Terms of Endearment

I said I would make a movie one these days. Here it is. R-Rated language in the vain of total political incorrectness, I'll warn you.

Paul Sharits Flux film

((If you're epileptic, you may not want to watch this))

Bat for Lashes

(((Let's just sweeten the the somber nature of those last 2 articles articles with that cool Donnie Darko-ish video widna' trick bikes. Happy Hallow'en.)))

I want life to be slow motion

(((The only thing cooler than a water balloon exploding in xtreme slo-motion, is one not exploding.)))

I heart Extreme slow motion

(((First person to create a TV channel that's just this stuff 24-hours-a-day will do quite well))

Iranian policewomen

(((Way to go, ladies.)))

Very Like a whale

(((Posted on BoingBoing today. This is an oil rig 900 meters under the ocean. Pretty boring. Then. . .))
Linkl

Hipster Olympics

(((I think this is funny. I think the whole "hipster" humor is pretty barbed and funny. Does that make me "unhip?" Wait, I don't care.))))



(((The best part about no longer living in a city is that you don't have worry about being one in the first place.)))

Velvet Underground at Andy Warhol's Silver Factory

((((That's Edie Sedgwick boogying. You can hate the hip pretension of these people or just mope that you were never invited.))))


stop

Father Death Blues

Eric recommended I look into "Father Death Blues" by Ginsberg. It's actually a very beautiful song--(I'm always pretty harsh on Ginsberg, probably because I worshipped him in high school). Dealing with the death of his father, but wiser in its way than Dylan Thomas' angry "Do not go gentle into that good night" and sad like Ben Jonson's "On My First Sonne", and ultimately with the same existential joy (an oxymoron?) of Donne's Death, Be Not Proud (Geez, my taste in poetry reeks of high school English).

Sometimes, I have these moments of clarity about death where I'm really not scared in the least. It's this great bar we all cross, yet no one has the least certainty about. Fading nakedly into infinity and oblivion is, I don't know, not totally uninteresting. All observations seem to point to an endless cycle of birth, death, and regeneration and the present moment being a type of continuous eternity. Fuck, love, think, make, move and then get out of the way. Seriously, not a bad deal. I guess if I were to choose a style of death, it would be either very serenely or tremendously violent--mediocrity in these matters is not preferable.
Oh, and I guess I would want people to sing this song at my funeral. And receive a green burial. I'd rather moulder like Shakespeare than slowly excrete formaldehyde into the soil.
Ok, I'm creeping myself out now. Must go check pulse.