"You'd give him a flower, he'd keep it forever"

Saw Days of Heaven by myself. It was my original intention to go see Alpha Papa, the movie centered on Steve Coogan's awkwardly funny Norfolk radio man Alan Partridge, with my friend Adam for his birthday. But his family was coming up then so we knew it couldn't happen. Guess we'll be waiting another year for that one. I suppose seeing Days of Heaven has made me more cultured, however, and all around more knowledgeable about movies, which is a big hobby of mine. But I will say I wasn't really in the mood. Then again I never find myself in the mood for Terrence Malick. Having said that, this is my favorite of the two Malick films I've seen. The period drama on a love triangle (of course) set on a farm blah blah blah it's my blog and I don't have to summarize. This movie is great. It makes me want to see Tree of Life again, really. I think I have a better handle on his style after seeing it. Looked amazing. The guy who shot this also shot The Conversation. Richard "gerbil" Gere was really good. Way better than I've ever seen him actually. And I immediately got the sense that this is a story told from the younger girl's perspective, which makes the film that much better when you realize it I think. Ending is a little lame, but I don't care. Wow. Very sad. Very powerful.

Seeing it in a theatre makes everything better though. I think its the whole collective mind theory in practice. Not sure which hippie doctor book I got that one from. But the movies are a magical and amazing place. It's the only place I always want to be. I tried to sign up for volunteering at the festival way earlier, but unfortunately I did it through Temple, and like everything at Temple, it didn't work. Now I got nothing to do.

Ugh. I'm sorry. I want to write more on this film. But sometimes the more I like something the less I have to say about it. Or at least that's definitely congruent with movies I enjoy.

The whole blog thing's not for me. It's a public diary. If there are two things I dislike, it's the public and incessant monologues. That's one thing the world of twentieth century poverty might have over ours. Nobody had any time to sit and hear themselves talk.

I liked what the narrator said about the farmer. He was very lonely. I felt sorry for him. Sorry for all of them I guess.

Driver

They came to Philly the other day, my old band. They're taking a break out here after the ep release. I played on every track of that ep. I sweated my ass off in that house. We actually released it as soon as they got here, and celebrated together. I miss it a lot. Living here is just a series of motions. There is nothing I want to feel a part of. I mean, sure it wasn't the best crowd, but they were my crowd. I need things to start looking up here. The glimmer of home on the horizon gets brighter every day. The record: http://driver.bandcamp.com/

The nature of storytelling is that if you can simulate an experience well enough you can make a character sympathetic. Raskolnikov, Henry Chinaski...Don Draper. Tony Soprano (this is as far as my intellectualism can take me). I wonder: who could make me sympathetic? Or rather, who would?

Fuck it, Dude. Let's go bowling.

It is currently 7:49 and I am staring at the same 3 pages of complete schlock that I've had since I threw out the last three pages of schlock. There is no story. I'd write the Thomas Mann quote about it but then I'd end up distracting myself. All I can do is write and I can't even do that. Why am I here? Every facet of the day points to the increasingly unavoidable possibility that college is a mistake. I can't afford this shit. What's the point? I'm not here to be anything. I have a plethora of unrealistic goals. That's all I've ever had. Why can't it be simple? Doesn't everyone know that it's all a big scam? Let's just all get up tomorrow and blow each other's brains out. Hunt for food and all that dumb hippie shit. We'll practice free love and die of AIDS. I am not good at this college thing, man. How many posts are even supposed to be on this blog, anyway? I'll end up failing every class. What then. What can I do. Where is the escape button. Fuck it, Dude. Let's go bowling.

I'll write three more pages of shit and listen to the class chew it out Wednesday. Half of them won't have even read it. They'll go off of the first two things people say. I'll listen to them on the elevator talk about how clever they are. These are the future leaders of our nation. They'll do a great job. I'll look up from my cardboard box and see their faces on a billboard, smiling down on me. If you will it, Dude, it is no dream.

Eh. Fuck it.