hilitehead

nov 17

when you smile
as in genuinely give off good vibes, people notice
where did I go?
Juana is a sentimental woman, she understands
I am nailed to the ground, I think of how far Ive lost myself at this point

A Mongolian Pippi Longstocking with frazzled hair
and a polka dot green shirt sits aboard train #449
she looks out the window
I pass by a graveyard of cars as the sun sets, a beautiful scenery on my left
my eyes are getting weary in need coffee, but this is a train
hot water is free
the train to Hogwarts
the bus to New York
rare moments when everything that went wrong feels worth it

PickPocket (1959) by Robert Bresson

these walls and bars don’t mean anything
its the idea

obsessed by excitement and fear
in his eyes we see the trance like ecstasy of a man who is surrendered to his compulsions
can there be physical movement with no emotion?

would I, do you, have you taken a strange path
do we take a strange path all our lives just to meet the ones we are destined for?
seems like everyone loves the person they cant get

there must be more than one hinge into the universe
if there is one thing Ive learned in my short life
never repress anything
only the clash of destructive forces create something new
there is something male in every woman
and something female in every male
pleasure is never simple, surrender to your urges
do not stop by the oasis without stopping to drink
sometimes you have to do something unforgivable just to go on living

I didnt know what I was getting myself into
fooled by the shimmer of thought and surrounding praise
thought took place of reality
and it became only about the drive, about the aggressive force
the process of getting there became the goal itself
and once the goal was reached it was never as sweet as I had imagined

Rocco and His Brothers (1960) by Luchino Visconti

what was beautiful and right has become wrong
immigrants who leave their hearts in their homelands
immigrants whose hearts die in their home land

nov 18

Im looking for a pretext to stay
beautiful woman have mustaches
sometimes I feel sorry for myself
so I come home and sit in my armchair

The Irony of Fate (1975)by Eldar Ryazanov

a thick layer of fog covers the land of mystery
elicited by sunshine at intervals then fog again
is it morning? am I in Russia?
or maybe like the day Talia and I rode to Albuquerque
oh the Transsiberian railway, how wonderful you are
those green trains
smell of vodka and my Russian brothers
its morning already
I have a feeling that in one night
we lived a whole life

La Dolce Vita (1960) by Federico Fellini

a womanizer meets his match
there is something about woman that is perhaps like a magic dust
men cant resist it

an alcoholic oracle
salvation doesnt lie within four walls
even the most miserable life is better
thank a sheltered existence in an organized society
where everything is calculated and perfected
sometimes the dark silence of night weighs upon me
peace makes me afraid; perhaps I distrust it above all
I feel its only a facade concealing the abyss
I think of the world my children will know
its supposed to be marvelous…
but a phone call by a madman can mean the end of everything
we must get beyond passions,
like a great work of art
in such miraculous harmony
we should love each other outside of time…detached

a cautionary tale about a man without a center
the two Marcellos, character and actor,
flowed together into a handsome, weary, desperate man,
who dreams of someday doing something good,
but is trapped in a life of empty nights and lonely dawns
a series of nights and dawns, descents and ascents
beautiful but false, ugly but real
consumed with desire
her pursuit ends at dawn when he wades into the Trevi Fountain and she wades after him,
idealizing him into all men, into The Man
he remains forever just out of reach
Steiner’s serenity was made from a tissue of lies
In a club they see a sad-faced clown
who leads a lonely balloon out of the room with his trumpet
Mastroianni, his eyes squinting against a headache or a deeper ache of the soul
seeking happiness but unable to take the steps to find it,
he spends his nights in endless aimless searching,
trying to please everyone,
the juggler with more balls than skills
movies do not change, but their viewers do
take a moment of discovery and make it immortal
is there such a thing as a sweet life?
it might be necessary to find that out for myself

devilishly gifted at creating memes
perhaps his incessant smoking is an indicator of compulsions that his speech, usually calm, conceals

Naked (1993) by Mike Leigh

everyone is always bored
as long as its new
as long as its new
as long as its new

he looks homeless
he dresses plain
smells of grease and old clothes
when he speaks he has depth
this makes him a truth seeker
two woman
two friends connected through one man
clichés are full of truth which itself is a cliché
I have an infinite number of places to go
the problem is where do I stay?
in out of the cold
its funny being inside because when your out inside your still actually outside
then when your outside your inside, always inside your head
the present is fine
the present is peachy
the only thing wrong with the present
is the bastard doesn’t exist
because the present is the future and the future is the past
its a constant process, a common interim passing away

nov 19

I welcome today with open arms and a deep thought
a smile started with a melody by Queen
then continued on with a liberating soundtrack from A Sound
I saw the beautiful Colorado morning sunrise

Breathless (1960) Jean-Luc Godard

the home smells of spicy fall
absolute. honest. nice. finished
a conscious family
between dad and son their lies many spaces, distances in which new breeds of uprising Mongolian art stars live

nov 20

it is most difficult to assimilate back into your home
to your family when you come back from many years of travel
everybody has changed
everybody expects
disappointments
I am tentative
I imagine an idea what home was like
how the old mom dad and sister acted
Anu seems on edge, arrogant, its her age maybe
I seem to be living in my own sub home creation and things dont seem to be correlating with reality
I am unable to express feelings, I feel as though im bleeding inwards
I burst, reaching for the first sight of alcohol
but alcohol is a bullshit coping mechanism
because things are much better resolved through talking
tears and self expression

I edit myself too much