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September 18th, 2002 - Yew Erdri Ming — LiveJournal

About September 18th, 2002

Cruelty 01:10 am
As I observed to Trisa, to-day was a day that made me wish I was Batman. Or someone capable of doing what our criminal justice system seems so persistently incapable of doing--rendering justice.

I also pondered the similarities between Elvis Costello's When I Was Cruel No. 2 and Tori Amos's Cruel.

And together, Trisa and I feasted upon the very good Mark Romanek film One Hour Photo. I have admired several of Romanek's music videos in the past, notably NIN's Closer, Perfect Drug, and We're In This Together, as well as Fiona Apple's Criminal. So I was very pleased that his first feature film (as far as I know) should be so very good. The visuals are lusciously vivid, be they the antiseptic aisles of SavMart or the vacuous confines of a hotel parking garage.

Robin Williams turns in a stunning performance as Sey, the Photo Guy. He puts his unstable/nervous edge to good use to make this character seem human enough that, when combined with Romanek's expressive visuals, make the story one we, the audience, can plug into.

I feel kind of numb at the moment. Stomach hurts a little . . . I think only because I was pinching it when I was reading a moment ago . . .

I've decided that I love Trisa and I hate the world, incidentally. Which are two sentiments conveniently paired since Trisa and the world seem dead set against each other.

Erm. Maybe I don't hate the whole world . . . maybe just a lot of the people in it. And the things people do to people . . . One Hour Photo had themes of abuse in it . . . Or maybe it was more about acts of betrayal committed to serve selfish needs.

It all makes one feel so tired. I look at the faces of people who are grossly wronged and I realise . . . there's no point to it, except perhaps that life can really suck. I think one thing I didn't get to in my entry from the other day was that there's too much pain in life to celebrate or glorify pain. It would be like celebrating stamps.

The words of Travis Bickle echo through my head, "I wanna . . . I wanna really do something . . ." which, naturally, worries me.

Sometimes incidents of joy seem to me like mere tiny islands in oceans of suffering. The fact that my life has had relatively little suffering is merely a reflection of the fact that I am part of a very small percentage of the world's population.

I stand on my island of privilege as the world decays around me in the glorious tale of a Grand Sadist. Some might say that one day, in heaven, we'll all look back at this and laugh.

The more dramatic and involved the setup, the bigger the joke, ne?

If there really are benevolent gods, who are bound by preconceived rules, I guess I pity them, especially those that happily accept the current nature of existence. It's all such a pathetic song and dance.

But I shall take what beauty and love that I can, and there is, in this world, a rich bounty of beauty to be found. I shall not close down my heart and I'll love my friends and art as much as I may, while at the same time, I shall never lay down and forget that there is far more suffering in this world than need be.

Given that all eternity stretches before us, I wonder of humankind shall ever straighten out?
Current Mood: distresseddistressed
Current Music: William S. Burroughs & Trent Reznor - Quick Fix

What are you wearing? 11:44 pm
I am now needled. I don't want to dwell on it, but suffice to say, I somehow made someone angry with me very abruptly in the middle of what seemed to me a perfectly cosy, amiable discourse. And I don't know what I did or said, and that's kinna getting under my skin. Oh well. I guess I should just hope for improved weather on those shores in the days ahead.

Hm. I just remembered that I still have at least four tic-tacs in the car . . . I've been on a bit of a tic-tac binge this evening . . .

Nordstrom’s is a scam by the way. I've been meaning to mention that here.

Their clothes are, in a word, tacky.

To elaborate; They often seem to be slightly too small. Their colours don't match each other, their plaids clash themselves. They feature a disturbing preponderance of Pepto-Bismol pink. Nearly everything looks as though it would appear stiff and carelessly artificial on a Barbie doll.

Of course, the reason this stuff is considered so primo by little old ladies, clueless middle-aged housewives, and Tori Spelling is that it's all so expensive, it has a reputation amongst female werepigeons as being cream of the crop, and there's often a piano somewhere on the premises.

People are stupid. Gods, it makes me want to cry when I think about how phenomenally stupid people are.

I mean, these are the sorts of clothes that people are gonna see on videos years from now and say, "Omigod! Those clothes are so dated--I cannot believe I wore that! Teehee!"

This situation arises when people have been suckered into the belief that no style of clothing is timeless. That you've gotta just wear what the mechanical arms on the treadmill dress you in. And then you pay exorbitant prices for it.

DO NOT LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU.
Current Mood: frustratedfrustrated
Current Music: Aimee Mann - Save Me
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