Guys, guys! Baby and I have discovered something amazing! Television! That machine you use to watch DVDs and play Playstation, it can also show some kind of non-stop addictive visual entertainment called television. I’ve seen it before in hotel rooms and it’s amazing. Baby rented the first 3 episodes of “Lost” from Netflix, thinking it was a reality TV show. She’s dumb, I heard about it on the radio ages ago. Anyway, she rented it and it is really good. We rushed to rent the next episodes but couldn’t stand the excitement, so I Googled it and found all the episodes on the ABC website, so we’ve been watching them like we were Charlie and they were heroin.
We’ve just started Season II. It is like a kooky morality play, where every player has a clearly defined character, and we learn a little about ourselves and our place in mankind in every episode. Anyway, it seems it’s been on for ages on this television system. I HAVE to get one of these, and figure out how to access the television phenomenon.
Showing posts with label Lost. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lost. Show all posts
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Friday, June 15, 2007
the Cure
This is another old picture. It is a familiar process - I fuck up the first one or two sketches; then, as my energy and inner violence grows, I need to choose to pull it together or just submit to the failure. Herein lies the beauty of creation: inarticulate insistence.
I’m listening to “Lost” by the Cure. I always imagined that this song culminates in a grand piano being tied up with a rope and lifted into the air and then being repeatedly smashed into the ground in time with the music. The big, repetitive, pulsating sound made up of all the instruments getting more and more insistent. It’s like the selfish urgency of passion; the overwhelming violence of sex. The insistence. The insistence of culmination. The point where mistakes are irrelevant. It could be murder or orgasm; it’s all the same when you’re overwhelmed.
I was thinking yesterday, as I rode the bus home, of a moment when I was waiting on someone’s balcony and I watched 2 young lovers far, far below me at the dock. It started raining and they had no shelter, but they stayed. They stayed for over an hour. All they had was a piece of wood that protected their bags from getting too wet. I waited and waited. All they did was hug, and wander around, and hug again. I thought it was sweet but it was dull. Why didn’t they do something? Why didn’t they fuck? Why didn’t they fight? Why didn’t one of them slit the other’s throat? Why did it just drag out and disperse into the endless sea of nothingness? Inaction can only lead to disintegration.
I’m listening to “Lost” by the Cure. I always imagined that this song culminates in a grand piano being tied up with a rope and lifted into the air and then being repeatedly smashed into the ground in time with the music. The big, repetitive, pulsating sound made up of all the instruments getting more and more insistent. It’s like the selfish urgency of passion; the overwhelming violence of sex. The insistence. The insistence of culmination. The point where mistakes are irrelevant. It could be murder or orgasm; it’s all the same when you’re overwhelmed.
I was thinking yesterday, as I rode the bus home, of a moment when I was waiting on someone’s balcony and I watched 2 young lovers far, far below me at the dock. It started raining and they had no shelter, but they stayed. They stayed for over an hour. All they had was a piece of wood that protected their bags from getting too wet. I waited and waited. All they did was hug, and wander around, and hug again. I thought it was sweet but it was dull. Why didn’t they do something? Why didn’t they fuck? Why didn’t they fight? Why didn’t one of them slit the other’s throat? Why did it just drag out and disperse into the endless sea of nothingness? Inaction can only lead to disintegration.
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