Everything Can Happen

I do not own this image.

I do not know anything about the economy. Never have I felt need. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what this person is feeling inside. So how can I really understand how I feel inside?

There is no happy without sad.
There is no ecstasy without pain.
There is no light without dark.

There is no wealth without poverty. This lethargy, this constant complaining of mine, has no perspective to it. My complaints are born by my utter incompetence of what a person should really complain about.

I have food, water, entertainment and love. Those days when I spend the night at a friends house, and end up sleeping on the floor are the only times that I don't have a warm bed to sleep in. I can't imagine spending every night on concrete.

I'm grateful, I'm very grateful.

Oh, and as for the poster behind him: that is unfortunate. Obviously "everything can happen" in America, because we have people complaining about their broken black berries just a few blocks away from someone who could catch pneumonia if the night gets too cold.

The sad thing about the bag is the reality that we will buy into a culture that has fucked us completely. In that situation- somehow left without a home and living on the streets- I can imagine that I'd still go to the 7-11 to get coffee, or buy toothpaste from Wall-greens. Supplying the small change I'd get to the economy that screwed me over. Humiliating- it's like saying 'thank you' after someone slaps you across the face.

And its not like I'm trying to convey that America is the only place with poverty. GOD, no. Poverty and those who are less fortunate are a part of existence.. survival of the fittest I guess. It is just particularly disgusting in America- because people who sell drugs to supply their own habit, people who prostitute themselves to survive, people who beg for change to save up for a sleeping bag- are selling drugs to upper middle class teenagers who will smoke it and eat takeout until they puke while playing X-Box, are selling their bodies to business men who want to get a little action while their wife is at their Pilates class or sleeping soundly in their a-zillion-count thread Egyptian sheets, and begging for change from some hipster who just bought a double-espresso-shot-caramel-mocha-machiato  at starbux and got $0.42 back from a $10 bill.

Ah.. America- everything can happen.

Salvador Dali walking his ANTEATER around Paris. Well, what else is really left to say with that one? I don't know where to go with this, mainly because I don't know whether I'm impressed or in fact depressed from this image. I mean come on, he's walking a marsupial(?) out of the metro, while stylishly  sporting a cane- simultaneously taking time to glance around with a look of, "What? What are you all staring at?" 

And, see, that's the kicker. It sure is bad ass and all, but why do I think it is a bit too cute, too show-offy to be respectably avant-garde and peculiar. 

Yes, of course I acknowledge the fact that the man lives in a world that he single handedly built. Sure, he practically colonized the subconscious (along with Freud, Rousseau, ect.) and rented a townhouse in purgatory. But I always felt that he is above spending zillions of dollars to have anteaters imported from Zimbabwe (probably not really where there from), knotting together a makeshift harness-leash, and forcing it to claw across the concrete and cobblestones of Paris for forty-five minutes. 

Eh, I guess I'll be eating my words if I make it big off of my art- get rich- and end up bungee jumping off of the Eiffel Tower just for the hell of it. Dream on you crazy dreamer, Dali. 

Le Mepris (Compromise)

Taking it very slow with this one. Viewing is getting sloppy with mes films francais because I think I am beginning to understand every spoken word- but that is no excuse to skim. Films from the Vague (pronounced Vog) age are especially tricky, and much of the meaning is so far beneath the script, that it is crucial to obsess over each and every minute if one wants to truly comprehend what the hell is going on. So, knowing le francais won't cut it.

First twenty minutes: introduced to the two main characters, seemingly casual context, demure progression punctuated by the same melancholy song (Georges Delerue). Acquainted with a plain, but charming couple- Camille and Paul Javal (Brigitte Bardot (!!!) and Michel Piccoli). The opening lines, in fact, are a back-and-forth affectionate interplay:

Camille Javal: You like all of me? My mouth? My eyes? My nose? And my ears?
Paul Javal: Yes, all of you.
Camille Javal: Then you love me... totally?
Paul Javal: Yes. Totally... tenderly... tragically.

if my french isn't very off (and if I could just show off for a second, sorry) it would really have gone like this:

Et, tu m'aimes tout? Ma bouche? Mes yeux? Mon nez? Et mes oreilles?

Oui, tout.

Et puis, tu m'aime totalement?

Oui. Totalement... tendrement... tragiquement.

Of course, Brigitte Bardot is nude, and lying on her stomach- gently playing with her bleached hair. The scene, in my understanding, was nothing more than a typical romantic beginning to what I thought just might end up being a cheesy movie. The pessimist in me, however, loves that this is their highest moment. From there it is a downhill slope to awkward, frigid conversations between the two.

Very much enjoyed that deconstruction that mirrors the exact reality of how relationships wax and wane in their excitement and affection.

Really don't feel like I have any right to look too deeply into the meaning at my current state, because I've only finished the first (though crucial) twenty minutes. So far I am able to recognize Godard's cold, black sarcasm towards love from other movies of his I've seen- and I can make an inference to the origin of the title "Contempt" through the mood of their intimacy- but I feel like Godard is deeper than a simple statement on the tumultuous nature of affinity.