What history remembers.
What memory forgets.
Gone in a blink, in a shriek, in a step.
From diamonds, caressed
Abuse of adolescent dreams
And existential dread
Apparition is the natural state of precious few.
I'm going to be revisiting this a lot.
And last week
And a month before that.
But also this exact moment.
Typing away at 2:00am in an LA apartment.
I hear a distant train horn. No cars...
I'm hearing the little song our dryer plays when a run is finished. But it's playing on loop and sounds far away and pounding at the same time. Nothing's in the dryer. Audio hallucinations. I've been hitting the pen…
A completely nightmarish, disorienting endurance test. Watched this on 40mg of THC and struggled to keep my eyes on the screen. The sound alone was making my head spin. Groaning machinery, sloshing fish guts and the rhythmic crashing of a perpetually turbulent ocean.
As the title suggests, we're essentially riding the spine of a ravenous sea monster (a commercial fishing vessel) as it lumbers across a seemingly endless, sickly green aquatic hell. Fish eye lenses, long unbroken takes, distorted colors and unusual angles. Mesmerizing & horrific.
Take the plunge if u dare.
Endorsed by corruption & driven by bottomless consumption, this is what an American Hero looks like. The Wolf of Wall Street is a Fellini-esque avalanche of hedonist excess & scumfuckery that pursues its toxic protagonist with a bleary-eyed glee matched only by a nation drunk on capitalist myths, DYING to know the secret to success. The last five seconds says it all. A dark mirror.
We can never be the same again.
You and I and all the rest are set to self-destruct.
Yet what if death itself were stopped?
And every thing kept dancing.
Swapping partners, spoken seeds and pregnancies advancing.
Known to be infinite.
I lack the language necessary for the recollection.
A witness to the birth of stars may still reflect on clouds.
Phantasm is like a Goosebumps episode possessed by the imagination of Dario Argento. Hokey TV-movie acting and stiff dialogue repeatedly giving way to some mangled, yet internally consistent nightmare world. Genuinely haunting and disorienting, but only in the briefest of moments.
Despite being borderline incoherent, it casts a peculiar spell. Something really disturbing is going on here, but we're never directly told what it is. A wink. A nod. Instruments of mysterious origin and even stranger purpose.
The first Ghibli movie I ever saw. Had it on VHS back in the day. Haven't seen it in ages. So much has changed in that time. Felt like I was watching my origin story, the parallels abundant.
It's been three years since I graduated college and moved 3000+ miles away from home to lay roots in Los Angeles (unfortunately, my skinny, little orange cat couldn't join me). I had no plan, only idealistic visions of what life as a…
"We were somewhere around Burbank, at the beginning of Cats, when the drugs began to take hold..."
30 seconds in, I entered survival mode.
Look upon these hollow homages to the physical form...these avatars of poor judgement, these sketchy, overeager, walking rough drafts draped in fuzzy, thriftless pixels... twirling effigies too prideful to self-immolate, pleading in earnest that you simply sing along.
Convinced they, too, were real
Real enough to be loved, at least...
And what followed…