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May. 16th, 2009 09:27 am There's another pair of movies out now, that can be easily confused for each other if you'renot paying attention. Last pair I remember, was Antz vs A Bug's Life, and the Pixar entry was clearly superior. Before that, it was Deep Impact, vs Armageddon, and I preferred the one with Morgan Freeman.
This time, though, they've cleverly masked the dual by making the premise too banal for me to imagine sitting through, never mind twice. Paul Blart, Mall Cop, vs Observe and Protect. I feel like I should have an opinion about which one is the better movie, they sound like they have something to do with the security apparatus installed since 9/11. But I can't bring myself to care that much, I've got other things to obsess on right now.
For some reason, I'm fixated on a hummingbird I saw... it must have been six years ago now. I was walking in Carkeek park, and this floating buzzing jewel caught my eye, and I was completely unprepared for the experience. It was such a dazzling surprise, so out of character with the dull grey patina of my usual reality... I think I heard myself make a kind of croaking sound. And the sound of my own voice was like that of a castaway, someone who'd been out of circulation for an unhealthy amount of time.
It's been quite a while now that I've been aware of a 20-year anniversary. March of 1986 marked the first time I became aware of what it might feel like if I were to somehow misplace my sanity. So,yeah, that's been two years where I've been thinking it's been twenty years... and before I notice, it'll probably be more like thirty.
And somehow a ten-year anniversary overtook the twenty year.... The winter of 1996-97 marked another one of those long moments, where you know things are going to be different. Call that the winter of the Red Pill. And yet time kept lurching forward.
Maybe that first ten year interval represents the time where I still thought maybe things would get back to normal. I stopped hoping for that in '97. And four years later, I think a whole lot of other people stopped hoping for that as well. This is something worth paying attention to: as life gets stranger, the company gets better. You go to heaven for the view, and hell for the company.
For much of this time, I've imagined my life's trajectory to be that of a tumbling spacecraft. Until you stop the tumble, there's really no point in trying to change your position in space. So I've meditated on unrippled water in a dark underground place, really cold radio antennas, sensitive to miniscule energies. Sometimes I imagine myself perched next to the voyager spacecraft, looking back down on the launch origin.
Looking around at the new house, the new family, I'm not sure I've exactly stopped tumbling yet. But the company has improved, and it's not quite as far-fetched as it used to be, to imagine a change in vector. It takes a ridiculously long attention span to string all these memories together, like a movie that only makes sense when you see it in fast forward.
None of this stuff gets to end up on the cutting room floor, so the challenge is what to do with it all.
This time, though, they've cleverly masked the dual by making the premise too banal for me to imagine sitting through, never mind twice. Paul Blart, Mall Cop, vs Observe and Protect. I feel like I should have an opinion about which one is the better movie, they sound like they have something to do with the security apparatus installed since 9/11. But I can't bring myself to care that much, I've got other things to obsess on right now.
For some reason, I'm fixated on a hummingbird I saw... it must have been six years ago now. I was walking in Carkeek park, and this floating buzzing jewel caught my eye, and I was completely unprepared for the experience. It was such a dazzling surprise, so out of character with the dull grey patina of my usual reality... I think I heard myself make a kind of croaking sound. And the sound of my own voice was like that of a castaway, someone who'd been out of circulation for an unhealthy amount of time.
It's been quite a while now that I've been aware of a 20-year anniversary. March of 1986 marked the first time I became aware of what it might feel like if I were to somehow misplace my sanity. So,yeah, that's been two years where I've been thinking it's been twenty years... and before I notice, it'll probably be more like thirty.
And somehow a ten-year anniversary overtook the twenty year.... The winter of 1996-97 marked another one of those long moments, where you know things are going to be different. Call that the winter of the Red Pill. And yet time kept lurching forward.
Maybe that first ten year interval represents the time where I still thought maybe things would get back to normal. I stopped hoping for that in '97. And four years later, I think a whole lot of other people stopped hoping for that as well. This is something worth paying attention to: as life gets stranger, the company gets better. You go to heaven for the view, and hell for the company.
For much of this time, I've imagined my life's trajectory to be that of a tumbling spacecraft. Until you stop the tumble, there's really no point in trying to change your position in space. So I've meditated on unrippled water in a dark underground place, really cold radio antennas, sensitive to miniscule energies. Sometimes I imagine myself perched next to the voyager spacecraft, looking back down on the launch origin.
Looking around at the new house, the new family, I'm not sure I've exactly stopped tumbling yet. But the company has improved, and it's not quite as far-fetched as it used to be, to imagine a change in vector. It takes a ridiculously long attention span to string all these memories together, like a movie that only makes sense when you see it in fast forward.
None of this stuff gets to end up on the cutting room floor, so the challenge is what to do with it all.
