$200 reward if you can guess this noise

this noise.

Saturday morning, no need to rush, reading my newspaper

Do You Still Believe in Eternity?

Description of scene?

Title?

Do You Still Believe in Eternity?

Who Is This Young Man?

Guess it

animal class

Pliny's Law: Invasion of the Pod People (2007)

This movie is about a ginger plant from space that clones and replaces its victims, and is redeemable for at least one reason.

The heroine of this film, who escapes cloning, is in several sexual encounters before the second reel. It is notable, given the genre and its expected turns, that she remains completely covered throughout this period. We reach a pivotal scene at least 40 minutes in, where she bears witness to the intrigue and sapphic excesses of her ostensible co-workers, the titular pod people.

After being seduced by her female boss (double psychosexual damage), we see her yield to complete disrobement and acquiescence. The metaphysics of it all -- prior to this, we are pondering the nudity clause of the actress' contract with every delightful furrow of her brow, every tic and gesture that distinguishes her from the otherwise wooden cast -- heightens the tension. A novelty that did something physical to this reviewer, and made him dream of a beginning, a brief return to the flying days of love.

Otherwise, an all-too-easily-imaginable hunk of rat shit with terrible sound and spare, repetitive effects. Two and a half stars.

Gifted

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour...

And Now Some Prose: Sviatoslav Richter, The Maestro

From the early 80’s, he performed only with a score in more or less darkened halls where it was difficult even to make out his massive silhouette, but where he created a gripping atmosphere, convinced that he was prevneting the spectator from sucumbing to the demonic temptations of voyeurism.

Yamaha placed two grand pianos at his permanent disposal, together with the staff necessary to maintain them, and they accompanied him wherever his imagination took him. Well, not quite everywhere. They remained behind when, over seventy, he ledt Moscow by car and did not return until six months later, covering the distance from Vladivostok and back, not counting a brief sortie to Japan, in conditions one can barely imagine, giving a hundred concerts in the remotest towns and villages of Siberia.

[Years later, when asked to return to Japan, he said that] he would go to Japan under a general anaesthetic; he would be put to sleep in his hotel in Paris, an ambulance would take him to the airport and he would wake up in his hotel in Tokyo. This demand seemed eminently reasonable to him, but it failed to impress the doctors who were consulted.

WORDS (W.B. Yeats)

I had this thought a while ago,

"My darling cannot understand

What I have done, or what would do

In this blind bitter land."

And I grew weary of the sun

Until my thoughts cleared up again,

Remembering that the best I have done

Was done to make it plain;

That every year I have cried, "At length

My darling understands it all,

Because I have come into my strength,

And words obey my call';

That had she done so who can say

What would have shaken from the sieve?

I might have thrown poor words away

And been content to live.

And seeing that it was a soft October night, curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

I read Tolstoy once

but now it's Nabokov.

"Somebody told me later that she had been in love with my father, and that he had lightheartedly taken advantage of it one rainy day and forgotten it by the time the weather cleared."

Tell me, how much do you love that line?

today is good day

Behind the Wall

Why people don't get along or understand each other: easy. You go into the bathroom. Immediately, you feel the presence of another man in the stalls. You are both in a private room that accommodates both your needs. He's presumably shitting. However, you don't have to do that -- you just have to urinate, so you sidle up to the urinal. It's simple and you get started. Meanwhile, the dude still has to shit. This is the act of aligning and forcing a nunchuck-sized amount of fecal matter out of a small, hard-to-see hole. He gets started. He's lining it up. And the sounds! Good lord! A cacophony! It's internal, you know! Your head almost rears back in disdain because you're just taking a wiss. Meanwhile, dude is knocking out a musical, grunting, groaning, tract-inverting shit! You're alienated, offended and bemused, and he doesn't care -- he's in the thick of that shit. He doesn't even know you're out there!

Explaining all our difficulties is really that simple.

Sweep the Leg

Like jujitsu, he said; the belt colors
melt over me and are no help. Melt in my hand
At a game who plays not, for he cannot choose
From among the smoking gun. This trigger finger
Stands for life, and wiggles and wobbles,
East or west, north or south, we all fall down
A stranger who walks beside me. O no,
Boots to galoshes, what has it gots in its pocketses?
On the outskirts of some suburban carnival,
The candy cane you drop and never say is mine, yours!
Some day I'll claim to you how all used up
I am because of you but in the meantime the ride
Continues. Everyone is along for the ride,
It seems. Besides, what else is there?
The reindeer games? True, there are occasions
For red and white uniforms and a special list
Kept secret from the mothers. The lines
Are duly sliced. I know all this
But can't seem to keep it from affecting me,
Every day, all day. I've tried recreation,
Reading until late at night, video games
And chick-lit.
One day a man called while I was out
And left this message: "You got the whole thing wrong
From start to finish. Luckily, there's still time
To correct the situation, but you must act fast.
See me at your earliest convenience. And please
Tell no one of this. Much besides your life depends on it."
I thought nothing of it at the time. Lately
I´ve been looking at old-fashioned plaids, fingering
Starched white collars, wondering whether there’s a way
To get them really white again. My parents
Think I’m in London, London, France, that is.

Worsening Situation (John Ashbery)

Like a rainstorm, he said, the braided colors
Wash over me and are no help. Or like one
At a feast who eats not, for he cannot choose
From among the smoking dishes. This severed hand
Stands for life, and wander as it will,
East or west, north or south, it is ever
A stranger who walks beside me. O seasons,
Booths, chaleur, dark-hatted charlatans
On the outskirts of some rural fete,
The name you drop and never say is mine, mine!
Some day I'll claim to you how all used up
I am because of you but in the meantime the ride
Continues. Everyone is along for the ride,
It seems. Besides, what else is there?
The annual games? True, there are occasions
For white uniforms and a special language
Kept secret from the others. The limes
Are duly sliced. I know all this
But can't seem to keep it from affecting me,
Every day, all day. I've tried recreation,
Reading until late at night, train rides
And romance.
One day a man called while I was out
And left this message: "You got the whole thing wrong
From start to finish. Luckily, there's still time
To correct the situation, but you must act fast.
See me at your earliest convenience. And please
Tell no one of this. Much besides your life depends on it."
I thought nothing of it at the time. Lately
I´ve been looking at old-fashioned plaids, fingering
Starched white collars, wondering whether there’s a way
To get them really white again. My wife
Thinks I’m in Oslo- Oslo, France, that is.

Walk the Duck

Old News

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The Perils of Art

From today's New York Times:

"People have blamed a million things for the supposed decline of American theater: the movies, the lack of government support, the coarsening of the culture, etc., etc. But here is another theory: that the currently running Broadway musical “Xanadu,” based on the famously atrocious 1980 movie, is simply disabling everybody one by one."

Roller skating musicals. They are not for the weak.