Wherever you go, wherever you are, I watch your life play out in pictures from afar
Hello livejournal. It's been a long time.
Finishing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, I realize how worshipful a good film can be for me. The art of the photography, and the pull of the story, and how the director keeps it all in line, leading you along with a touch that is similar to the line of a dance. Polishing it all off is me laying, quietly, listening to John Mayer give us "In Your Atmosphere". Now it's Bon Iver and children are playing outside.
As Benjamin grows younger, he meets so many incredible people, which the film revisits in the end. His life is, in some way, a composite of all of those lives lived adjacent and intersecting with his own. Thinking about it, my life is filled, even during these long, tedious days of work with diplomats and hairstylists, musicians and filmmakers just back from Antarctica, women with toy chihuahuas and people who order regularly order specialized drinks which I introduced them to. Tedious hours, for now, making me discontent, since the barista life is best to me at part-time; yet this tediousness drives me forward toward, well, what will be the next step?
"In Your Atmosphere" begins with John Mayer saying, "I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore / I don't know what it's like to land and not race to your door / I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore." On a different note from above, do I relate so much to this song because I don't think I'm gonna go to Tampa anymore? Or that he uses the word "think" and isn't sure himself? It's no secret that, if you filmed a movie about me, you'd see that love interest's face (at least from the perspective of the protagonist) smiling, waving, representing that great chapter of my life which is, for me, all written and done.
Yet, in the montage ending of my story, I want her story to be there, smiling and waving at the camera. It'd be the same as you, Hal, except you're still around and might be waving with your hands covered in mocha from behind your iconic, early-twenties espresso bar. I'm never against God pulling the surprise card and plopping someone from my past unexpectedly into my life, as happens in the movies, whether one character plans it or it happens entirely by chance / screenwriters who are indulging in their inner sappiness, but I don't expect it.
For all the wrestling I've had to do with myself since tenth grade, I couldn't be who I am today without any of that, and I couldn't possibly be mad at how it all turned out. I'm still frustrated, still at the point where, if I went to her hometown, I might "burn up in her atmosphere", but I can't wait until I'm past that and she's just another of those welcoming, revisited faces at the end of my story, whose dimpled smile brings fills the theater with warmth, if only to remember the joy and trials of being in her presence, if only to remember how so much of me in those years began there.
Finishing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, I realize how worshipful a good film can be for me. The art of the photography, and the pull of the story, and how the director keeps it all in line, leading you along with a touch that is similar to the line of a dance. Polishing it all off is me laying, quietly, listening to John Mayer give us "In Your Atmosphere". Now it's Bon Iver and children are playing outside.
As Benjamin grows younger, he meets so many incredible people, which the film revisits in the end. His life is, in some way, a composite of all of those lives lived adjacent and intersecting with his own. Thinking about it, my life is filled, even during these long, tedious days of work with diplomats and hairstylists, musicians and filmmakers just back from Antarctica, women with toy chihuahuas and people who order regularly order specialized drinks which I introduced them to. Tedious hours, for now, making me discontent, since the barista life is best to me at part-time; yet this tediousness drives me forward toward, well, what will be the next step?
"In Your Atmosphere" begins with John Mayer saying, "I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore / I don't know what it's like to land and not race to your door / I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore." On a different note from above, do I relate so much to this song because I don't think I'm gonna go to Tampa anymore? Or that he uses the word "think" and isn't sure himself? It's no secret that, if you filmed a movie about me, you'd see that love interest's face (at least from the perspective of the protagonist) smiling, waving, representing that great chapter of my life which is, for me, all written and done.
Yet, in the montage ending of my story, I want her story to be there, smiling and waving at the camera. It'd be the same as you, Hal, except you're still around and might be waving with your hands covered in mocha from behind your iconic, early-twenties espresso bar. I'm never against God pulling the surprise card and plopping someone from my past unexpectedly into my life, as happens in the movies, whether one character plans it or it happens entirely by chance / screenwriters who are indulging in their inner sappiness, but I don't expect it.
For all the wrestling I've had to do with myself since tenth grade, I couldn't be who I am today without any of that, and I couldn't possibly be mad at how it all turned out. I'm still frustrated, still at the point where, if I went to her hometown, I might "burn up in her atmosphere", but I can't wait until I'm past that and she's just another of those welcoming, revisited faces at the end of my story, whose dimpled smile brings fills the theater with warmth, if only to remember the joy and trials of being in her presence, if only to remember how so much of me in those years began there.