I just watched an amazingly touching movie which I had purchased for 99 cents (plus tax) down at the bargain discount store. Out of the Blue. The disc has no extras, and the format was interlaced (obviously meant for NTSC devices), but it was region free(!), and preserved the original aspect ratio. Tech specs aside, the movie itself was... well... so... sadly brilliant? I have long admired Dennis Hopper for his acting ability, but as a director, he really shines in this one as well.
In brief, it's about the life of a punk rock teenage girl in the early 80's whose father (played by Hopper) ended up in prison, and whose mom isn't exactly the most stable character either. Linda Manz gave a brilliant performance as a rough, tough kid forced to survive in a very adult world. Made me want to cry.
...
I'll be back on to write more later, though I probably won't be anywhere near as verbose as I was last night (those times are rare). More updates about the ever-evolving direction of my life, contradictions, uncertainties, etc etc etc.
Now, off to Cici's Pizza! (Oddly, my dad seems 10 times more excited about the idea of taking me to eat there today than I am. But I like the place too, so I think I'll go with him. Why do family always act so wierd?)
Tue Sep 7 19:14:08 MDT 2004
The following was written on Thursday, August 19, 2004. It was my first night at ASR2004. Two passengers and I had arrived a few hours earlier, at around 2200 MDT. In the darkness. After introducing ourselves to the circle and being welcomed by the group, we had dispersed, and began to gather in casual groups. Now, I was in my sleeping bag, next to the fire. Most people had fallen asleep, but I could not. So I pulled out my notebook to write...
I can tell already that documenting this entire outing in my usual verbosely exhaustive manner is going to be futile. I only just arrived here tonight, and already do I not only have plenty of events to write about, but my head feels like it's bursting with ideas and inspiration. I'm so glad I came!
Rather than try to record the chronological sequence of events right now, I'll just... well... randomly ramble for a bit. My historical account of things can be made later, if at all.
As I lay here outside by the dying fire in my sleeping bag surrounded by other bodies beneath blankets strewn about the ground, I have to acknowledge what I have become. I am now a radical. Not a liberal. Not a leftist. Not a reformer. A radical. Outside the spectrum of everything that even resmbles mainstream thought, politically and otherwise.
Being a radical can often be a very lonely feeling -- that is, until you find yourself in the midst of other radicals; then you look at them, and see yourself reflected, and just know from the bottom of your heart that this is who you are. This is who I am.
U2 in my head now. I know it's not by accident. because I haven't listened to that album in ages.
Perhaps I have been a radical deep down for years, and am only now coming to recognize it.
There's a million tangents I could take, but...
As I write this, I know who my audience is. Those who ready my web content -- the ones I know about and wrote for -- are people I have known for years. My friends. Sure, there might be some unknown lurkers (I don't pay enough attention to my logs to find out), but the ones who keep coming back use accounts, post comments, are almost always those I have known in meatspace for extended periods of time. Why do I belabor this point now? Because rather than writing vaguely off into the void and making indirect third person references about people I am fairly certain will read this, I want to be clear that I am writing this to you. (But the "anonymous lurkers" are more than welcome to read it too.)
In recent times, as I have ventured further into the terrain of radical thought and action, I have sensed what seems to be a growing rift between myself and my longtime friends. That's You. I have tried my best to articulate, as clearly as I know how, my reasons, my dreams, my visions, my strivings. Yet I still feel like, at besat, I have only been partially understood.
Maybe this is just all in my head. Maybe people "get it" more than I had realized. Perhaps the medium of the web falls short to communicate on the levels required for the type of human acknowledgement I need.
I don't know how to write this without sounding hostile. I may yet decide not to transcribe it later if better judgement so compels me. Here's how it appears to me, both online and off. From where I stand, it seems my radicalization has been met with reactions ranging from skepticism, belittlement, to well meaning advise suggesting that I should rethink things, or simply ignoring it and hoping it goes away. It is not going away. I am not giving up. I am who I am. I am what I am.
Earlier this evening, when I related my thoughts about getting rid of most of my stuff and going on the road indefinitely, the stranger sitting next to me in my car said, "I definitely encourage you to go for it." This while he was wearing wet socks from spending last night outside in the pouring rain. He loves his life, and wouldn't trade it for some cushy corporate job no matter how much it paid. This we consider radical. Such support from a total stranger I had just met, I found immensely gratifying.
As a cliché, society tells us to follow our dreams. But only if those dreams involve college, inveting newer, better ways to extract money from our fellow human beings, and a nice big house in the suburbs. Any dream that falls outside the prescribed rut is off limits, clichés notwithstanding. Well, maybe if you wait until you retire, when you're old and feeble. Then following those dreams is ok. But not until then.
This is unfinished, but I need sleep for tomorrow. Laying down the notebook...
Tue Sep 7 22:31:10 MDT 2004
Tonight, I haven't written nearly as much as I intended. But time is short, and I'll need to leave soon.
Honestly? If time is truly so limited, I should finish up emails and other more personal matters before spewing more into this silly void. Here goes....
... [emails are composed and sent] ...
Tue Sep 7 23:33:03 MDT 2004
/me contemplates.
There is much to think about, especially now.
Artist: Emily Richards. Album: Sounds in the Basement. Track: 4. Is There Anyone There
Regardless of changing hands, shifting alliances, disappearance of sites like mp3.com, which has now morphed into an unrecgnozibale abomination that don't even offer most material in mp3 format at all... Despite it all, the best artists always survive. Or do they? Perhaps only their works survive. But is even that much true?
For example, what happened to a band called "Bernice"? Many years ago, this band put out a song, probably falling into the hardcore punk genre (or something like that), entitled "Jesus Wants To Get Stoned." I remember downloading it from mp3.com sometime during the year 1999, I think. A quirky, yet fascinatingly hilarious little piece. It still exists on my hard drive. Since then, I have searched the web for more info about this band, or this track, and have found scant nothing. For all I know, the only copy of this song left in existence is on my hard drive. If this is so, and the part of the drive where the song is stored isn't backed up right now, then what would happen if my hard drive were to fail tonight? This piece of artwork might cease to exist. It could be deleted from the world entirely. A sobering thought to contemplate.
Now, to listen to the song itself again, for what might be the last time.
All in the span of less than 3 minutes. Is that not great art? Bringing true Christianity to the lost punk generation. YEAH!
I suspect I'm on the road to a long depression, regardless of what ends up happening with my life's circumstances.
As it always has been, so shall it always be. Where is the great well of inspiration I thought I had found just weeks ago? Being pissed down a toilet somewhere outside the greater Denver metro area, perhaps?
No, still here. Shifting positions, giving me the pain, down to the deepest corners of the soul. I wouldn't have it any other way, would I?
Wed Sep 8 00:05:07 MDT 2004