Quick capsule review, Bill Hicks style: pretentious art-wank. Realistic portrayal of poverty-level existence? Excuse for random nudity and more swearing than Trainspotting... closer to the mark. We're watching this thing in the name of Polish Day, as it was apparently the best film of the year. It also involves random classical music and quotes by the title character from Romeo and Juliet.
Contrary to what you might think, I don't much relish depressing films or music. A bit of nihilism, yes. Pretension, even. This, no. It manages—just about—to exude a certain car-wreck fascination… after all, I am still in the room, although if I wasn't writing I suspect I'd have fallen asleep. It's been a long day, playing football for an hour on a full-size pitch against students who are actually fit and have actually played within the last several years. After a slight re-arrangement of players, compensating for the fact we were fielding almost everyone we had (whilst they had about a hundred people to choose from), it came to 7-7 and we lost on penalties. Good game. Tired now. Hence the monosyllabl—er, short words.
The hall is thinning in ranks now, and if this is supposed to be a black comedy, it's failing [Editorial note: it turns out we weren't watching the film we were supposed to be]. Basic story—two brothers (one of whom is Eddie) are run out of their town-based, deadbeat panhandling existence with a child (possibly Eddie's—I stopped caring much before it even appeared.) My heartstrings are decidedly un-manipulated... I'm in too much discomfort to pay an awful lot of attention, anyway.
"See how fucked life can be." —Why? Because the characters don't have a choice? I do. We should.
I could go upstairs, but Steve and Zofia are probably managing to get some time to themselves. I could go back to the staffroom, or ours, but I'd just fall asleep. I don't want to pass out quite yet... Irrationally, I'm experiencing a sense of contentment... maybe it was the low bass rumble during the 'atmospheric' weather segment just on.
"We don't get to choose our names." In a civilised society, we do... as lain Banks points out, denying a sentient being its reasonable choice of address is a distinctly reprehensible act. I know I'm somewhat guilty of it myself (hi Reeve!), but I suppose to my credit I haven't reduced anyone to 'Meatfucker'... yet, anyway... (if you haven't, you need to read Excession—it's truly wonderful.)
We're almost at the end of camp. Coasting. Our time tabled and known. My one clear thought is... my one clear thought is... ah, hell, I don't have any clear thoughts. I'd really like the soundtrack to this film, though. I could do with more classical music. I could do with listening to what I have.
"Learn to enjoy losing." Older words. HST. Accept. Make it your comfort, whatever happens. Oh, and feel, rather than insisting on thinking all the time.
And on that note... I have no idea where the scrawled note below fits into the written chronology of the last fortnight, but I do remember what it was about...
Sometimes I really like my subconscious. It's capable of delivering some exceptionally cool dream sequences in the wish-fulfilment department. Generally when I most need the pick-me-up... nothing particularly obscene, just the sparkly bits. Mmm.