From certain angles, she looks like there are two of her, like she’s sitting next to an identically dressed twin, whispering in her ear.

David Lynch’s 'cinema de l'autisme': those inexorable pauses, the hesitant amateur performances. “What’s the number for 911?” Asks Dorothy [The Straight Story].

"Flash mobs - unlike truly 'smart mobs' - do things that have no clear point, such as dancing like chickens in a department store. The threat to them now, of course, is that people will try to impose agendas on them. Marketers will create 'fake' flash mobs to draw attention to retail environments... And then people will become suspicious of flash mobs - is it a real one, or not? Who is calling this one? Is it a reputable flash mob syndicate member? Get ready for flash mobs called on the same day or night by competing conveners." Rushkoff.

Currently suffering from Hey Fever-induced... fever, and the inevitable sleep deprivation. So just some random musings for today:

The trouble with philosophy: thinking about being is not the same as simply being.

We cannot learn when we assume that what we know now is {our} absolute truth. Life is change. We are here to grow, here to do.

Time is food for the flower of change.

Tired of looking 'boyish' {'fresh faced', too much hair, far too skinny}.

The urge to look as 'normal' as possible.

The fact that I'm missing a certain someone, and her beautiful, brilliant mind {not that the rest of her isn't brilliant and beautiful, it's just I'm missing the brainy bit at the moment}. The perils of moving away.


Meanwhile, in the real world:

Yesterday, I spent an entire afternoon dismantling my fried PowerBook G3. I managed to dismantle the entire thing, install a new motherboard, and put it all back together again with no problems. Surprised myself in this - as I'm pretty much the most accident-prone, untechno-savvy person I know.

Naturally, once assembled, the thing still didn't boot up {sorry to get all 'technical' here - it's just that it's a good example of my infamous 'Negative Midas Touch'}. So now I have to find the cash for a new processor.

And so, after an hour or so of attempting an existential sulk with my head under a pile of clothes, curled up beneath my desk, I was left feeling kind of good about the fact that I'd at least tried to sort the thing out. Ultimately I have to remind myself that it's not the end of the world, it's just that I'm so tired of pretty much everything I come into contact with going wrong.

I don't know whether it's to do with growing up a little, or the whole Objectivity / Fourth Way thing, but I don't get down like I used to. A couple of years ago dealing with broken computers, moving home etc. would have left me a miserable little ruin. Now I know that none of it's really that important. "In the moment, but not of the moment." And that's enough moaning.

"Children and animals alone have the property of pure magicality. They do not philosophize." Margaret Anderson, The Unknowable Gurdjieff.


Some links:

The fabulous imaginary technologies of World Power Systems.

The ever-wonderful world of Seze.

Erin Bauer interview. {Because I really need to get over my crush on this woman!}

My labour of lurve: spoken word mp3's!

Scholtz Vitrine News.

And not forgetting the Zero Gravity Toilet.

Rollo. "You know... for kids!"

Consider the Child Catcher, a Dickensian paedophile abducting children by using confectionery as bate; consider Kojak and his lollipop; consider Dr Who and his jelly babies. In film and literature, chocolate is, more often than not, a symbol for sex. And I’m not just referring to those old Flake adverts. I’m talking about confectionery as a metaphor, a symbol, for sin, for hidden knowledge, the taboo, in both literature and popular culture. Sweet Tooth

Rollo.

I hadn’t planned on posting this, because I’m not a fan and can’t be impartial. But I can’t keep it in any longer: thoughts on The Matrix Re-lorded [sic]

If these people have the survival of humanity in their hearts, if Neo is on his way to enlightenment, if Trinity and Morpheus have the Messiah they've been waiting for, why are they all so bloody miserable? If it looks like a Goth, if it walks and talks like a Goth, then it is a bloody Goth!

If this film is so innovative, so fresh, so original, why are they all dressed in the same old black leathers and shades that the costume designers of Terminator were doing twenty years ago, or Shaft thirty years ago? Why have they stolen all the [inexorable] fight scenes form contemporary Japanese cinema? Why did Grant Morrison get there a year in advance with The Invisibles comic - the fetish-gear, the shades, the shaven heads, the black / viral ink-spill of infection [in The Invisibles it's an armour], the enlightened beings, the birth of consciousness, the viral bad-guys? Why, why, why the hour-long car chases?

If they're all so enlightened, humane and intelligent, why do they spend the entire film beating up computer programs?

Why are they all so sulky, so monosyllabic, so pouty and brattish? Surely the saviours of humanity aren't Goths?

If Morhpeus is the saviour of saviours, why is he so bloody condescending, so smug?

If they'd just let the light in for one moment. The power of contrast is sorely lacking in this film. For the majority of the films, the script seems almost non-existent. Gone is the dialogue, in favour of more inexplicably long fight scenes. The inexorable displays of martial arts techniques. Wearing shades 24 hours a day is cool, it’s a conviction, but it’s not terribly new.

This entire film is like a night scene that never ends. Even the daylights scenes seem claustrophobic. It IS a fight scene that never ends. It feels as if there's no break, there's no dawn, no respite from the speeding cars and speeding fists - and there are breaks, but they have the ambience of a dentist's waiting room.

Agent Smith is the bad guy, and bad guys, but he seems to be the only character who is allowed to enjoy himself.

The entire fi[r]st half of the film could easily be ignored. Cut to the chase [or rather, cut to the bit right after the chase].

The Key maker amongst others [Persephone, The Architect], is an intriguing new program / character that is barely given a moment to engage the audience - a totally undeveloped and unrealized character.

This film left me cold. I found myself really wanting to like it - because in some small way it just might encourage a small amount of it's audience to explore the notions of consciousness, sleep and freedom.

It's totally lacking in the warmth, dynamic and contrast of the 'original'.

It seems ironic that such a contemporary approach to philosophy and spirituality should be melded to such an aggressive, gun-toting attitude. But this is Hollywood, this is 21st Century America, and the Matrix is only a film. [for further insight into the philosophy hinted at within the ideas behind the film, be sure to check out Grant Morrison's 'The Invisibles', and Whitley Strieber's 'The Key'.]

Rollo "There is no spoon" Kim