which so often passes for beauty, lulling people into a false sense of happiness, and, sometimes, of mission. In the end, it is this Big Mistake by society that wins out, physically - but not transcendentally.
Love, compassion, care, sympathy, beauty, suffering, innocence - these are the things that ultimately transcend the petty populace, to the achingly beautiful strains of an angelic boys' choir, performing the music of Danny Elfman, through showers of ice flakes from the work of Edward Scissorhands, striving away, tearing his heart out and transforming it to works of unimaginable beauty, up there on his hill.
In fact, I am listening to Elfman's soundtrack as I write this. I checked out an Elfman box set specifically for these tracks, one of which I want to put into my LJ mix. Let me tell you, this movie cuts to my core, more and more the longer I live, in this ridiculous life. You may not not see it, but I have a kind of Elephant-Man alienation from normal society, and I can relate to the pain that this disabled soul goes though, fighting for what he feels to be true and right in his heart.
So, it should not surprise you that this movie so fits the theme of my journal, as well, "Wisdom is the retention of Innocence through Adversity." That is why I write. The preservation of our first basic love, wherein all greater things thrive.
My best friend from high-school loved this movie. He always had a little torturous thing in his Catholic soul, of the sad beast beaten down by cruel society. The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Frankenstein's monster. The Elephant Man. This movie has all those elements, together, and the music is absolutely gripping, inspiring and tormenting. Out of all this darkness comes a greater, more powerful beauty which is so real it is simply heartbreaking.
So, I wonder if any of you know of movies that have this power, being so beautiful it makes you cry.
"Eraserhead," this is not. I would compare it more to, "Linger."
I am delivered.