Poets don’t draw. They unravel their handwriting and then tie it up
again, but differently.

-Jean Cocteau

(just realized a good half of the photos on my computer right now consist of stormy seas or abandoned looking houses, why do some images haunt people and not others?)


Pretty songs! Yeah!

Life has been pretty busy, the weather is horrible, school is picking up in pace and I'm feeling motivated for once. I watched two films by Yugoslavian director Dusan Makavejev on Monday and now I'm writing my final paper on the reappropriation of marxist "sexual liberation" discourses into capitalism, and the dangerous pitfalls of representing the female body in a so-called sexual/"revolutionary" context. Basically, repressive desublimation (Marcuse and Zizek), as well as Sontag and Bataille (taboo, the distinctions made between erotica/art and pornography as similar to the distinctions made between documentary/essay films/fiction or surrealist films). I have a lot of thinking and writing to do, obviously, but this is the crux.
As for the films themselves - "Sweet Movie" is an insane parody, pornographic, semi-fictional, semi-documentary Brechtian montage of insanity. It is one of the only films I have ever seen that truly provokes severe, visceral physiological responses: disgust, physical discomfort, arousal, etc. Much like reading a Bataille novel, except more fun(ny). If you can summon a copy and are into perversion and heavy handed Marxist/political critique and gratuitous sexuality - watch it! I dare not say too much for fear of scaring people away from a brilliant and revolutionary film.
On that note, I feel conflicted about what the fuck I'm doing in grad school. Big surprise. I've become disillusioned and angry with Lacan and basically want nothing to do with psychoanalysis right now. I want to do work in film studies but I feel that if I write an MA thesis on film it will narrow down my options for applying to PhD programs. And I'm not even sure if I want to do a PhD, because I am a little bit tired of theory and the usual philosophy suspects. Not scared, per se - just not as interested anymore. I just want to watch awesome movies all day.
So yeah. That's that. Apologies for the whining.


scooters, vacation, fall

I feel incredibly guilty and sad today. And disappointed in myself, I guess. For not having any Marxist pep this morning and doodling horrific looking bodies instead of watching Santiago Alvarez films in my Brechtian cinema class. For being someone I would be afraid to be with. For having little motivation to write about Deleuze and modified bodies, and little confidence. I wish I wasn't so scattered and sad all the time.
Of course, I write here pretty much only when I get into these moods, so I am in no way trying to say that my life is bad or that I have any reason to mope. Everyone has certain thresholds that they come up against. When I get here there is nothing left to do but scale down my self-created wall of shame and pool up at the bottom until the feelings pass. Wait it out wait it out wait it out.
I've been meaning to write this quote here for a while. Blake Butler told me to read Zeroville so I did, and it is amazing. And each section functions like a vignette, usually unrelated and readable in its own right.

'In America you have this idea that anything about sex is acceptable only if it absolutely is not, under any circumstances, sexy. The Americans are too romantic to make such a film. They are in love with shame.'
'The French are romantic.'
Maria dismisses this with the flick of her fingers.
'Quelle mythe! No one ever said in a French film, 'We'll always have Paris.' Can you imagine Bogart fucking Bergman with a cube of butter on the Champs-Elysees as the Nazis march in? The pornographer? He is concerned with what the characters do, while the artist, the artist is concerned with what the characters are. The man does not pay me for the sex, he pays me to leave afterward. For the lack of consequences.'
'He pays you to leave?'
'This is what Brando thinks will save him in Dernier Tango...sex without consequences.'
'You are paid to leave?'
'This is what destroys him, because there is no sex without consequence.'
'Perhaps last Tango in Paris isn't just about sex.'
'Cheri,' she laughs, 'sex is never just about sex.'

3. Georges Rousse
2. Marlene Dietrich in Blonde Venus
Room O (I think) by Yves G. Noir