Very few films move me beyond tears.
The sentimentality of the Lord of the Rings brought tears to my eyes. I was seeing something I had longed to see for so long.
Big Fish too.
But very few take me to a place that's, deeply moving.
I can only think of two off hand, though if I sit and contemplate a while I know there is more.
The first was American Beauty.
I love that film.
Every moment of it.
The other one I just finished: White Oleandor.
What was about the movie that struck a chord?
I think it's the fact that the character is struggling with what every single one of us is struggling with: A sense of self, belonging.
Maybe the answers not out there.
Maybe we're the answer. Or maybe, there is no answer.
What was it about that film that struck a chord with me
What is this?
This sense of distorted self? The feeling I get when I wake up on a day like today.
Jolted out of bed by the fact that I didn't get up when my alarm clock originally went off.
Sinking with the feeling of trepidation that I've over slept and am, inevitably, late for work.
I was not.
At least in the sense of opening the store on time.
I didn't however make it in time to go to the post office.
No time to send off the little packages of books, whos' owners are waiting so patiently for.
Preposition bad to end on.
Damn I did it again.
I made it to work sans shower. I counted out the till, and flipped on the lights. Checked the email.
Even managed to process the order we got this morning.
Now I'm back to pricing and entering books.
My creative juices have been flowing in the mornings.
They, the juices, used to flow at night.
What happened?
I've started reading again.
Earnestly reading that is. I've only read a handful of books this year. I finished
I Robot. Started
Shardik though it turned out to be too allegorical for my mood. Plowed through two
Red Dwarf novels. I tried
Stephenwolf, too much for the time, I will pick it up again though. This week I sailed through
Invisible Monsters. I'm now treading water in Gunther Grass'
Tin Drum. I have a list of authors: Welsh, Ellis, Hempel, Rushdie, not to mention Hesse, Heinlein, and Asimov. Fantasy, sci-fi, literature, horror, westerns; give them all to me. If it's good, I'll read it. Eventually.
I want to pick up
All Quiet on the Western Front again, as well as
Catch-22.
Have you read those?
You should.
I got the same feeling of reverence during Remarque's book that I got at the end of
Tracer's.
Catch-22 is just fun to read. It's hell good. One can't help but feel deep sympathy for Yosarian.
TVD
New acronym for a band.
Typhoid Vagina Doorknob
Don't confuse the Doorknob at the end, it's supposed to be singular.
What's it mean?
Nothing, but it's fun to say.
Tom came up with it. I came up with the acronym
It's not snowing today. In fact it's quite pleasant: about 65 degrees or so.
I'm wearing sandals.
Quicker to put on than shoes and socks. More comfortable too.
Strange how the weather works.
I don't usually wear sandals to work. On occasion however. My feet don't have that irritable stench that some people get.
I'm not saying I don't stink, just not as bad as others.
I feel a strange anticipation.
Almost as if I'm expecting something to happen, something good, but I don't know what it is.
I hope I find out soon.
Because the wait is killing me.
But then again so is time.
Can you imagine the tragic consequence of both? Imagine the detriment to my interior and exterior, combined with poor lifestyle choices, and mediocre nutrition, on top of time and anticipation?
This is why I don't write at work: I ramble.
On and on and on and on and on and on and on.
So pigeons keep getting stuck in the airconditioning shaft here at work.
Why they go down it I can only begin to wonder.
What sort of mecca do they hope to find at the cold metal grating that marks it's end:
A world of books?
If pigeons could read I wonder what they would make of the store?
How many of them would pick up the same book and look at it with sheer perplexion because the last has left a world of pigeon shit on the text?
One never knows.
It snowed yesterday here in Logan, and it was snowing today when I woke up.
Not a terrible amount of snow, though terrible enough to deter me from wanting to go to work.
I don't hate my job, I would just rather be some where else, doing something else than entering books on a computer all day.
Then I take the time to do this. I don't write at work very often, just when it's really, really slow, and I'm really, really bored: like right now.
The snow is melting, though the sky, still overcast is threating us with more of the same.
I hope it rains.
I like the rain. The rain is a romantic.
Deep down I'm a romantic, who has the unfortunant distiction of being a realist and a cynic.
It's tough being me.
Not really, though at times I'd like to think so.
But I really do like the rain. Hate the snow.
When it snows it means, inevitably I'm going to have to go out to my automobile and drive around in it.
I hate driving in the snow.
If I had an occupation where I didn't have to leave my house to make money, then the snow would be fine.
But I don't.
I don't even mind the cold, just the snow itself.
Though if I had a snowmobile....
The snow is romantic, but I feel that rain is more so.
Its sensual, snow not so much.
You never image yourself and a significant other running outside in the snow naked, grasping each other in a long embrace and kissing while the snow falls around you.
Unless you have sick fantasy of various extremities shriveling up and falling off due to frost bite.
I don't, but you may.
The birds are quiet now. I don't think they've died, perhaps found a way back out of the shaft that doesn't entail human assistance.
Humanity has made the world a convient place for everything.
Sure the animals have to adjust a bit to adapt out of their natural habitat, but hey the benifit too.
Look at the seagulls at all the garbage dumps.
Don't have to fly nearly as far to get a meal.
Here in Utah the Seagull's the state bird.
Because it save the early mormon settlers from a cricket infestation.
Of course the crickets were actually a grasshoper variant, though nobody told the early settlers at the time.
In return they've built large heaping open garbage dumps for the birds.
The birds are grateful.
So poetic.
Life.
Though whether or not the poem is a Tennyson or a Lovecraft depends on the person.
Makes you laugh to think about really.
The poor individual living the Lovecraft life; running from otherworldly demons that have been around for ages.
Dumb bastard.
The saying goes "Wake up and smell the roses."
What if I don't like the way roses smell?
What if I prefer lillies, or daisies, or orchids?
What then?
We are in a drought here in Utah. The snow should be a much welcome sigh of relief.
Perhaps it is.
Perhaps it is a sign of the impending doom of a new ice age.
I keep hearing about that; a new ice age.
I'm not overly frightened by it, but perhaps I should be.
Though what of it. I can't do anything to stop it, can I?
That seems to be the problem of prophecy.
I read in a book not long ago that most prophets or revelators, gave thier prophecies as a warning, not as a decree that something could happen.
Most people take it as a decree.
Maybe most prophecies are self fulfulling?
Perhaps scientists are making prophecies that other scientists fufill.
Or perhaps not.
I'm entering books about the bible right now at work.
Interesting.
The bible that is, or is it THE BIBLE.
I've forgotten some of the stories, I like the old testament the best myself.
How Jacob decieved Issac to get the blessing that should have gone to his brother. How Abraham sent away all of his other male children to ensure that Isaac would get God's blessing.
Joseph being betrayed by his brothers and sold into slavery.
I can't help feel a little bad for the house of Israel really.
They get the land of Cannaan, then, after settling in, they lose it.
Of course they lose because they are disobedient, still they lose it.
They seem to be the most faithful when in captivity.
When times are hardest... strange, things haven't changed much have they.
Enough rambling for today. If any of you have made it this far, I feel that I should reward you.
But, I have nothing you want really so you'll get no reward from me.
