"I don't understand it."
I don't like it when people snap pictures of me--especially when I am not aware of the fact. But modern technology has allowed these sneak attacks to happen. Though this post is incredibly self absorbed and I am indeed showing the paraphilia pictures, I was not happy about this.
Nevertheless, I thought I would share because 1. I'm too tired to write anything at the moment and 2. In these creepy pictures, I'm just about to watch a movie. I guess this is how I look at such a moment. In pain—but I love movies. So what the fuck?
Well I'm sitting next to some picture perv who finds it fun to capture me in irritated repose on his dumb-ass palm-pilot . Oh sure! Loads of fun! And then, sent to me as supposedly normal. No. And no. And no.
OK--YES--according to Freud, Peeping Tom and the whole cinematic voyeurism of watching a movie. Still, my clear discomfort reveals that I am aware something is happening that I will not be thrilled about later. Maybe the sharp voice of some over-analytical film NERD is piercing my brain with his self-satisfied discussion of what's-wrong-with-Godard (all the rage these days). Or maybe, I was thinking about John Sayles' newest film (Don't worry I'm not voting for Bush...don't start screaming at me please...though, I'm not telling you who I'm voting for). Maybe I was thinking about Sayles newest crap coupled with the geek behind me yammering on about it.
But then...I become slightly--slightly relaxed. As I recall my thoughts HAD drifted to all those cute kids rubbing each other out in Kinji Fukasaku's masterpiece Battle Royale which makes me content. Not the killing (well, some of the glorious, sad, beautiful killing), but the movie and Beat Kitano. I also have had Robert Altman's The Long Goodbye in continuous brain loop and not just because I have some bizarre crush on Elliot Gould--Elliot Gould? As Marlowe--yes. No, it's that scene where the security guard does a perfect Barbara Stanwyck impression that I can't get out of my noggin: "I don't understand it. I just don't understand it Walter. I’ll never understand it. I just don't understand why I don't understand it."
I've also been thinking about my little Mary-Kate Olsen quite a lot, THE fashion icon of the year. So certainly during a half-hour wait for a film to start, my mind's gonna drift there. I love both those tiny Keane paintings come to life (read my review for New York Minute). I like MK skinny too--sorry. And those big ol’ cocaine sunglasses she wears. But further I drifted...pondering one of my favorite William Friedkin films, Cruising and the whole handkerchief system. How does that relate to MK? I don't know. Poppers perhaps? I don't understand it. I just don't understand it. I don't understand why I don't understand it.