not that big on cinema tbh
more into laura branigan
Just got a pop-up saying I'm going face first into a woodchipper if I don't log and review this.
Stressful. Made me relieved I don't have any other social media beside LB, and that I tried out bullying only once in primary school for about half a minute and immediately felt nauseous. To quote Mark Kozalek, it has always eaten at me. To that person, wherever they are now: I am so sorry.
For as long as technology evolves faster…
When Brakhage describes this scene as "haunted by the pursuant adult", as with much of his photographed work, especially the Sincerity/Duplicity series and the excellent Domain of the Moment, there is a drawing on phenomenology of perception; from Merleau-Ponty's idea of the mind-body's sense of itself in time to as far back as Spinoza's understanding of life as essence, its entire duration existing in simultaneity. The delicacy and opacity of these images evoke at once an incipient child-wonder and the…
Phenomena upon phenomena upon phenomena.
Where are we even at with media?
What night-time lost highway are we on?
What year is this?
Who would even know how to write this up? The linguistic gymnastics it would require to detail the specific machinations of drama on display here are well out of my reach. Why even bother with a synopsis – a dutiful major is assigned to the hangover of Project Blue Book and unearths the mysteries of the evil…
Fat on lolly-bags of post-structuralist conceit, the way-past-expiry custodian of cinema's rotting pig gunpoint-coerces witness to the starbucks-wisdom of his begrudging failure to elicit connective universality through his measly particular of culture geek-outs and gender balletics whilst paying no heed to the 'game's up, chuck' soliloquys of his topological cartoon ego-projections, verminizing the audience by leading them through the permafrost mud of quarantine with daisy chains of signifiers and signifieds only to force-feed them their own exhausted shrivelled faces in…