the (almost) daily appreciator

All Art is quite Useless, or: Fuck the Mona Lisa

2007-07-21T07:42:00.000-07:00

Whoever doesn´t know at least one of these (and many other) posters by Drew Struzan - dude, where have you been the last 30 years.
I found an article about him on Charley Parker´s lines and colors - and it´s amazing to look through his oeuvre, and see that many of these posters are as much part of my movie memory as some of the movies and the greatest imagery from them.

This Be The List

2007-07-01T16:07:00.000-07:00

Inspired by the filmblogosphere´s reaction to the AFI TOP 100 movie list (here, here, here, here, here, here, here)I took it upon me to compile my very own Top 100 list. I have actually never done this before (Top 5 or 10 maybe, but 100!) and I must say it´s actually a lot of work - and it´s a Sisyphos-kind of work as the list can change from day to day. Quite frankly I asked myself if it is really possible to have so many favorite movies - or is that number always already a sign that one is trying to compile a canon which means one includes movies that aren´t necesswarily (sic! I just had to leave this mispelling be) favorites but as a somewhat film-literate person one has to acknowledge their historic importance.

I once tried to write down every movie I could remember watching and with the first 50 movies for this list (which didn´t necessarily make the Top 50 of the finished list) I had the same kind of stream-of-conciousness-automatic-writing experience - but then I had to start thinking, especially since I have seen many movies that I know should make this list, but I couldn´t for the life of me remember the feel or specific scenes of that movie. But that´s the thing: I think if I had more than 30 really favorite movies, as in: movies that I watch, think about, read about with pleasure, write about frequently I would go insane. I want to listen to new music, watch new movies, new TV shows, I have to work, sleep and wash dishes - there is just no time or mental space for 100 favorite movies fighting for my mental, emotional and sensual attention.

Another problem is: how do you decide that say Lethal Weapon (ranked 67) is more important personally or filmhistorically than Se7en (ranked 78). And how does one account for movies one hasn´t seen so recently, how do I know that The Player still holds up - I hadn´t seen it in a while. And what´s with movies one has only seen once?

So in the end I decided to have a kind of system to rank them, and I decided such a list only makes sense with comments. And although I remember Citizen Kane to be quite modern even for MTV-addled eyes (and brain), it´s been a while since I´ve seen it and although I know it is more important than and far superior to most movies on this list, The Big Lebowski just means more to me personally, so it would belie a far greater hubris on my side to rank it higher than the hubris on display in that movie itself (in Citizen Kane that is, but come to think of it...mmh...are these two movies actually complementary to each other? Would they be the perfect double feature???).

So without any further ado - a compilation of favorites and the canon:

100. The Fleas - this movie only exists in my head, but like most movies in my head (imagined or actual) it is very important to me - and trust me, it´s brilliant!

99. Weapon of choice - some music videos should be shown in theaters. And Spike Jonzes best videos are better than his movies (not that Being John Malkovich is bad). Also, it is an indictment of the state of modern movies that Christopher Walken isn´t give more chances to dance in feature films.

98. Buffy-episode "Once more, with feeling" - when are they going to start distributing/broadcasting TV-serials in theaters like in the olden days. Nowadays there´s so much going on in fictional TV that is far superior to any given new movie - not just in terms of writing (story arcs, character development, dialogue), but sadly in terms of acting and visual storytelling (and in this particular case especially: music) as well.

97. Citizen Kane - not to include it, would be the exact opposite of hubris (whatever that is: maybe stupid?)

96. Run Lola Run - it is referenced in a Simpons-episode, for a modern German movie that´s a lot - and living in Germany I must sadly admit it´s the only one deserving that attention - although I haven´t seen it since it...well, ran...so I don´t know if it holds up.

95. Joe Strummer: The Future is unwritten - it made me realize that documentaries are about texture more than anything else - the texture of the times, of culture-at-large, a person, an idea. I think this movie has that in spades.

94. Dogme1-Festen - whatever happened to the Dogme-movement? I haven´t seen too many of them, but this movie was chilling...

93. Modern Times - classic Chaplin - and still modern!

92. A few good men - I love courtroom dramas, and this is one of the best! The showdown between Jack and Cruise is spellbinding - I personally think Jack is best when he gets to be unsubtle, when he gets to ham it up.

91. They live - when John Nada first puts on the shades of truth and sees the world for what it is: that is easily one of the most accomplished scenes of silent, visual storytelling. Also the legendary brawl is allegorically sound - not just a great piece macho movie bravado.

90. Fight Club - Freedom ´99. Not as deep as many people would like to believe, but that in itself is as brilliant a comment on the 90s as it gets.

89. Strange Days - when I first saw it I thought it might not hold up on video (remember the times?), then I saw a copy...IN MONO, and it was still as visceral as movies can be.

88. Brazil - should probably (definitely) be further up the list, but what can I do...

87. Lost Highway - brilliant mindfuck! Made me realize that sometimes understanding a movie isn´t necessary as long as it makes some kind of sense - there is a certain internal logic to this movie...

86. Evil Dead 2 - as horrifying as the first and as funny as the third. Somewhere along the line I decided not to include entire series, so this is a stand-in for the trilogy (my favorite of them would be Army of Darkness, but only because I like silly comedy more than horror - although comedy/satire and horror usually have only a thin line seperating them from each other - that´s where the idea of the grotesque comes in, I guess)

85. Scream - it was da bomb in the nineties - it actually introduced me to the slasher genre. Although Halloween is the more important movie here, and the scarier one (next list: Halloween will be included, and Scream excluded, but Scream was more important for me at the time, and this list very much reflects my coming of age as person and moviefreak).

84. Cape Fear(Scorsese) - before this I wasn´t into psychological thrillers - after this (and Blue Steel amongst others) I loved them. It has more subtext than the original (but Robert Mitchum kicks De Niro´s ass which isn´t to say that De Niro is anything less than brilliant) and is much better than Silence of the Lambs (which is highly overrated).

83. The Shining - this movie is about madness (amongst many other things). Many think Jack was miscast because he didn´t become mad throughout the movie, he looked mad from the getgo - well, the whole movie reeks of insanity from the getgo (music, cinematography), and quite frankly I think he doesn´t portray a character going insane, he portrays the concept of insanity/madness itself - and brilliantly so.

82. Jaws - second best animal horror movie - and better in every respect than anything Spielberg made in recent years! A true work of art!

81. The Birds - Best Animal Horror Movie!

80. The Thing (Carpenter) - it says everything you need to know about the brilliance of this movie that Morricone emulates Carpenter and delivers a vintage Carpenter and Morricone score at the same time. Also, it´s a thinking man´s splatter movie. Gosh, I have to watch it again, it´s been too long.

79. Fargo - when I first saw it I laughed out loud, the second time around it was a horrific movie about the human condition (there´s that thin line between comedy and horro, again)

78. Se7en - great atmosphere, great cinematography, but as soon as Kevin Spacey (sorry: Keyser Soze...err...John Doe) yells: "Detective Mills!" the movie becomes transcendent in its greatness - the definition of a feel-bad-movie. Probably deserves to be in the Top 20 but, alas I´m too exhausted to think about what to kick out to make place.

77. M - Peter Lorre delivers one of the great performances of evilness (and the humanity within and of evilness, or is that the evilness in humanity?), as frightening as he is fascinating and to be pitied.

76. Der Totmacher (don´t know the English title: The Deathmaker?) - German movie magazine Cinema called it splatter for the mind - it´s only Götz George (brilliant German actor) as real-life-serial-killer Fritz Harrmann sitting in a room talking about his murders - forget Hostel - this is truly disturbing.

75. Ed Wood - I love movies about moviemaking - this is one of the best.

74. Barton Fink - why John Goodman hasn´t gotten the Oscar is just a mystery.

73. The Player - like I said: I love movies about moviemaking.

72. Blow Out - De Palma seems to have an erotic/sexual relationship to the process of making movies - he is aroused by cinematography, editing, sound - and he manages to titilate just by sharing his erotic fantasies - I love movies about moviemaking: this is pure moviemaking porn.

71. The Adventures of Ford Fairlane - it´s the best deconstruction of machism - honestly.

70. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang - META forever!

69. Two girls and a guy - it´s about sex, relationships, ego, loneliness, acting and Robert Downey Jr´s genius.

68. Last Boy Scout - Bruce Willis at his best!

67. Lethal Weapon - Martin Riggs and Roger Murthaugh are just great buddies to hang out with, if you love action movies.

66. The Empire strikes back - when the Millenium Falcon does that looping into the asteroid - that´s easily one of the most beautiful FX in movie history - also it´s just a great movie (not just compared to the other Star Wars movies)

65. E. T. - Spielberg wasn´t just in touch with the child´s imagination - he was in synch with it, and with the texture of the time - I think he has lost a bit of that - today he´s only in touch, at best.

64. Mary Poppins - witty songs, great animation - what more does one need to feel good.

63. Over the hedge - Bruce Willis is a great voice actor. Also, the nacho explosion is easily one of the 10 greatest cinematic moments of the last few years.

62. The Jungle Book - the ending really aggravates me, but before the entrance of the evil female, this movie is just brilliant - the German version of Bare Essentials is actually better than the original song.

61. Asterix erobert Rom (it´s a French cartoon) - one of the most important comics (personally and historically) - and this wasn´t an adaptation of one of print stories, it is simply one of the best Asterix-stories, and the best animated Asterix-features.

60. Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind - certainly the most resonating love stories of our time. Everyone involved is at the top of their game. Maybe someday I´ll rank it higher. (Top20 even)

59. The Fisher King - I wish I could say that I can remember the damndest thing about the old screwball classics that I know (the few, too few), but I guess I´m just a child of my time - this movie truly is magical - I guess what goes for 60. goes for this one, too (maybe even Top10).

58. Rio Bravo - for the singing scene alone - and Dean Martin´s great performance.

57. Unforgiven - a movie about the mythmaking machine that is the Western - easily Clint´s greatest allround movie.

56. Assault on Precinct 13 - now follows a late entry to the filmmusic-blogathon: dum dudu du-dum...

55. The Usual Suspects - Keyser Soze isn´t a character in the movie - it´s the desire of the audience to be manipulated sensually, emotionally and intellectually by this trickster-devil called Movie.

54. Reservoir Dogs - sometimes I like it more than Pulp Fiction; like right now while thinking about it.

53. The Untouchables - Morricone´s score alone validates this being on the list, add to that one of the 5 greatest shootouts in movie history (this I say without even knowing what the others would be...mmh), and great performances by Connery and De Niro.

52. Back to the Future - whoever loves movies (as wellmade entertainment, or as I would call it: art) should love this one. Quo Vadis Zemeckis...

51. Grosse Point Blank - whenever I don´t know what to watch, this is an option..

50. True Romance - Christopher Walken! ´nuff said.

49. Speed - purest motion picture.

48. Kung Fu Hustle - I just exchanged a signature Jackie Chan movie with this because it encompasses more of what Hongkong does so wonderfully - which is old Jackie Chan, the fantastic and in this case imaginative if not always technically perfect FX - if only I had seen it on the big screen, but even so it´s the definition of AWEsome.

47. Hardboiled - it´s not John Woo/Chow Yun Fats´best, but the pure essence of their movies.

46. Total Recall - it´s a nobrainer with as much brain as brawn - if that makes sense

45. T2 - there are actually so many layers beneath the surface - but the surface alone would get it on the list.

44. The Incredibles - with great power comes great banality; with great individuality comes Incredible power; there is absolutely an I in team...

43. Robocop - the 80s (and today?) in a nutshell - identity-crisis in action

42. Batman 2 - Catwoman...meow!!

41. X2 - Nightcrawler-attack on the White House is easily the best action set piece in many years; great as sequel, as stand alone movie, as adaptation...

40. They call me Trintity - I should probably have some Leone or Fellini here, instead I choose one of the best Spencer/Hill movies for nostalgic reasons, and also: it does hold up as a quite ingenious spoof of the (spaghetti) western.

39. Liar Liar - honestly

38. Hot Shots Part Deux - Sheen actually worked out...for a spoof...of the action genre - if that ain´t commitment, I don´t know what is (The Method can be found in the unlikeliest places) - also: the moment with father and son Sheen is sublime.

37. Ferris Bueller´s day off - when Cameron was in Egypt´s land!

36. A fish called Wanda - Kline´s Oscar was one of the truly deserved in the history of the Oscar. In a perfect world Cleese would have gotten one, too.

35. Planes, Trains and Automobiles - Comedy PhD; whoever understands how and why this movie is hilarious might have a great comedy in him/her.

34. Ace in the hole - it still says all you need to know about media - truly devastating - oh, the humanity

33. Short Cuts - this movie might be the Great American Novel

32. Do the right thing - all too seldom does Spike Lee fulfill his admittedly great potential, here he went beyond it.

31. The Contender - the performances are great and deep down it says more about the inner workings of democracy than anyone involved intended - the frathouse of democracy

30. Goodfellas - best gangster movie!

29. Casino - the documentary of the inner workings of Las Vegas is dazzling - 29. and 30. are interchangeable and should both be much higher

28. Clockwork Orange - gutwrenching to viddy, but viddied it should be

27. Dr Strangelove - the definition of satire

26. Mars Attacks - the satire lies in the fact that the martians are actually us - the joke´s on us not in form of the humans

25. Bowling the Columbine - it is important, no matter how deserved the criticisms it recieved are.

24. The Great Dictator - if you can understand German, the nonsensical speech in the beginning hits the mark even more than it intended - how anyone could fall for this hateful drivel is one of the great mysteries for the generations who only have hindsight and not direct experience.

23. Platoon - Postcards from My Lai. Some images just seem like postcard images, the kind of pictures one would take on a trip. It doesn´t look like war documentary imagery. So even visually it´s Stone´s war memoirs.

22. Full Metal Jacket - Billy Wilder was certainly right about the first half; and in my opinion the second half is different but great as well.

21. Starship Troopers - best (anti)war movie - seriously!

20. Y tu mama tambien - the shaggy dog storie-type stuff is just great - the rest is no less great.

19. Heavenly Creatures - still Jackson´s and Winlet´s, respectively, best achievements to date

18. Heat - there´s just one split second look on De Niro´s face when he sits alone amongst his crew and their women - this lost, lonely and longing look (alliteration more or less unintended) his one of his best moments - I had goose bumps - if one would take out all the other character´s developments and concentrate on De Niro and Pacino more it would still be a superior movie - but those scenes are a bonus deepening it all instead of dragging on.

17. Looking for Richard - if only English Lit classes were like this movie.

16. Finding Nemo - the colours alone.

15. L. A. Story - love, comedy, magic - the art of appreciation!

14. One, Two, Three - I´m a born American living in Germany - this is my movie - it also helped introduc me to old movies in general and Billy Wilder specifically.

13. Indiana Jones 3 - Spielberg´s last truly great work of art. I´m dead serious - and I can explain it semi-coherently, too.

12. North by Northwest - Action, Comedy, Suspense, Eroticism/Romance, Cary Grant, Bernhard Herrmann´s score, cornfield, auction, proto-Hans-Guber James Mason, the title sequence, the cinematography, and somewhere in all this excitement it might even have something to say about the world.

11. Pulp Fiction - it is probably the most important movie of my generation...

10. Clerks -...but I just like this movie more.

9. Raging Bull - Life truly is a battle.

8. One flew over the cuckoo´s nest - Jack!

7. The Big Lebowski - Bowling and Nothingness. Being and MacGuffinness. The Dude abides.

6. Life of Brian - Always look on the bright side of life...

5. Die Hard - reading all the other lists calls for a Die Hard blogathon, methinks.

4. Groundhog Day - it´s about everything.

3. Some like it hot - Billy Wilder might just be the Shakespeare of the 20th century, Tony Curtis impersonates Cary Grant, Jack Lemmon becomes Daphne, Marilyn Monroe just is.

2. Rear Window - proto-Altman, voyeurism, cinema, its audience, best opening scene ever, says more about sex/romance/loneliness and the city than Sex and the City, Friends and Seinfeld could even try to.

1. The Wizard of Oz - it´s everywhere. From Lynch to Gilmore Girls, from Star Wars to Buffy, from Angel to T2. It´s the DNA of the American mind. This wasn´t produced by a studio, it was produced by America; it wasn´t adapted from a book series, it was adapted from American culture-at-large.

Pain don´t hurt

2007-06-27T09:27:00.000-07:00

This article at Slate makes me want to watch all these movies right now - even Road House (see the title of this post), but especially Predator ("I ain´t got time to bleed").
I like how the author analyzes "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!" as a philologist would.

Spoiler Alert!

2007-06-26T06:48:00.000-07:00

This must be the coolest Tshirt ever! I wish I had money...

miscellaneous thoughts in a 3:07a.m. state of mind

2007-06-03T19:49:00.000-07:00

Letztens hatte ich mal wieder so einen super Gedanken zum Thema Eskapismus. Ich glaube ja das selbst denken eine Form des Eskapismus ist. In diesem Sinne könnte der Phrasmus "in Gedanken woanders" eigentlich bedeuten, dass das "Woanders" die Gedanken selber sind...

Everything I know about Music I learned watching Beavis and Butthead

2007-06-03T15:02:00.000-07:00

Of course that is not entirely true. But the world of music is inextricably connected with movies and TV in my mind. I belong to the MTV-Generation and I see no problem in that, and I also loved filmmusic before I loved any other kind of music. So here are some random notes on coming-of-age-and-life, music and movies:

- my very first selfbought CD (I think even very first, period) was the soundtrack of "Backdraft" by Hans Zimmer, and I´ve been a very big fan of Hans Zimmer ever since. During a very hard time in my life I listened to that music as others would to Nirvana, come to think of it it´s as much part of the soundtrack of my life at that particular time as Nirvana (shortly after Cobains death), Marty Friedman´s "Scenes", Vangelis´"1492"-score, The Doors and others. When a very important friend of mine died, I listened to "Backdraft" after the funeral. I usually detect Zimmer´s signature even in music he hasn´t written - more often than not by people he has worked with. I still believe that Klaus Badelt is a pseudonym for him: honestly, "Pirates" sounds exactly like "Backdraft" blended with some swashbuckling music. The problem with Zimmer is that he´s everywhere: on TV, in movie trailers, especially "Backdraft", so many people have worked with him, and basically every actionmovie score sounds like a variation on "Backdraft". But sometimes he can still surprise and even elevate you, so here are his quintessential soundtracks: "Rain Man", "Backdraft", "The Rock", "The Lion´s King", "The Thin Red Line", "Gladiator" and the very first video MTV showed:"Video killed the Radio Star" - he did the keyboards.

- Kämen Rocks! (That´s a heavy-metal-umlaut) "Robin Hood" is one of the best scores, ever. The intro alone. "Die Hard" is the best actionmovie because amongst other things it has one of the greatest scores in that genre. I think it is safe to say that it introduced me to the awesomeness of Beethoven (together with...well later). And he actually really rocks - he did the orchestral arrangements for Pink Floyd´s "The Wall", Metallica´s "Nothing Else Matters" and "S&M"concert, the MTV 10th anniversary version of Aerosmith´s "Dream On", he worked with Kate Bush, Eurythmics, David Bowie, Queensryche and of course there´s the matter of his collaboration with Bryan Adams and others on filmsongs - which were for better or worse as much a fixture of 90s popculture as Techno, Gangstarap and Grunge. When I was on a school trip in 1991 we listened to "Everything I do..." and the 2LiveCrew. Bryan Adams for the Slowdance, "Me so horny" for..well being horny...

- Beethöven Rocks! One of the grand musical realizations of my youth was that classical music sounds a lot like filmmusic. So as a teenager I was more into classical music than Punk, Heavy Metal, Hip Hop or any other youth music. John Williams alone makes very classically sounding music: "Home Alone" sounds almost exactly like Tschaikowsky`s "Nutcracker". Michael Kamen is very good at integrating classical music into his scores - not just rockmusic. I had two defining moments related to classical music and movies: when I was 6 or 7 years old I saw "Amadeus", because of its dark tone I was traumatized into not liking Mozart for years (I still think he is vastly overrated - that goes to show you how powerful movies can be). When I was in my teens I saw "Bill & Ted´s excellent adventure" and I still think Beethöven rocks because he was the cool dude playing the guitar parts from Extreme´s "Play with me" on the keyboard in the mall. Rock´n`Roll!

- Wayne´s World! Wayne´s World! Party Time! Excellent! I think men of a certain generation still can´t listen to Queen´s "Bohemian Rhapsody" without singing and banging along...and Queen were one of the precursors of the modern music video with their "Bohemian Rhapsody"-promovideo.

- And on that note: Kamen and Queen=Highlander! "Here we are, born to be kings, we´re the princes of the universe...". Queen and soundtracks: "Flash Gordon", killing Zombies to "Don´t stop me now" in "Shaun of the Dead", "One Vision" on the "Iron Eagles"-soundtrack of all places and the list goes on.

- Music videos aren´t the worst way to start a movie career: David Fincher, Spike Jonze, Michel Gondry, Liv Tyler, Alicia Silverstone ("Clueless" was pretty good), Courtney Cox, Russel Mulcahy ("Highlander had awesome cinematography, and "Ricochet" wasn´t bad either), Mike Judge (sadly he only commented on the videos through Beavis & Butthead, but those comments were actually quite lucid, sometimes). And it wasn´t beneath Martin Scorsese and John Landis to make their mini-movies for Michael Jackson. To name just a few.

- Live Music Hall, club in Cologne, some time around 2000/2001, 80s party: Amongst all the U2, Madonna, Depeche Mode, "99 Luftballons", Michael Jackson, "Walking on sunshine", Tears for Fears, "I had the time of my life", "Don´t you forget about me", "Under Pressure", "Dancing with myself" and many other great songs by great musicians (honestly, why are the 80s so maligned culturally?), suddenly, a sound that is familiar but in this context a bit alien: "Axel F". I`m going to make a bold statement here: You haven´t partied if you haven´t tried dancing to "Axel F". And I´m not talking about generic moves with slight variations depending on the tempo of the song - no, I mean moving to the music...sober!

- (Jon) Bon Jovi can definitely write tunes. One of my favorites is "Blaze of Glory". It´s catchy, has a great melody, great guitar and great lines like: "When you´re brought into this world/ They say you´re born in sin/ Well, at least the gave me something/ I didn´t have to steal/ Or have to win". It´s simple all right and not overloaded with ambiguity - it might not be in the tradition of Dylan, but certainly Chuck Berry or even fellow-Jerseyan Springsteen. It fits the Western-theme (Billy the Kid) perfectly, but can also be read as about fame, about being an outcast...kinda like another great Bon Jovi-tune "Wanted dead or alive" (used in "Harvey Davidson and the Marlboro Man"). Also, the video: awesome - the guitar hero standing in front of the burning screen; the lightning in synch with the drums; as the movie scenes show the ignition of a fire, the screen starts burning - also very simple, but well done. One of the great movie songs, one of the great accompanying videos - both better than the movie (although Silvestris score is fine, not as great as his work for "Back to the future", but few scores are). The song is especially great to just sing and airguitar along to with friends at a party...

- I turned 30 a few months ago, but I felt the oldest a few weeks before my birthday: where I work are a lot of colleagues that are just 20 or 21 years old. One day I heard The Cardigans´ "Lovefool" on the radio, and I stood amongst these twens remembering when that song came out, and Leonardo DiCaprio wasn´t yet the megastar he would become but one might have been able to sense it happening, back then I was one of the older people in the audience of "Romeo and Juliet", there were a bunch of teenies that certainly didn´t watch it out of appreciation of Shakespeare - anyway, when that song came out I was the same age my colleagues are now, and that´s ten years ago - a fucking decade - man, I´m old.

I´m sure I could think of some more things, and maybe I will in the comment section, but that´s it for now. Hopefully anyone of the other bloggers will take us on a trip through memory lane and talk about the soundtrack of their lives...

textual healing: Wonder Boys

2007-04-29T15:33:00.000-07:00

when I get that feeling
I want textual healing...

...with "Wonder Boys" by Michael Chabon

Critique forthcoming...

V.E.G.A.N.S.

2007-04-29T14:15:00.000-07:00

Vigourously Eating Greasy Animals´N`Stuff

Ist Janus der Gott des Sommers?

2007-04-17T07:11:00.000-07:00

Diese beiden Bilder habe ich von Christians Fotoblog.

Altersweisheit

2007-04-17T07:08:00.000-07:00

anderweitig veröffentlicht (von mir): Der Geschichtenerzähler

2007-04-11T02:41:00.000-07:00

Der Geschichtenerzähler

Ich hatte gestern einen Traum, der war irgendwie... wie soll ich sagen... kafkaesk, sagte er. Melanie durchbohrt ihn mit einem skeptischen Blick, bevor er überhaupt anfing zu erzählen. Er schaute sie an - mit einem Blick ohne Adjektiv - und fängt an zu erzählen: Ich, beziehungsweise mein Traum-alter-ego, war auf einem Friedhof spazieren. Die Wege dort waren sehr verschlungen. Aber irgendwie hatte ich nicht das Gefühl, ich würde laufen, irgendwie wurde ich von einer unsichtbaren Macht gezogen. In der Ferne sah ich einen aufgeworfenen Grabhügel, von dem wohl diese magnetische Kraft ausging. Dann war irgendwie der Grabhügel plötzlich neben mir. Ich blieb stehen, beziehungsweise wurde zum Stehen gebracht. Am Grabhügel standen zwei Männer mit einem unbeschrifteten Grabstein, den sie in die Erde stießen. Sie gingen, und ein Graveur kam. Er fing an, mit einem Bleistift auf den Grabstein zu schreiben. Die Schrift leuchtete im hellsten Gold. Ich stand wie angewurzelt da und wartete begierig darauf, dass er endlich den Namen schreibt. Als er gerade 'Hier ruht F...' geschrieben hatte, hielt er inne und schaute mich irgendwie vorwurfsvoll an, als ob er nicht weiter schreiben könnte, wenn ich ihn weiter beobachtete. Ich konnte aber nicht wegschauen. Plötzlich fing ich an zu schweben, in der Luft wurde ich auf den Rücken gedreht, und schwebte in das Grab. Ich schaute nach oben. Dort erstrahlte, im schönsten Gold - mein Name. Als ich aufwachte, war ich glücklich, beendet er seine Erzählung. Du lügst doch wie gedruckt, meint Melanie. Wieso? fragt er. Die Geschichte kenn' ich irgendwoher, ich habe sie irgendwann mal gelesen, antwortet sie. Vielleicht hast du mal von einem ähnlichen Traum gelesen, schließlich gibt es viele universelle Träume, die jeder kennt. Fluchtträume, Träume, in denen man fällt, Träume, in denen man nackt ist an einem sehr belebten Ort. Die ganze Traumdeutung basiert schließlich auf der Universalität und Allgemeinheit von Träumen, versucht er sich 'rauszureden. Ungläubig schaut sie durch ihn durch, er weicht ihrem Blick aus, und schaut verstohlen auf ihre entblößte Brust, an der ihr Baby Lukas genüsslich nuckelt. Er wünschte, er wäre an dessen Stelle. Sie schweigen sich eine Weile an. Im Hintergrund läuft das Radio. Wie geht's deinem Kind? fragt sie schließlich. Gut, antwortet er.

You're nobody till somebody loves you, you're nobody till somebody cares

tönte Dean Martin's Stimme aus dem Radio. Wirklich? fragt sie skeptisch. Ja doch, ich glaube schon, antwortet er unsicher; für einen kurzen Moment konnte man so etwas wie Wehmut und Trauer in seinen Augen sehen. Er hatte sich vor einigen Jahren von seiner Frau scheiden lassen, das Kind war bei ihr. Aufgrund seiner finanziellen Lage zahlt er keinen Unterhalt und hat sein Kind schon seit einigen Monaten nicht gesehen.

You may be king, you may possess the world and its gold

Er zündete sich eine Zigarette an. Der Rauch quillt aus dem Mund, wie sonst nur der Schall seines Wortschwalls. Er bläst Kringel in die Luft. Circles of life, witzelt er. Die Kringel lösen sich auf. Könntest du bitte 'rausgehen, wenn du rauchst, sagt sie. Er drückt die Zeigarette aus.

But gold won't bring you happiness when you grow old

The world still is the same, you'll never change it

As sure as the stars shine above

Irgendwie tiefgründig der Song, sagt er. Das ist Dean Martin, sagt sie skeptisch. Na und, warum sollte eine amerikanische Las-Vegas-Show-Musik nicht auch Tiefgang haben, entgegnet er. Wenn du meinst, meint sie kopfschüttelnd.

You're nobody 'till somebody loves you, so find yourself somebody to love

Sie reden eine Weile über belanglose Dinge, und zappen, wie es bei solchen Gesprächen üblich ist, von einem Thema zum anderen. Sie reden über Songs, Schokoriegel, das Leben, das Universum und den ganzen Rest. Im Laufe des Gesprächs degradiert Melanie ihn vom Gesprächspartner zum Zuhörer, wie immer, wenn man sich mit ihr unterhält. Er aber findet Erniedrigungen aller Art erregend. Also sinkt er in seinen Sessel und verschmilzt förmlich mit dem Möbelstück. Sie redet und redet unbehelligt weiter - mit einem Möbelstück.
Es klingelt, Geza geht zur Tür, schaut durch den Türspion und sieht ihn ganz verzerrt. Sie öffnet die Tür missmutig, schaut durch ihn durch, wie durch einen Türspion. Ohne zu grüßen, oder sich hereinbitten zu lassen, tritt er ein, geht ins Wohnzimmer, setzt sich hin und fängt an, das am Vortag von Melanie gehörte zu erzählen, Geza macht es sich gemütlich und hört sichtlich desinteressiert weg. Als er fertig ist, steht er auf, schaut in seinen Sessel - er glaubt immer, er könne etwas vergessen oder verlieren - und geht.
Abends begegnet er in der Fußgängerzone der Stadt der verlorenen Seele Michael, der auf dem Weg zum Kino ist. Hallo Michael, dich erkennt man schon von weitem an deinem Gang, sagt er. Warum? fragt Michael. Du schlenderst durch die Gegend als würde sie dir gehören, antwortet er. Michael erwidert, ohne ihn richtig anzuschauen, sondern höchstens mit dem Blick in Erwägung ziehend: Aha. Was machst du? fragt er. Ich geh' ins Kino, antwortet Michael. In was denn? fragt er weiter. In 'Fight Club', antwortet Michael. Oh, der ist bestimmt gut, ich hab' schon viele gute Kritiken gelesen. Da muss ich auch noch 'rein. Der soll ziemlich tiefgründig sein, wie überhaupt alle Filme, die ich in letzter Zeit gesehen habe, sinniert er. Wo? Im Kino? fragt Michael ungläubig. Nein, allgemein halt, auf Video und so. Zum Beispiel 'Brazil', 'The Game' und ähnliche Filme, sagt er. Aha, meint Michael. Du, dann will ich dich nicht länger aufhalten. Ciao, sagt er und geht ins Cafe Schaumschläger zu all den anderen Kaffeehaus-Plauderern und Möchtegern-Existenzialisten.
Nach zwei, drei Stunden im Cafe geht er noch in die Disco, um sich die Seele aus dem Leib zu tanzen und vielleicht ein paar Frauen aufzureißen. In der Disco angekommen, besorgt er sich erstmal er sich erstmal ein bisschen Koks und stürzt sich in die Menge der vom Nebel aus der Maschine verschluckten, monoton zuckenden, hüpfenden und kreisenden Leiber, deren Bewegungen vom Stroboskoplichtgewitter zerhackt werden. Nach einer Weile des 'Higher state of consciousness' geht er an die Theke, bestellt sich einen Drink, fängt ein 'Gespräch' mit einer Frau an, die ihren Kopf mit geschlossenen Augen im Rhythmus der Musik schüttelt. Er redet und redet und merkt in seinem - von Drogen, Musik, Tanz und Geschichtenerzählen bedingten - Rausch nicht, dass sie ihm gar nicht zuhört. Als er sie, nachdem er erzählt, was für ein toller Hecht er sei, und nachdem er immer wieder sexuelle Andeutungen gemacht hat - wie immer -, fragt, ob sie - Juliane heißt sie - Lust hätte, missdeutet er ihr Kopfschütteln als Verneinung. Aber wahrscheinlich war es gar keine Missdeutung.
Am nächsten Tag wandelt er durch die Stadt. Nebel zieht durch die Straßen, der echte, nicht der aus der Maschine. Fieberhaft sucht er nach Leuten, denen er irgendwas erzählen kann, oder von denen er sich Geschichten besorgen kann. Er findet niemanden, was ziemlich unheimlich ist, denn er kennt alle noch so unwichtigen Leute. Also begibt er sich in eine Telefonzelle. Als die Tür zufällt, scheint er sich in einer Art Niemandsland zu befinden. Um die Telefonzelle herum nur graues, lautloses Nichts. Er ruft einige Leute an. Melanie, Michael, und seinen Guru Horst. Niemand da. Nicht einmal Horst, der eigentlich meistens buddhagleich zu Hause hockt und sich von seinen Jüngern erzählen lässt, was in der Welt da draußen so vor sich geht. Geza, schließlich, meldet sich entnervt. Hi G., grüßt er anzüglich. Du schon wieder, sagt sie entnervt, du störst mich beim Schokolade-Essen, außerdem hab' ich grad' keinen Bock auf dich. Sie legt auf. Er geht nach Hause.
Dort steht er eine Weile vor dem Spiegel. Obwohl er alleine ist, versucht er die Tränen, die ihm das, was er dort sieht, in die Augen treibt, zu unterdrücken.
Er sieht - nichts.

otherwise published (by me): Freedom of Juice

2007-04-08T07:18:00.000-07:00

Well, ok, it wasn´t already published, but I just found it again, and I´m quite fond of it. It is what it is and, more importantly, it is what I set out for it to be: a nice little ditty.
So read and comment away...

Freedom of Juice

By Thomas Hemsley

“And verily, I say unto thee...are you listening?“

“Yeah, sure.” Adam and Eve promptly replied in holy matrimony of thought and speech.

“Good. What I have to say is of grave importance, so listen carefully.”

“We are.”

“Now – I have created this garden of celestial beauty for thee – and thou shalt be full of gratitude and praise for it…”

“We are, we are.”

“…and Me.”

“We are.”

“Furthermore, I have created the fish in the water, the birds in the sky and all the other creatures that animate this world.”

“We thank thee and praise thee.”

“Of course you do. I have also equipped thee with a mind and Freedom of Choice to name all those beautiful things yourself.”

“Freedom of choice?” They looked at each other and then at Him – the bush – in complete incomprehensement. At this point of the story (History of Mankind, that is), they don´t have many other facial expressions at their disposal, but come the time, come the development of many other stupid faces. “What is that?”

“Oh God, this isn´t happening…”

“Thou shalt not say His name in vain.”

“What do you know??? I shalt use My name in vain as oft as I wish, goddammit. You haven´t the capacity to know what you´re talking about, and besides, The Ten Commandments are way out of your temporal AND mental reach. But I digress.”

He has that propensity, but cut The Man some slack – he has a lot on His mind what with the universe, this new world, heaven and hell, his latest creation (to be pronounced French) ´n`all.

“Freedom of Choice is my coup de grace.”

“We´re not questioning that – but what are the options?”

“What, for chrissakes, do you mean?”

“Well, we get to build our house whereever we want, we can, to a certain extent manage our time freely,we can eat and drink whatever this place has to offer, and that´s a lot. All the fruit, and the vegetables – the different juices and pies we can make with all that – and that´s all very well, but, really, what´s the big deal, sorry: Big Deal?”

“The Big Deal, the BIG DEAL. Surely, thou shan´t be this daft.”

The development of stupid faces has now taken a giant leap, as they go though variations of bafflement.

“Okay, here´s the Big Deal. You´ll get a tree in this garden of yours, which you can´t eat from No juice, no pie, no nothing. It shall be the Tree of Knowledge, an embodiment of your options, of the Freedom of Choice. If thou dost eat from it, thou shalt know the difference between Good and Evil, Right and Wrong, Stupid and Daft, Love and Hate, Alpha and Omega, Sense and Nonsense, Life and Death and all the other capital-letter-initials thou art too feebleminded for to understand, anyway. And thou shan´t know it all right away, but get to know it empirically – especially Death. It´s either that OR thou can choose not to eat the fruit and live together happily ever after in Cosmic Harmony and Blissful Ignorance. It´s your call.”

“Uhmm…can we sleep over it?”

“Heaven, Ass and Thread, shalt I open a can of oldtestamentarian whoopass on thou. This isn´t something you have a say on. The Tree stands over there. Thou hast the choice: it´s either well-fed, or, well, dead. Sleep over that.”

He left them alone to their destiny of inventing more stupid faces by the minute.

“The incompetence I have to put up with. What was I thinking?? Maybe I should annihilate them. That would spare them some inconveniences and I wouln´t have to listen to some of their sillier prayers.”

He sat down in His armchair. In order to unwind a bit He turned on Channel 666, contemplated some mysterious ways he could work in and drank some nectar. He had it coming out of His ears already, but, this being heaven, the choice of beverage came with the territory.

miscellaneous thoughts in a 3:07a.m. state of mind...

2007-04-06T16:58:00.000-07:00

Nietzsche once said that when you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss will stare back.
He was probably looking into the mirror, into the abyss of his own eyes, at the demons haunting him, eating away at him, looking back at him, when he stumbled upon this nugget of wisdom.
Looking at yourself - especially when you´re not in a particularly good mood - will let you think your soul is an abyss: dark, cold, unfathomably mysterious - empty...and all this damn emptiness has the chutzpah to look back at you.

he said sub...uh huh huh huh

2007-03-20T19:16:00.000-07:00

I´ll admit I have problems seeing my "sub", if I may be so boldly err intimate, but I sure wouldn´t lose food. But then again, my stomach isn´t THAT big.
On a general note: I have found a way to trick myself around (almost) daily updates - I have assembled a very varied (read that out loud) list of links ranging from general news to comics to movie-related stuff and even art - so you readers (that plural might be utopian) can appreciate the wonderful world of webbased life by following those links. Whenever I´m online I sure as hell do.

Clint Eastwood vs danger stare contest

2007-02-23T17:52:00.000-08:00

anderweitig veröffentlicht (von mir): (K)einer von da oben

2007-02-07T11:09:00.000-08:00

Von den Texten, die ich bisher in der Philtrat veröffentlicht habe, ist das hier mein liebster. Endlich hab ich das Ding per Zufall auf diesem Desktop gefunden (nicht zu Hause).
Ich glaube in diesem Fall sind die Veränderungen, die die Redaktion vorgenommen hat recht geringfügig - das heisst, der Text ist recht gut auch anderweitig (in der Redaktion) angekommen.
Außerdem hatte ich ein schönes Erlebnis, das einen als Schreiberling ja nur ermuntern kann, weiterzumachen: Als ich in irgendeinem Seminar saß, setzte sich ein mir fremder Mensch neben einen mir bekannten Menschen, man kam allgemein ins Gespräch und plötzlich fragte der Fremde, ob ich der Autor von dem Pryor-Nachruf wäre - er hätte ihn gut gefunden und von einem anderen mir bekannten Menschen gesagt bekommen, wer ich sei - irgendwo hing wohl unipolitisch bedingt mein Bild.
Meine erste kritische Instanz ist zwar Beate (sie findet auch, dass das mein bester Artikel ist:-), und die Redaktionsmeinung ist auch wichtig, aber Leserfeedback aus heiterem Himmel ist schon sehr erhebend. Also lest es, vergleicht es mit der veröffentlichten Fassung, und feeded back (auch wenn die Meinung eher negativ ausfallen sollte).

(K)einer von da oben

Ein Nachruf auf einen der bedeutendsten amerikanischen KünstlerInnen des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts

In dem 1985er-Film „Zum Teufel mit den Kohlen“ - in dem der von Richard Pryor gespielte Charakter Brewster 300 Millionen Dollar erbt, wenn er innerhalb von 30 Tagen 30 Millionen Dollar ausgibt ohne am Ende etwas zu besitzen – startet der Held eine Wahlkampagne um Geld zu verschwenden. Der Slogan seines Wahlkampfes ist: „Keinen von da oben!“ Dieser Wahlspruch des rebellischen Underdogs könnte auch der Leitspruch von Richard Pryor sein.

Geboren am 01.12.1940 in Peoria, Illinois als unehelicher Sohn einer Prostituierten und ihres Zuhälters, wuchs er im Bordell seiner Großmutter auf. Dort konnte er seiner Mutter bei der Arbeit zusehen, wurde als Kind vergewaltigt und war tagtäglich von Menschen umgeben, die sich am äußersten Rand des gesellschaftlichen Lebens bewegten.

Nachdem er mit 14 Jahren von der Schule flog, schlug er sich mit Gelegenheitsjobs durch, bis er eingezogen wurde und seinen Dienst in Deutschland antrat. Danach ging er Anfang der 60er Jahre nach New York um in die Fußstapfen seines Vorbilds Bill Cosby zu treten. Er verdiente Geld, hatte Auftritte im Fernsehen und war frustriert damit eine Cosby-Kopie zu sein. Diese Einsicht hatte er auf der Bühne – in Las Vegas. Mitten in einem Auftritt, hielt er inne, sagte: „Was zum Teufel mach` ich hier!“ und stapfte von der Bühne.

Als er zurückkam, war er das dunkle Gegenstück zu Bill Cosby. Wie dieser erzählte er keine Witze, sondern Geschichten, mit Charakteren. Er fing an die finsteren Gestalten seiner Kindheit zum Bühnenleben zu erwecken, von denen er selber sagte, dass „ sie alle wunderbare Charaktere (waren), wenngleich sie nicht alle gute Menschen waren.“ Er fing an dem schwarzen Amerika gleich mehrere Stimmen zu verleihen. Aber er lieh seinen Charakteren auch seinen Körper. Er brachte voll ausgereifte Personen auf die Bühne, komplett mit Stimme, Sprachduktus, Mimik, Gestik und gelebtem Leben. Einer seiner beliebtesten Charaktere und wohl sein Alter Ego war der alte Kneipenphilosoph und Geschichtenerzähler „Mudbone“.

Aber Pryor beließ es nicht dabei, das Leben in den Ghettos, und die Sprache der Gosse ins Bewusstsein Amerikas zu rufen. Er verkörperte auch Weisse, Tiere und seine Crackpfeife, der er die Stimme Richard Nixons gab. Er verquickte diese Rollenprosa mit den anderen Genres der Standup-Comedy: Alltagsbeobachtungen, Gesellschaftskritik, Zoten und vor allem Biographisches – und füllte damit sein Bühnenprogramm, knapp zwanzig Comedy-Alben und drei Konzertfilme. Außerdem wurde er somit zum (unerreichten) Vorbild für alle folgenden Standup-KomikerInnen – unabhängig von Hautfarbe, Nationalität oder Geschlecht. So unterschiedliche KomikerInnen, wie Eddie Murphy, Robin Williams, Roseanne und der Brite Eddie Izzard berufen sich auf seinen Einfluss.

Dieser künstlerische und kommerzielle Erfolg öffnete ihm die Türen zu Film und Fernsehen – wo er dann wiederum Wege für spätere afroamerikanische KünstlerInnen wie oben genannte, Will Smith, Chris Rock, die Wayans-Brüder und Dave Chappelle ebnete. Er schrieb für verschiedene Fernsehsendungen. Die inzwischen auf DVD erhältliche „Richard Pryor Show“ war zwar sehr kurzlebig, aber dennoch wegweisend. Er schrieb am Drehbuch zu Mel Brooks Westernparodie „Blazing Saddles“ mit, setzte die Standards für Comedy-Konzertfilme mit „Richard Pryor: Live in Concert“, „RP: Live on Sunset Strip“ und „RP: Here and Now“, nahm mit seinen Kollaborationen mit Gene Wilder, wie zum Beispiel „Transamerikaexpress“, die Buddy-Movies der 80er und 90er vorweg und erhielt die unerhörte Gage von 4 Millionen Dollar für „Superman III“.

Aber dieser Erfolg hatte seine Kehrseiten: Drogen- und Alkoholabhängigkeit, Gefängnisaufenthalte, sieben Ehen, Gewaltexzesse, Anzünden im Drogenrausch (nach eigenem Bekunden ein Selbstmordversuch) und 1986 die Diagnose der Multiplen Sklerosis, die ihn dann in den 90ern an den Rollstuhl fesselte. All das verarbeitete er schonungslos (sich selbst gegenüber) auf der Bühne und in dem Film „JoJo Dancer, Your Life Is Calling“ (1986), den er auch mitschrieb und inszenierte.

Gegen Ende des Konzertfilms „Richard Pryor: Here and Now“ verkörpert er einen Junkie; und wie er sich da kaum auf seinen Beinen halten kann, wie in Trance wirkt, und das Publikum aufhört zu lachen, transzendiert Richard Pryor für einige Momente die Grenzen zwischen Tragik, Komik und bloßer Tragikomik, zwischen Rolle, seiner eigenen Person und Darstellung, – man hat das Gefühl er wäre auf der Bühne vom Geist eines toten Junkies besessen. Wenn man sich diese über zwanzig Jahre alte Aufnahme anschaut, versteht man vielleicht was er in seiner Dankesrede für den vom Kennedy Center vergebenen Mark-Twain-Preis für Amerikanischen Humor – er war 1998 der erste Preisträger – meinte, als er sagte, dass er wie Mark Twain versucht hatte, Humor zu benutzen um „den Hass der Menschen zu verringern“.

Richard Pryor starb am 10.12.2005 neun Tage nach seinem 65sten Geburtstag an Herzversagen.

nice

2007-02-07T11:06:00.000-08:00

Gender Studies 69

2007-02-07T10:39:00.000-08:00

me stupid - please start at the end - too lazy to change.
again retrieved from sinfest - this is fast becoming one of my faves!!!
because it is of good taste and great satirical quality...err...dude...

Gender Studies 101

2007-02-05T17:40:00.000-08:00

Retrieved from the webcomic "Sinfest"

Acquired Taste

2007-02-05T08:53:00.000-08:00

I found this "little" discussion via FetusX.
It´s something I´ve been thinking about a lot lately.
Some thoughts:
Taste isn´t entirely subjective. This may come off as elitist, but I think taste is something we acquire - not just the socalled "acquired tastes". I liked a lot of movies (for example) when I was young, that I don´t like anymore, and I think that´s because I have acquired taste over the years, by watching many many more movies and by thinking about and talking about them, and reading about them. There are always gut reactions that account for movies that are technically bad, but you like anyway. I think as a young´un before I have seen many many movies I depended more on this gut reaction, and gut reaction isn´t wrong or bad, it just has nothing to do with taste.
I think taste is something we acquire when we engage ourselves with any given subject, on a emotional but also intellectual level - when we learn something about the craft of anything - basically literary studies or film studies or comic studies exist to make the students more "tasteful" (which doesn´t mean you can´t do that outside of academia - anyone can read Scott McCloud´s "Understanding Comics" or similar books on different subjects).
To the discussion about "Art": I kinda like the (old) greek word for "art" - "techne", which of course is where "technology" or "technique" comes from - that means I´m fond of good, better or best craftsmanship, and that is something you can learn or at least learn about, which again would be "acquiring taste".

shades of truth: Groundhog Day

2007-02-04T16:02:00.000-08:00

Punxutawney/Purgatory

"Groundhog Day" is an existentialist drama in the guise of a romantic comedy.
At the very least, it´s existential.
And Christian.
And Buddhist.
And Jewish.
And [insert religious or philosophical denomination here].
Many a rabbi or priest have claimed it as a very spiritual movie in accord with their belief system, and who knows how many people that aren´t very philosophically or spiritually inclined, have had some deep thoughts after a repeated viewing.
There are many "redemption comedies" around: It´s a wonderful life, Scrooged (and of course Dicken´s original), Liar Liar, Grosse Point Blank, As good as it gets, to a certain extent The Game or Pulp Fiction, Multiplicity, Bedazzled, the Clinton presidency and the biblical story of Job. And there have been other time-loop-movies: 12:01, Retroactive, Run Lola Run (somehow). But why is this particular movie in a kind of time loop in many a memory bank? What makes it the apotheosis of redemption comedy? What does it do right beside the a great premise, a better cast, great laughs and a not to sappy happy ending? What happens behind the image, between the frames and in front of the screen?
I think what it does right has more to do with what it doesn´t do: there is no explanation why this happens to Phil, and why him. There is no big revelatory scene, where some kind of oracle or something tells him howe he can get out of his predicament. The Groundhog Day isn´t exactly the biggest spiritual festivity in the universe - there´s no redemption on Christmas or something similar. And what is most important: no time frame. In an early draft Phil stayed in his purgatory for 10000 cycles - in the actual movie there is no clue whatsoever how long he stays there. No telling, not even showing - just hints, allusions. The viewer is left to fill in gaps in every scene. And just stopping for a moment to contemplate the time he must spend on that Groundhog Day in Punxutawney, can boggle the mind, even if one doesn´t tend to interpret a lot into movies.
When explaining how to "be the hat", he says it took him 6 months.
When he thinks he might as well be god - even such an arrogant narcissist as he is, wouldn´t actually think he´s god after spending a few months there - he must have been there for years to that point.
When he tries to get in her pants, and learns things about her one step at a time, he learns that she studied French - so when he recites a poem to her, we should consider him smart enough not just to memorize a few poems and leave it at that - he probably took his time to learn the language a bit.
When he tells his audience (us?) that the winter will be cold and gray "and it will last you for the rest of your lives" - that kind of desperate resignation you don´t achieve after a few weeks.
When he hears classical music on the radio, and decides he wants to learn how to play the piano (that´s as close as we get to a revelatory scene), and when we see him jam on a level of a seasoned pianist, we can assume that one can´t play on that level, even with the innate ability of a Beethoven, after a few weeks of practice.
The list could go on, actually there´s not one scene that doesn´t direct the attention at something that doesn´t happen onscreen. Other timeloop-movies don´t contain as much information beyond the surface of the movie - this might be the one movie that doesn´t fit into McLuhan´s categorization of movies as hot - this is a cool movie.
Seldom do movies manage to contain the entirety of life in them, not one biopic gives us such a full impression of a living, breathing person - not a character, a personality - no: a human being. And it all happens rather effortlessly.
The script, the editing and especially the performances invoke multitudes in simple throwaway gags (Phil´s wooing) and in effect also tell one of the great love stories: one in which Phil doesn´t fall in love at the beginning and just doesn´t know it - no: he falls in love after getting to know her better, her personality traits, her quirks, everything - and he falls in love with her not knowing that that will bring him salvation. But for her the stakes are as high: after getting to know him (on their ride to Punxutawney) as a meanspirited, misanthropic, cynical bastard, who has nothing but contempt for his audience, his fellow human beings, his job and probably himself, she has to suspend her disbelief (religiously speaking: leap of faith) in what she gets to see the from good Phil in action, and rather sceptically spend the evening with him, and probably a whole life (after he has tried out so many lives) - after just one day.
Although the other actors are good as well, the star of the show is of course Bill Murray - and his performance isn´t just minimalist, or sublime - it´s subliminal. His facial expressions, tone of voice and gestures prime the viewer in to things that don´t happen onscreen. Throughout his career he seems to have improvised on camera, and spontaneously added little flourishes to his performances, that on the surface seem little more than sketches with broad strokes.
His little jig of joy in Ghostbusters, his "cameos" in Tootsie and Ed Wood, tsliding down the firefighters pole with chinese food in hand in Ghostbusters again (he continues to eat in one fluid motion after touching ground), the lonely desperation of smoking two cigarettes and drinking all at once on Rushmore, his face when nodding off the perfect-guy-list in Groundhog Day, throwing away the book he just read after his outcast-speech in Stripes (truly a throwaway-gag, somehow cracks me up every time), his "cold and gray"-face, and giving his audience the finger on camera after counting down for his Groundhog Day report.
In a perfect world Bill Murray would have gotten that Oscar, actually it´s not even to late - considering that his performances in Rushmore, Lost in Translation and Broken Flowers don´t even add anything to his Phil (not even age, really) and that these movies and his characters in them were probably written after multiple viewings of Groundhog Day, he should actually get a Lifetime Achievement Award - just for this one movie...

blue light

2007-02-01T20:00:00.000-08:00

if this doesn´t sound like the perfect movie for me and a few friends then i don´t know what will: son of rambow :-)))))) and if this isn´t the coolest official site (according to the imdb)of any movie...

textual healing: Groundhog Day review

2007-02-01T15:57:00.000-08:00

when I get that feeling
I want textual healing...

von Roger Eberts "Groundhog Day" Great Movies essay

Roger Ebert has in recent years been criticised a lot for giving to many movies a favorable review, and just not being as good as he once was. Those criticisms might be right, but no one can deny his quality and influence as critic. With respect to knowledge of form and history of movies, width of interest and curiosity in independent and foreign movies (see: overlooked festival) as well as hollywoodmainstream, enthusiasm for movies even after four decades of reviewing them, and accessibility of style there are few that can hold their own against him.
His background as reporter is can also be seen in his reviews: far from being just a consumer guide with a 4star-rating system and his thumbs, he is first and foremost a reporter with movies as his beat: he reports what he sees, hears, feels and thinks and often times he will reflect on the how and why of his job.
As is the case in this "Great Movie"-essay where he acknowledges that although he had given "Groundhog Day" a favorable review as he had enjoyed himself, he didn´t see its greatness. And if there is a movie that isn´t as apparantly great as "Citizen Kane", it grows on you - as Ebert points out so rightly. This by far isn´t his best essay, but as maybe with the movie itself, the depth of his insight into movies, his sometimes even poetic appreciation of this great artform (see the last sentence for that), can easily be overlooked in the rustle and bustle of watching so many movies, reading so many reviews and other news items, and the daily grind of everyday life (the movie has a lot to say about that, too).

2007-01-31T18:51:00.000-08:00

ich hatte die tage ein sehr absurdes erlebnis. ich war in der anglistik-bibliothek, in der filmwissenschaftlichen abteilung und fand dort ein buch über gender in actionfilmen (titel: hard bodies). abgesehen davon dass ich in 6 jahren studium nicht ein/e seminar oder vorlesung oder sonst was im vorlesungsverzeichnis gesehen habe wo dieses buch gepasst hätte, war es vor allem absurd zwischen all diesen büchern über filmklassiker, -geschichte, feministische filmtheorie u.ä. in einer bibliothek voller shakespeare, joyce, psycholinguistik und lexika noch und nöcher, in dieser welt der kunst, des wissens, des geistes (im jahr der geisteswissenschaften noch dazu;-) ein buch zu finden auf dessen cover jean-claude van damme zu sehen ist:-D
find wahrscheinlich nur ich lustig...

Palateable Palette

2007-01-28T17:57:00.000-08:00

and my what a great palette we have in the real world...(and not bad in the fictional world, either;-)
oh woe for those that are colorblind:-D

Stairways to cinephiliac heaven

2007-01-27T16:07:00.000-08:00

the blog "stairs in film" (see linklist) consists of, well the name says it all - images of stairs in movies. although the blogger calls it silly fun, it´s remarkable what kind of memories flash in front of your mental eye when you start browsing through the blog. if you think about it for a second, there are not just some great looking stairs in the world (real or movie), there are also many significant, dramatic and memorable scenes that take place on stairs: battleship potemkin, obviously, the shining, psycho, the money pit (my personal fave), a history of violence, the big lebowski (and what a beauty that is) and on and on and on (go see and remember for youself).
i guess the blog isn´t just silly fun, but fits right into the discussion about cinephiliac moments: maybe there´s something we could call a cinephiliac fetish - and stairs are a great one to have.

Critique of the pure image

2007-01-25T07:16:00.000-08:00

i love film criticism as much as movies themselves. i definitely have read more about movies than i have read novels, so finding a blog dedicated to being about film criticism is just awesome.
i have yet to rummage through andy´s entire archive, actually i still have most of this blogathon to read, but so far it has been great. So, if you are interested in film criticism, have fun.

the ALMOST daily appreciator

2007-01-24T00:48:00.000-08:00

i should really emphasize the "almost". what can i say: work, important exam, holidays, computer troubles, my usual motivational problems and using every opportunity i had with a computer (that wasn´t mine - like now) to do other things have "distracted" me from this here blog. but if there are readers whose name isn´t christian, then use the comments to make yourself known - i will most likely answer comments, even in stressfull times.
so here´s my plans for the future:
aside of findings on the internet (pics´n´stuff) there will be more of the following:
textual healing - i will do more "literary reviews" of stuff that isn´t written by friends, although there will still be those, too. i want to do books, journalistic and essayisitic pieces and such - everything that i read and that gives me textual healing - so no negative reviews, no rants.
otherwise published - i have yet to find other texts (or write for other venues), but there will be more, as well.
shades of truth - there was a post with that title that gave you a hint of what i will try to do with that, namely: essays on certain movies, NOT reviews and NOT some general movie-related topic, but different movies. i like to ramble on about movies and have weird theories which i want to share with whomever it may concern. when i have enough movie stuff together, there might be a movieblog in the future...
other new stuff: comic reviews, column title: linus` notes.
general essays/ideas - jotting down ideas, not fully articulated, free associative, stream-of-conciousness, title: essayciations (i love stupid wordplay;-).
tv-related essays/critiques - title: cool channel.
and maybe some music(video) related stuff, title (you´ve guessed it): everything i know about music i learned watching beavis and butthead.
and if i´m in a ranting mode, which i often am but that´s not the point of this site, i will have another cool cloumn title: the monthly deprecator (depreciator, i´m not sure yet).
mighty ambitious of me, but i have months to prove my ambitions right, just don´t expect daily updates.

don´t call it a comeback

2007-01-03T18:46:00.000-08:00

i´ve said it months ago without seeing rocky balboa, and i´ll say it again - still without having seen the movie - sly will have his comeback! i for one would have no problem with that...

"mama said knock you out..."

lollollollol...

2006-12-23T22:28:00.000-08:00

...roflol...*needmyspray*...lol
great site

Bring back the costumes!

2006-12-15T02:09:00.000-08:00

This is what you get for surfing the wrong sites for weeks. Apparently the death of Dave Cockrum, one of the most important comic artists, means nothing to "normal" news sites - either they don´t even mention it or it doesn´t make the most important headlines.
If one works in the field of superhero comics, one of the greatest signs of your creativity are the superheroes one has created. Not necessarily the quantity, but their quality, their distinctiveness, whatever makes them stick - there are so few heroes and heroines that time HASN`T forgotten, it´s amazing some even stick for decades to come, becoming the heroes of many generations of adolescents (mostly).
And what sticks most are the costumes, the looks. This of course seems a nobrainer, as comics, esp. superhero-comics, are a visual art form.
To name just a few of the characters Dave Cockrum cocreated is to name just a few of the visually most striking heroes and heroines:
Storm - the African goddess with the white hair and the blue eyes, and what must be the sexiest outfit of any heroine, even Catwoman - why and how Hollywood could make her so unsexy and then take the same actress for Catwoman is simply beyond me.
Colossus - the metal actually looks organic. What an imposing looking fella.
Nightcrawler - he looks like his name. Something that crawls through the night.
Logan - he didn´t create Wolverine, and neither did he design the yellow costume, nor the brown one - but he created his uncostumed look: and that´s what people remember most: the pointy hair, the body hair, the overall grungy look.
Those are but a few, I don´t even know how many Legion of Superheroes-characters he created because I´m more of a Marvel man, but I´m sure his run is stylistically recognizable, as there are so many colorful images full of dynamism, brimmming with power that he drew. There´s the Mutant Island in the Giant Size Xmen#1, the Brood (one of my favorite Xmen-storylines) and the giant carcass they live in, the alien worlds in that storyline, the Starjammers (again a great looking team) and who could forget, well, one of the most famous storylines of the entire superhero-universe (Marvel AND DC and others): The Dark Phoenix-Saga - with artwork by Dave Cockrum and John Byrne.
So one of the most important artists of the superhero-universe has passed away, and apparently that´s not that important for the general media, despite the success of the Xmen-movies and his influence on their look, even with their abandonment of the costumes and the casting of Halle Berry (and crappy hairdressers). It´s just sad.

friends will be friends

2006-12-13T04:50:00.000-08:00

somehow i have a feeling that i know a few people who can relate to this strip, not just this individual one, but the entire "Butternutsquash"-series:-))))

textual healing: Poeticus

2006-12-13T02:41:00.000-08:00

when I get that feeling
I want textual healing...

...with "Poeticus" von Christian Senksis

Bei mir sind es "Tagträume" und die Antriebslosigkeit sich einfach mal hinzusetzen, und ...zu...schreiben...
Nach einem Einstieg, der zwar gut geschrieben ist (Satz für Satz), aber etwas langatmig ist, schraubt Christian das Tempo an. Sobald sich die Figur zu einer Karriere/"Berufung" zum Poeticus entschieden hat, hat der Rest des Textes etwas Atemloses: die Atemlosigkeit der überbordenden Phantasie, die Ideenüberflutung - das kennt wohl jeder, der versucht kreativ zu sein; genauso kennt wohl jeder dieses "VERSUCHT kreativ zu sein" - es ist deprimierend.
Und genau das ist es, warum ich eine Ähnlichkeit zu den anderen Geschichten gesehen habe - sicherlich: hier geht es nicht um einen Kleinbürger, der aus seinem Alltag ausbricht, und daran dann scheitert - stattdessen geht es um einen Akademiker, einen Criticus (aka Poeticus diaboli), einen Freigeist, der an die Grenzen seines freien Geistes stößt, der aus SEINEM Alltag ausbrechen will - und daran scheitert! Während Herr Sendemann (aus "Erschöpfergeist") "Ideen" hat, die wenig mit "richtiger" Kreativität zu tun haben, hat der Poeticus beim Versuch "richtig" kreativ zu sein keine Ideen, nur um dann von seinem Unterbewusstsein die lange Nase gezeigt zu bekommen. Das Interessante an Christians Stil ist, dass diese Schreibblockade so atemlos beschrieben wird, genauso wie die Träume, dennoch sind diese Ideen alle nichts besnderes - ich weiss nicht ob er bewusst schwammig ist, aber es passt einfach, das der Poeticus solche Allgemeinplätze wie "Einblicke in dieses und jenes, sowie Erkenntnisse über jenes und dieses" besetzen will. Höchstwahrscheinlich scheitert er gerade am Anspruch der Welt Zeilen und Verse schenken zu wollen, "wie sie noch nicht gelesen worden waren."

textual healing: Unter blauem Himmel

2006-12-13T01:44:00.000-08:00

when I get that feeling
i want textual healing...

...with "Unter blauem Himmel" von Christian Senksis

Es kusenbergt mal wieder sehr. Von allen seinen Geschichten ist diese hier denen von Kurt Kusenberg am ähnlichsten - was aber nicht bedeuten soll, sie wäre abgekupfert. Christian hat seinen eigenen Stil: Er ist im besten und vielleicht wahrsten Sinn des Wortes ein Phrasendrescher. Er nimmt einen Frasmus (;-) wie den vom auf den Kopf fallenden Himmel und spielt mit ihm, nimmt ihn wörtlich, nimmt ihn auseinander und setzt ihn wieder anders zusammen - et voila: eine neue Geschichte. Diese Sprachspielerei und die Bildhaftigkeit - und natürlich seine Gedichte - stärken in mir die Vermutung, dass er sogar besser im Reich der Poesie aufgehoben ist, als im Reich der Prosa. Zumindest sollte er noch mehr Gedichte schreiben. Es wird Zeit, dass ich mich an diese heranwage - allerdings könnte es sein, dass ich dabei den kritischen Boden unter den Füssen verliere.

uuhhhuhuhuuhhuhu...

2006-12-08T10:42:00.000-08:00

he said va-guy-na...huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhu...

retrieved from the webcomic "rob & elliot" by clay and hampton yount.

textual healing: Dyfunktionales Glücksbärchi

2006-12-04T04:25:00.001-08:00

when I get that feeling
I want textual healing...

with "Dysfuntionales Glücksbärchi" von Beate Schulz

Ich habe mich entschlossen, auch essayistische und journalistische Literatur in diese Rubrik aufzunehmen. Ich verbringe schliesslich nicht nur mehr Zeit damit so etwas ähnliches zu fabrizieren, ich lese ich auch mehr in diesen Genres. Ich werde versuchen nicht einfach jeden informationellen Artikel zu behandeln, sondern Texte, die eine starke persönliche Färbung vermuten lassen und stilistisch nicht so trocken und nüchtern sind wie wir es leider in der Schule lernen. Es gibt so vieles zu lesen, dass mehr Zwecke erfüllt als nur neutral und nüchtern zu informieren, und vieles davon ist gar nicht fiktional, belletristisch oder herkömmlich "literarisch": Glossen, Kritiken, Essays, Kolumnen, manchmal auch Reportagen, Portraits und auch Nachrufe.
Der folgende Texte von Beate, ist ein bisschen Reportage, da sie offensichtlich viel Zeit damit verbracht hat diese dämlichen Tests zu machen - was sie sicherlich mit viel Enthusiasmus und Neugierde getan hat - jetzt hat sie aber auch den Grund, die Rechtfertigung, diese Tests zu Recherchezwecken gemacht zu haben. Alles in allem ein sehr lustiger Text, der sehr schön die Absurdität des ganzen unterstreicht indem er die Ergebnisse aufzählt und miteinander kontrastiert. Einziges Manko: Der Livejournal-Teil interessiert nicht wirklich, hier wird der Text fast schon wieder zu einem informationellen, wäre schön gewesen wenn sie einfach weiter gemacht hätte mit der Aufzählung - leider muss ja ein gewisser Kontext gegeben werden, außerdem sind wahrscheinlich auch die Konstriktionen der Publikation dafür verantwortlich, die sich offensichtlich nicht so sehr feuilletonistisch sieht. Und letzten Endes ist dieser Kontext ja auch wichtig, da es ja quasi um "psychologische" Selbstentblößung im Internet geht - Tamagotchi des Kolumbus, fürwahr.

everything i know about music i learned watching beavis and butthead

2006-11-30T00:40:00.000-08:00

vanilla ice under pressure

i had a weird experience a few days ago - i just realized how weird it was:
i was at a public place that had a radio on: then famous intro to ice ice baby/under pressure started, i was delighted at the prospect of hearing vanilla ice on the radio nowadays - then david bowie started singing, and i was actually disapponted!!!!!!
i repeat: DISAPPOINTED at getting to hear "under pressure" instead of "ice ice, baby".
now, i´m not a total music disafficionado: i repeatedly get goose bumps when hearing the original: i´m a fan of queen - i didn´t get into bowie as of now, but what i know i like: great voice, great lyrics, great charisma, great personality. and one of the best uses of any kind of pop music in any movie occurs in "grosse point blank" when john cusack looks at the baby and the baby smiles at him all the while "under pressure" is playing - great great scene - because of the use of "under pressure"! but still: i guess "ice ice baby" tickles me more out of nostalgic reasons: it was part of the soundtrack of my life, "under pressure" wasn´t a natural track on the o.s.t. of my life, it´s one of the classics that you find you love, not as part of your life, but as acqired taste.

so sad you want to...

2006-11-28T12:16:00.000-08:00

...smile...out...loud...??!!
*SOL*

cute...

2006-11-28T02:50:00.000-08:00

there´s an article on the webcomics examiner about the so called "new cute". it mentions the work of dan goodsell as prime example of the new cute. and looking at this image, well the subject matter isn´t cute, but still...cute...it brought a smile to my face:-)

anderweitig veröffentlicht (von mir): "I link, therefore I am!"

2006-11-25T05:16:00.000-08:00

der text wird in der dezemberausgabe der philtrat veröffentlicht. wer weiss wieviel dann noch übrig ist. diese version wurde nur von beate redigiert. wahrscheinlich sind noch kleine fehler drin - aber bestimmt weniger als in der endgültigen fassung...irgendwie geraten immer wieder neue fehler in tausendmal korrekturgelesene texte...

also:

@Ü_1:„I link, therefore I am!”
@Ü_2:
@T_0:In Gordon McAlpines Webcomic “Multiplex”, Ausgabe #32, überlegt ein Teil des Kinopersonals nach Feierabend “Grandma´s Boy“, einen Film über einen Computerspieltester, anzusehen. Stattdessen nutzen sie aber die technischen Möglichkeiten des Kinos, um ein Spiel auf der großen Leinwand zu erleben. Das letzte Panel des Strips zeigt sie in der ersten Reihe sitzend mit lautstarker Begeisterung spielen. Dieses eine Bild beschreibt ziemlich treffend den Reiz der drei Formen der visuellen Narrativik: die Interaktivität der Computerspiele, die überwältigende ästhetische Erfahrung des Kinos, die Konzentration komplexer Vorgänge in simple Bilder und das kommunale Ereignis, das alle drei sein können.
@T:Trotz des Images der sozialen Inkompetenz, Eigenbrötelei und emotionalen Distanz, das die Fans dieser drei Kunstformen immer noch haben - und das jedes Mal, wenn ein junger Mensch Amok läuft, von Politikern wieder aufgewärmt wird - ist ein großer Teil dieser sogenannten Nerds oder Geeks eingebunden in vielgestaltige subkulturelle Strukturen. Netzwerkpartys, Fanzines, Festivals, Conventions, Kinobesuch mit der eigenen Clique und Fachgeschäfte als Treffpunkte sind einige der Varianten „realen“ Kontakt zu anderen Fans zu haben. Das Internet erweitert das Spektrum der Möglichkeiten auf eine globale Ebene.
Dieser Umstand und die vielen Schnittstellen der einzelnen Subkulturen (Fantasyfans zum Beispiel spielen, lesen und sehen die entsprechenden Spiele, Comics und Filme) sind das perfekte Fundament für das schnelle Wachsen einer inzwischen schon sehr vielfältigen Webcomic-Kultur.
Nach Vorläufern im Usenet und den Anfängen des Internet wie zum Beispiel „Where the Bufallo roam“ und „The Polymer City Chronicles“ erschien 1995 mit Charley Parkers
„Argon Zark!“ der erste wahre Webcomic. Im Gegensatz zu den Vorläufern – und vielen aktuellen Comics – wurde er am Computer hergestellt, und nicht analog gezeichnet und dann eingescannt. Vorerst wurde er nur im Internet publiziert, hatte also nicht seinen Ursprung in Printmedien, und thematisierte das Internet, indem der Held sich ins Cyberspace transportieren konnte und Abenteuer im virtuellen Wunderland erlebte. Das Motto des Comics ist: „I link, therefore I am!“. Charley Parker passte das Seitenformat dem horizontalen Format des Computerbildschirms an und nutzte verschiedene Multimediaanwendungen, zum Beispiel animierte Elemente im “statischen” Strip. Es folgten schnell weitere Comics, die das große Potential ausloteten: Musik, die sogenannte „unendliche Leinwand“ (engl.: infinite Canvas), kontroverse Inhalte, die man sonst nur aus den Undergroundcomix kannte, herkömmliche Gagstrips und komplexe, langfristige Storylines. Neben den vielen Genres der Printcomics, die auch im Internet weiterhin beliebt sind, wie zum Beispiel Strips mit anthropomorphen Tieren („Kevin and Kell), entwickelten sich recht schnell sehr fanspezifische Comics, die es so in Printform nicht gibt. Zu den bekannteren gehören Comics über Gamer, wie „PvP“ oder Filmkritik-Comics, wie „Theater Hopper“, „Popcorn Picnic“ und eben „Multiplex“.
Das lässt sich wohl damit erklären, dass das Internet jedem Menschen mit einem Computer mit Internetanschluss ermöglicht seine Meinung kundzutun. Genauso kann jeder der meint zeichnen zu können, einen Comic veröffentlichen. Und da die meisten User Fans sind und es sich anbietet Comics über etwas zu machen womit man sich auskennt, kommentieren die genannten Comics eben nicht nur Spiele und Filme, sondern auch mit einer großen Prise Ironie die Lebensstile und die klischeehaften Eigenschaften der Zielgruppe der Gleichgesinnten. Dadurch wird in den besten Fällen („Multiplex“, „Popcorn Picnic“) das Publikum und die Industrie (Rezipienten und Produzenten) unter die so witzige wie treffende Lupe genommen.
Ebenso schnell wie die Kunstform selbst entwickelte sich auch eine Infrastruktur der Distribution und des Austauschs. „Verlage“ wie Keenspot, webzines wie der Webcomics Examiner, Foren wie Comixpedia begannen den KünstlerInnen und den KonsumentInnen eine Plattform zu bieten, was zu einer beispielhaften Kommunikation zwischen beiden Parteien führte, die es in den Printmedien nicht in diesem Ausmaß gibt. Die meisten Künstler haben auf ihren eigenen Seiten Message Boards und Blogs. Tom Brazelton, der Macher des „Theater Hopper“-Strips über einen Filmfan und seine Frau und Freunde, schreibt korrespondierend mit dem jeweiligen Strip auch noch eine kleine Kritik. Es gibt Merchandising-Artikel auf den Seiten und Links zu den Lieblingscomics der einzelnen AutorInnen. Außerdem wird, wenn die eigentliche MacherInnen aus irgendwelchen Gründen eine Pause einlegen, diese Zeit überbrückt mit Gaststrips der befreundeten KünstlerInnen, oder Charaktere aus dem einen Comic tauchen im anderen auf.
Die Kehrseite des Ganzen ist, wie meistens im Netz, die monetäre Seite. Die meisten Künstler veröffentlichen ihre Strips nebenher, weil es kaum möglich ist seinen Lebensunterhalt mit frei zugänglichen Comics zu bestreiten, selbst mit einer Kombination der verschiedenen Finanzierungsmodelle: Spenden (evtl. in Form von Micropayments), Merchandising, meist selbstverlegte Printkollektionen, durch Abonnement beschränkter Zugang zu Archiven und Spezialstrips, Werbung auf der Seite etc.
Dennoch kommt die Webcomicgemeinde näher an die Verwirklichung des „global village“-Gedankens der modernen Multimediawelt heran als alles andere. Die Kunstform Comic war schon immer kommunaler und demokratischer als Literatur, Film oder gar die Bildende Kunst und Musik. Von Anfang an als Gebrauchskunst“ für die zeitungslesenden Massen gedacht meist in Teamarbeit produziert von mehrköpfigen Studios, am Frühstückstisch von der ganzen Familie gelesen, in Heften gesammelt auf Schulhöfen hin- und hergetauscht, behandelten Comics häufig auch inhaltlich Gemeinschaften. Ob Superheldengruppen, die Kinder um Charlie Brown, das kleine unbeugsame, gallische Dorf oder Schlumpfhausen – Freundschaft, Kommunikation, Gruppenzugehörigkeit und Teamwork sind wichtiger in Comics als in Romanen mit ihren Ich-Erzählern und Gedichten mit ihren lyrischen Ichs.
So scheint die Synergie der Comics mit dem globalen Kommunikationsmedium Internet eine natürliche Evolutionsstufe zu sein hin zu einer Globalisierung fernab von Imperialismus und Konzernökonomie.
@T_AU:Thomas Hemsley

conservative concerns

2006-11-22T21:11:00.000-08:00

what michael richards did, certainly wasn´t good, but where this michael savage gets the idea that a ranting comedian at a comedy club is representative of liberals is just ridiculous. but he´s right - damn those liberals for hating straight, catholic soldiers with a few jews on the side - i mean straights really are being treated bad in our gay society, and those poor catholics truly are a minority that have been held down and oppressed and killed for thousands of years - oh no, those were the jews, the catholics were on the other side of that err "relationship". and those poor soldiers are being killed because liberals say hateful things about them, NOT because a conservative government sent them to war.
i don´t know if it is funny or tragic...

textual healing: Von Kopf bis Fuss

2006-11-21T09:51:00.000-08:00

when i get that feeling
i want textual healing...

...with "Von Kopf bis Fuß" by Christian Senksis

"Der einströmende Wind erweckte die Lunge zu neuem Leben, gleichzeitig aber fraß er die Wärme des Raumes und schied sie als Frieren auf der Haut wieder aus." - Frieren ist hier mal wortwörtlich Scheiße. Der ganze Text ist im Grunde genommen eine Aneinanderreihung solcher Bilder - ich würde ja gerne sagen er übertreibt es diesmal mit seinem Sprachspieltrieb, aber ich gestehe: Ich bin Antialkoholiker - wahrscheinlich ist der Morgen nach einem Rausch nicht nur von Kopfschmerzen geprägt, sondern auch von einer sagen wir mal rauschhaften Wahrnehmung - die ihren Ausdruck hier selbst im Stil wiederfindet. Diese Theorie wird noch durch kursorisches Lesen von Raymond Chandler oder Charles Bukowski - beides bekanntermaßen alte Säufer vor dem Herren - bestätigt.
Die Chandler´schen Metaphern und Similes sind ja legendär, und schon allein Bukowskis Titel sprechen Bände.
Was mich erschreckt ist, dass ich vieles doch wiedererkenne (Biosphären im benutzten Geschirr - die verschiedenen Farben der Schimmelpilzkulturen - hach, Erinnerungen;-)
Ich bin mir nicht sicher ob die Erzählperspektive richtig ist: Erstens ist die mehrmalige Bezeichnung als Untoter irgendwie, ich weiss nicht: Wiederholungsfehler??
Und zweitens wäre die "Entfremdung" zwischen Gehirn-Selbst-Körper-Umgebung etwas wirkungsvoller wenn wir einen Ich-Erzähler hätten - zumal dann die "rauschhaften" Beschreibungen noch mehr zur Geltung kämen.
Was ich, v.a. im Hinblick auf das Ende, interessant finde ist die thematische Geschlossenheit zwischen einigen Geschichten. Man könnte folgende Geschichten in folgender Reihenfolge fast schon als Serie sehen: "Von Kopf bis Fuß" - "Rückkehr ausgeschlossen" - "Erschöpfergeist" - "Poeticus" - "Ein langer Weg" ("RA" vielleicht auch vor "ELW"). "Streitbar" wäre auch nicht ab vom Schuss. Alle verhandeln sie den Alltagstrott von meist "einfachen", kleinbürgerlichen Menschen, die verschiedene Auswege aus dem Alltag nehmen, sich quasi einen Alltagstritt in den Hintern geben, aber meistens an sich selbst oder sonst was scheitern. Als letzte Geschichte würde "Unter blauem Himmel" dem ganzen noch das Sahnehäubchen aufsetzen, indem das "Himmel-auf-den-Kopf-fallen" und "Boden-unter-den-Füßen-verlieren" auf apokalyptische Weise wörtlich genommen wird.
Auch wenn diese Thematik hier noch nicht ausgearbeitet ist, steckt ihr Keim als Vorausschau im letzten Absatz schon drin. Wenn die Geschichten verschiedene Lebensalter beschreiben würde dies in folgender mit obiger Reihenfolge korrespondierender Reihenfolge (aua) geschehen: Anfang 20 (Studium) - erste Krise Anfang/Mitte dreißig - kurz danach bis Ende dreißig - ähnlich wie "EG" - Midlifecrisis, bzw. teils abgefunden mit Kleinbürgerschicksal

shades of truth

2006-11-20T15:41:00.000-08:00

warren ellis has written something about sunglasses/shades here.
at the end he says something about the semiotics of shades, and then basically dismisses the thought.
but i think it´s a great if somewhat short post.
if the csi guys really call caruso´s sunglasses the "sunglasses of justice" - well, there sees to be precedent to that according to the wikipedia-post on sunglasses:

Contemporary documents describe the use of such glasses by judges in Chinese courts to conceal their facial expressions while questioning witnesses. Compare the representation of "blind Justice" in Western art.

i always loved john carpenter´s movie "they live" - especially because of the idea of seeing the truth through these sunglasses - the sunglasses of truth! that also explains the legendary fight scene, where the two main protagonists beat each other to bloody pulps, because our main hero wants his soon-to-be partner to PUT ON SUNGLASSES, and he REFUSES TO PUT ON SUNGLASSES. on the surface this scene is completely absurd - but i think it´s more an absurdist allegory on what lengths people will go to to avoid, deny, refuse seeing the truth.
if i were a teacher of cultural theory, i´d use this movie and its "sunglasses of truth" as metaphor for what cultural theories are all about - seeing the/a truth beneath the surface: put on the "gender theorie shades" and you see "the truth" about gender constructions in art, put on the "psychoanalyst shades" and you see the variations of the oedipal myth in culture etc etc. that, of course, is only a crude simplification, but it should get us through an "introduction to cultural theory 101". the emotional detachment sunglasses bring are mandatory for theoretical work, not being blinded by flashy fireworks of artists is necessary, and also, in all honesty, using a singular theory might also taint what you see.
with regard to the gender thing, or more precisely feminism: sunglasses are also perfect for the voyeur and the male gaze - one can look at...errr...people without them seeing in what direction our eyes are looking. to be fair: women can size men up (and down) as well. but voyeurism is usually a more masculine "preoccupation", i guess...

textual healing: Styx´ Delta

2006-11-17T05:41:00.000-08:00

One of the many advantages of having talented people as best friends is that one often has to read things one would normally decline to read - only to realize what one would be missing - it´s liberating and opens up a whole new world of artistic appreciation.
Beate´s "Styx` Delta" should be in Creative Writing or just plain Literary Studies textbooks, as prime example of the use of body parts: as symbol, as observational details, as triggers of memories/flashbacks, as possibilities for sensuous and sensual descriptions laden with meaning. Also it could just be there as prime example of a fully realized concept - I dare not say "short story" as it manages to condense an entire relationship into a few scenes full of well-observed details, and the hand is always present, without it being a case of "Ohmygod, we got it already: hands are great". Just watch the hands of people you meet, or try to be aware of your hands in action - not just Italians talk with their hands. Everyone tries to keep their hands occupied, usually unconciously; everyone uses them to stress what they´re saying.
This is more a prose-poem about death, memories and relationships than a short story - and I´m not saying these things out of encouraging friendship - I´ve had my editorial gripes, reading it just now, I found minor mistakes, but they can be so easily corrected as to make this part of the critique completely useless after a short readthrough.
So here goes:
when i get that feeling
i want textual healing...

...with

Styx' Delta by Beate Schulz

She thought she would always recognize his hands. Would she, really? Even if they were cut off like gorilla paws they made ashtrays of, if they were lying in a pile of other dirty, pale hands? Like an Arabian souvenir bazaar: the latest hands cut off some barbarian thieves. Would she recognize his hands even then? Once they had examined the ornaments their veins formed at their wrists and imagined of which river they could be a delta. Did Styx have a delta?
They had read a children's book together- he adored children's books - and in this one book the heroes had to cross Styx to continue their journey through the underworld and the shore was full of bones. And they used the bones to build a raft and maybe they used the hands to join the larger bones. She remembered falling asleep while he read on, casting her last half -awake look at his fingers, moving away from her, even more slender and white than usual . . .
Sometimes when she woke up at night she put her hand on his. He always slept on his back, his hands on his breast or stomach and she lay her palm on the back of his hand. Her fingers were so much shorter, they barely reached the last joints of his and she couldn't even trick a few millimetres with her nails, because he liked her to keep them short, he said that everything else about her reminded him of a cat, she didn't need to have the claws of a cat either. He always smiled in his sleep when she crossed her fingers with his, a pattern of okker and alabaster bound together under a dim night light.
Maybe she would be able to stop her lids from fluttering if she concentrated hard enough and focused her eyes on - nothing. Anyway she had never understood the fuss everybody made about the eyes, windows to the soul, when you want to know the truth about somebody look him in the eyes, fiddlededee. Anatomically speaking, which he did a lot while watching splatter movies, they can be easily replaced by empty balls of glass and most of the time watching Columbo they spent on guessing which one was the real eye. Maybe she should try to concentrate on something else than murder series.
When he was concentrated she could easily trace the movements of his thoughts by the position of his left hand. First when he tried to get hold of the principle structure behind a problem his hand was clawed on the table, the palm pressed flat against the mahogany, the fingers bending in arches like croquet hoops so that the skin tightened above the joints and dimples showed at the knuckles. And when his "academic's block" broke, the fingers knocked rhythmically on the wood in an exact wave. The finale of a thesis was marked by a hard hit with the flat hand catching a historical fly. If it proved to be the wrong fly his notes didn't end up as targets for one of those basketball-paper-baskets. Instead he mocked himself by folding them into little origami geese or blind pecking chickens, sometimes showing his teeth in a morbid grin while handing them over to her.
During the time of his ‚courtship' he sometimes delighted in embarrassing her in restaurants by ordering in the manner of favourite movie characters, doing a nonchalant Cary Grant, scary Boris Karloff or cynical Clark Gable. But that wasn't the worst of it; by the time he knew he had won her over, he occasionally criticised the food by dying over it - completely in character. When she blushed he tried to cheer her up ‚Honey I promise never to die in a restaurant'.
Although they loved the cinema - the big-screen multiplexes and the cosy velvet-curtain theatres - they preferred to watch their favourite movies at home. Multi-video binges with at least four videos, sometimes fighting fierce wars with popcorn and other candy missiles over the remote control. But they always finished with a movie they both liked; he leaned back on the broad sofa while she used his belly as a cushion, her head sensing the slight up and down in the rhythm of his breath. Occasionally she got tired over the last few scenes, but he never allowed her to miss 'the end'. He kept her awake, tickling the well of her palm, nibbling and kissing the base of her thumb. Mount Venus as a palm-reader had called it.
Her mother had introduced her to that palm-reader, pompous git and so of the track with every prophecy. She relied on his physiognomy and believed she could figure a person's character by feeling the lines of his or her skull and cheekbones, but he never held still to let her trace them, therefore she foresaw that he would definitely make her unhappy. And again down in the drenches, new round of fighting when her mother would tell her she was right after all. Screaming, hurting, blaming, the whole range of outrage-repertoire, hurting and comfortingly distracting.
Whenever she had one of her stormy tempers he used to sit in an armchair, a pillar of calmness and tender irony, grinning, hands folded in his lap, twiddling the thumbs, waiting for her to let it all out and then stop her ‚rumperstilzchen-look-alikes', as he called her outrages. It was different if they had real quarrels, then he jammed his fists in his pockets stemming his own fury and pain. Afterwards he usually retreated to his work-bench, carving, mending or building furniture. She could feel the calluses on the cushions of his palm when he caressed her after their reconciliations. Absolution came at night, when he laid his hand on her cheek, a wrinkle showing at the fork of his thumb as it gently stroked a wrinkle at her eye. A smile in his voice as he mocked himself,quoting ‚Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn'. Not anymore.
She didn't know what she expected when she finally dared to touch his hand. Maybe the reassuring warmth and the vivid pulse of his delta, although she knew better. At least it wasn't dreadful, only peculiar - cold and wobbly like a cooled down hot-water-bottle - with a familiar surface of fine hairs and meandering veins. She lay her palm on the back of his hand, crossing her fingers with his, a pattern of dried clay and washed-out atlas loosely held under a neon-light. She did not look at his face when she drew the linen over the strange hand and left.

textual healing: Ein langer Weg

2006-11-17T05:34:00.000-08:00

when i get that feeling
i want textual healing...

...with "Ein langer Weg" von Christian Senksis

Es ist schon irgendwie erschreckend, dass die unsympathischsten Charaktere dem kritischen Geist in uns am nächsten sind. Seien es regelrechte Psychopathen wie Patrick Bateman aus "American Psycho" oder John Doe aus "Seven" oder einfach nur cholerische Spiesser wie John Cleeses komödiantisches Meisterwerk Fawlty aus "Fawlty Towers", solche Charaktere haben etwas gemeinsam: Man möchte sie nicht im Bekanntenkreis haben, aber man kommt nicht an den Wahrheiten vorbei, die sie aussprechen.
Genauso geht es mir mit dieser Geschichte: Städte sind wirklich dreckig, laut, unsicher, voller Unfreundlichkeit und Vereinzelung. Ob man nun aus Vororten, Kleinstädten, vom Lande oder mitten aus dem Herzen des Molochs kommt, irgendwann geht es wohl jedem so wie diesem fiktiven Charakter. Dennoch ist er ein kleingeistiger, langweiliger Spießer, mit dem ich nicht vorm Fernseher sitzen will, dem ich aber immer wieder begegne - in der Arbeit, in der Bahn, vielleicht doch im Bekanntenkreis, aber vor allem vor dem Fernseher, wenn der Bildschirm mal dunkel ist und ich meine Spiegelung sehe...

textual healing: Communication Breakdown

2006-11-15T23:57:00.000-08:00

originally the heading "textual healing" was supposed to be for literature by others, but since this was never pulished, not even on a message board, and in fact it was lost for a while, i´ll publish it under that heading - also: it is not entirely mine. it was a collaborative effort with my best friend and muse beate. gosh, the memories: this was an exercise in creative writing class, i think something to do with narratorial perspective...that term was the best cw-class, even better than the one that gave birth to "the importance of being pretentious". great group, great exercises, great fragments;-) i still have two stories in the making that were spawned in that class. the theme was ovid´s "metamorphosis". i haven´t read the whole damn thing...yet...errr...i got so hung up on the "narcissos and echo"-myth - whatever that says about me:-/
one of the fragments is also a variation on that myth, but the other one is "pygmalion", although the narcissos-thing is more urgent - look closely and you will see it in "the importance of being pretentious" as well - it´s actually pretty obvious - so go ahead and psychoanalyze me - you sure as hell won´t find any oedipus around here: never knew my father, didn´t have to kill him, hate my mother. and i actually think the narcissos-myth is more accurate and pertinent and useful for the analysis of our culture. but that is beside the point for now.

so here goes:
when i get that feeling
i want textual healing...

...with:

Communication Breakdown
By Thomas Hemsley and Beate Schulz

NARCISSUS I look into the water. There I see a beautiful man. I smile. The man smiles back. What a lovely smile. I bow down. H ecomes nearer, too. I draw back, he does, too. Have I frightened him? Who is this man? I ask him: „Who are you?“ He says something, too, but I can’t hear anything. I ask again: „Who are you?“ Again I can see his lips move, but can’t hear anything. I ask him again, slowly and try to pay attention to his lips, maybe I can see what he’s saying: „Who . . . are . . . you?“ I’m not sure, but I think his lips formed the words „Who are you?“. I ask him : “Are you talking to me?“ I look around. „Are you talking to me? You must be, there is nobody else here. Could you speak up, I can‘t hear you.“ Again he has said something. But what? I ask him again who he is and reach out to point at him. He does likewise. As our fingers touch one another, his image is blurred and I reach through his blurred image into the watery void.
REFLECTION Oh my god, is he still trying to touch me? They shoud’ve learned by now that we are not made to be touched. I mean, I get so wobbled up every time his clumsy fingers poke through the surface. It ruins my outline and I hate to do that dumb grimace he makes when he’s astonished and disappointed again. It gets exhausting to mimique those grotesque faces he makes to „study“ his features in every boring detail. The sole fun of teasing him by pointing back at him has worn out for ages. Doesn’t this guy have a bladder so that he will retreat to the bushes and leave me a rest of at least 5 minutes? Well, he’s getting skinny anyway and I can already count his rips, so he won’t make it much longer and I will have my peace again.
ECHO Now I can come near him and watch him watch himself. Now I see more of him than a shadow. Now I am a shadow. He won’t even feel my breath and my presence is like a gentle breeze when I bend over his shoulder. The shadow of my love still caring, the shadow of my hand still caressing. Following his as they’re longing, drawing the lines of his reflection above the surface of the water, both inches and aeons apart from the one we love.
NARCISSUS There must be someone else around. What is he looking at. He seems to be looking at me, and somehow he doesn’t. What does he see? There’s just me. I look around. Nothing. I poke into the air. Nothing. Nothing else but me and the forrest about me. Not even the essence of a trace of a breeze of a shadow of the presence of any kind of existence. Pure void. The nothingness of a voidity per se is there without myself. And within myself. Nothing but my outward appearance.
DEER I know, you humans think deers are majestic but stupid. But when I bow down to the water I drink it, let me tell you that. I don’t look into it for hours. I mean, what does he see there anyway? O. k., my eyes aren’t that good, but all I see is water. But this guy seems to see something worth looking at for hours. And he doesn’t seem to realize this spirit that is trying to get his attention. What is she doing anyway? Whispering into his ear and stroking his hair all the time. They definitely have some kind of communication malfunction. What is she doing now? Hopping around him, waving, even bumping him? Is it pairing time for you humans or what? Well, it doesn’t seem to work. When I do that, you can be sure, I get laid and reproduce my race. But all he does is staring into the pond, and she tries to get his attention. Well, you humans don’t seem to be very bright. And majestic you definitely aren’t at all.

GHOST She is such a young ghost, so vulnerable and fragile. And so bound to earth, to the life she left and to this statue and his reflection whose shadow she still is. He is embraced by her, covered with sparkles, like sunbeams that reflect on the water and on him. And he ignores her like he did when she was alive. When he is gone she should be able to turn loose. Then she will learn how to materialze either as an image they call halluzination when they don’t want to admit our existence or as a gentle voice. When he is gone.

otherwise published (by me): The Importance of Being Pretentious

2006-11-15T02:16:00.000-08:00

well, that´s not exactly correct, unless one counts publication on the message boards of a creative writing website. alas, here goes something i wrote, using a character created by someone else.
it caused quite a controversy in creative writing class. it has even been called pornographic - whatever...
what it is is masturbatory. one fellow student even ventured the idea that the whole peace seems to be a masturbation fantasy. it wasn´t intended as such, but he has a point.
whatever anyone thinks of it, i had fun writing it:-))
here goes a critique bei christian - in german. since i want reviews/critiques of texts on this site, and not just texts or links, and i didn´t want to review my own text, i asked if he would be so kind - and he was:-) :

Ich habe es damals abgelehnt, den Text auf meiner Seite zu veröffentlichen, weil er mir dafür zu explizit war. Angesichts der Tatsache, dass ich auch minderjährige Schüler und etwas zugeknöpfte Erwachsene zu den Besuchern zählen musste, schienen mir Kamerafahrten vom Schritt einer Frau durch ihre Titten zum Gesicht gepaart Masturbation usw. nicht unbedingt adäquate Bilder zu zeichnen. Das soll aber nichts über die eigentliche Qualität des Textes aussagen. Man könnte ihn nämlich auch anders als "anstößig" beschreiben: "Brachial offen" ist das erste, was mir dann in den Sinn kommt. Dabei ist mit brachial nicht plump gemeint, denn die Offenheit kommt durchaus nicht unkompliziert daher. Da ist dieser Großkotz, für den der Schein mehr als das Sein zählt, der seinen nicht unerheblichen Intellekt in jeder Sekunde manipulativ einsetzt, um letzten Endes mit einer völlig generischen Frau die schnelle Nummer zu schieben. So weit so einfach - wir lassen uns ein wenig beeindrucken von seiner aufgesetzten Art und vergnügen uns ein wenig damit, über ihn zu urteilen. Bloß ausgerechnet vor dem Hintergrund seiner anfänglichen Motive erreicht er über den Sex eine geradezu buddhistische Erleuchtung. Wir wollen uns davon mitziehen lassen, aber der weitere Verlauf lässt uns mit voller Absicht auflaufen. Die Erkenntnis, das Aufgehen in sich selber zerplatzt in dem Erwachen aus dieser, wie wir nun erfahren, Masturbationsphantasie. Die Realität enttäuscht. Und weil gerade erst auf den Zug mitaufgesprungen waren, erwischt uns das Gefühl gleich mit. Nicht dass wir über den Text enttäuscht wären, sondern wir fühlen uns in unserer eigenen Realität ein bisschen wie der vermeintliche Großkotz: jämmerlich. Wir hoffen darauf, uns ein wenig darin suhlen zu können, aber das Ende hat erneut anderes und macht aus der Gesamterfahrung eine Inspirationsquelle in der sich alles großartig anfühlt. Gemeinheit! ;o)
Interessant wäre es jetzt zu sehen, was gefühlstechnisch nach dem Auf und Ab bei den einzelnen Lesern hängen bleibt - mir ist es eine düstere Form der Einsamkeit, die sie aber gar nicht sein müsste, wie ich annehme. Vielleicht ist auch die vage Vermutung, dass aus allem etwas wachsen kann, was vorher nicht da war - vielleicht auch einfach nur, dass nichts echt ist.
Man muss das nicht mögen, aber mir persönlich gefällt's.
Dabei will ich nicht verschweigen, dass mir drei Kleinigkeiten nicht so hunderprotzentig gefallen:
Zunächst einmal der Umgang mit ein paar Namen. Klar, der entsteht aus der Umgebung durch die anderen Geschichten des Creative Writing Kurses, die allesamt das gleiche Grundsetting benutzen und somit eine Anthologie erzeugen. Aber ich kenne die anderen Geschichten nicht und daher habe ich das Gefühl, dass hier und da ein paar Namen auftauchen, die an anderer Stelle (also in einer anderen Geschichte) erläutert werden. Es irritiert außerhalb des Zusammenhangs beispielsweise, dass wir uns ausgerechnet in einem russischen Dorf befinden.
Das zweite wären die appendix guys: Im Prinzip sind sie ja ganz witzig angelegt und sreicheln natürlich wunderbar das Überlegenheitsgefühl des Protagonisten, aber meiner Meinung nach wurde bei Ihnen ein wenig zu dick aufgetragen. Eigentlich sind sie ja nur stupide Beinicker, doch dafür ist ihr Wortanteil fast ein bisschen zu groß. Wenn es heißt: "Jesus, if this guy were a Times New Roman Word-file he´d be in size 18, fat print, underlined – saying: I DON´T UNDERSTAND A WORD YOU´RE SAYING!!!", dann wirkt das fast wie eine Leseanleitung, dabei ist ja völlig klar, dass der Protagonist ein Gehirnbomber ist, der ein paar Hohlfrüchten gegenüber steht.
Der dritte Punkt wäre das Ende oder besser gesagt die Formulierung am Ende: "I jump onto the window sill of my open window and greet the morning – which has sprinkled the horizon with a blazing inferno of clouds – in the most gloriously sublime way possible." - das mutet mir doch etwas kitschiger an als es müsste.
Aber sei's drum, das ist alles nicht tragisch und beeinflusst nicht das wesentliche...
Nebenbei bemerkt, nach Deinem Kommentar zu "Von Kopf bis Fuß" und meinem abermaligen Lesen dieser Geschichte fühle ich mich meinerseits tatsächlich thematisch an deinen alten Text: "Der Geschichtenerzähler" erinnert. Der Geschichtenerzähler baut sich ja ebenfalls eine Art Fassade auf und landet darüber in einer unangenehmen Leere - nur dass ihm der manipulative Charakter fehlt, wenn ich mich richtig erinnere, und es für ihn nach der Leere nicht den mentalen Sonnenaufgang gibt...

The Importance of Being Pretentious
by Thomas Hemsley

Damn it´s hard to look as if you didn´t give a damn about how you look.
I could always really not give a damn, of course – but then I´d look like a bum. No, No – I want to make some kind of impression without seeming as if I´d spent hours in front of a mirror.
Let´s see: I´ve taken a shower, washed and combed my hair, shaven my face a bit (just so much as to not look too clean shaven), put on my coolest shabby-looking clothes, sprayed a bit of deodorant around in the bathroom (so a few particles could hang on to my clothes – if I had sprayed myself I´d smell to artificial) – something is missing… Of course – my hair looks as if I had gelled it back – disgusting. I best bang my head a bit. Combing half-long hair while they´re wet and then shaking and banging around will make it all look uncombed and wild but not unkempt and without form.

Standing in a corner at a vernissage – or any other kind of standing-conversations-party for that matter – and reading a book is definite to draw some eyes on you. Although the posture shouldn´t give the impression that I´m too cool for this crowd. And seemig too concentrated will make the others think I´m bored and don´t want to talk to anyone – if that were the case, then I would ostentatiously “read” something very boring like some economic textbook, or something equally sleep-inducing.
Although: I have once read something economy-related about this formula of marketing: AIDA. This formula can be applied to other fields of human interaction, as well; for example to rituals of dating and mating.
A for Attention: I´m standing as casual as possible beneath this picture of the fountain in front of Kolja´s bookstore “The Fountain Pen” standing somewhere on Zekavar´s scrapyard. Brian has shot a few pictures of our town with double exposure, and now he´s exhibiting them under the motto “Topography of Janus” – whatever…
The title of my backdrop – so to speak – is “Alpha and Omega”. You just have to love Brian.
-Hi! Whatcha readin´?
I for Interest: the object of my desire has finally decided to substitute eye contact with verbal contact.
-Roman Jakobson. “Poetics”.
-Aah…and that is?
-A linguist – or, more precisely, a semioticist.
-A semi-what?
-Semioticist. An analyst of signs.
-Uhhh…huh!?
I don´t know why, but suddenly a few other people gather around me. Someone should try to analyse movements of conversational groups at these kind of occasions. There are always the “monolithic groups” that stay together the whole evening, then there are the “grouphoppers”, usually individuals wandering from group to group – the hosts for example. Brian is one of my new listeners together with one of those “appendix-guys” that always follow someone. They usually don´t contribute anything, they just nod all the time – which is the surest sign that they don´t have the slightest clue of what the conversationalists are talking about.
This party is definitely picking up. I better shift into a higher gear.
-We´re surrounded by signs, day in day out: language is a sign system. Logos of products are signs. Works of art are signs. The Sign is everywhere. The signals we send out – verbally or nonverbally. The signs o`the times…
-Exactly, man.
I forgot: appendix-guys do contribute something to conversations: confirmation of what the speakers say in form of the aforementioned nodding and its verbal counterpart.
-The core of semiotics is linguistics – or maybe it´s the other way around. Whichever – linguistics is all about language. What is language? What is communication? And if you throw in a bit of anthropology, or sociology, or psychology, then, of course, there are the questions of what the individual speech pattern says about a person and whether certain types of people have significant ways of speaking. For example: Some people seem to utter only adverbs without the accompanying verb of which the adverb is supposed to be the adjunct.
-Exactly, man. Absolutely exactly.
Says he, while nodding – accompanyingly. Jesus, if this guy were a Times New Roman Word-file he´d be in size 18, fat print, underlined – saying:
I DON´T UNDERSTAND A WORD YOU´RE SAYING!!!
-Mmh…but aren´t all those “signs” surrounding us just outward appearances?
Finally, the host decided to interact.
-Of course they are, but…
-Then, isn´t semiotics a bit superficial?
-Like I said: It doesn´t just deal with the way people speak, for example, but what this way says about the individual, the language of his community and the whole society, basically. Take this picture over there, with our bridge standing upside down on top of the old church on the hill – a semioticist wouldn´t just say: “The way the photographer uses light and shadow is quite interesting, indeed. And just take a look at the utter graininess of the black in the upper left corner” or some such nonsense. No, he would ask himself what a bridge usually signifies and what the church stands for and what kind of meaning the combination might convey. You´re right that a sign is an outward appearance – but not just that. Actually, the form´d be a non-entity if there were no concept behind it.
-Yeah…man, it´s like art imitating life imitating art…and, uuh, the subtext, no, I mean metalevel of it all, it´s just…like…that that is is, man.
-Exactly, man. I can see you understand what I´m driving at.
-Totally, dude.
God, I love the appendix-guy. This calls for a reward: before he gets lost on his metalevel while the others tread through the muddy waters of subtext, I´d better roll a joint for my audience. It´s always hard standing empty-handed – or, rather, bookholding – in front of a crowd while telling them where it´s at. And the art, no, science of rolling it up is just the best way of keeping my hands busy while keeping their ears and brains occupied.
-I´ll give you an example: You all know the “Blue Danuble” hotel, yes? Ever wondered, why the hell it´s called “Blue Danubllll” instead of “Blue Ujzek” or “Blue Danube”, for that matter? Or why, for heaven´s sake, does it have an English name? I´ll tell you why: Back in the old days of the Socialist regime the founder of the hotel dreamt of the Free World. And the Danube, reaching as far into the west as it does, was kind of a symbol for him of travelling from east to west, even of linking both. And as the language of the free west and of internationality was, and still is, English – hence the English name. But since he wasn´t so firm in the imperialistic language, he mispronounced it. Of course, one could ask: Has he never stumbled upon the true pronunciation, and if so, why didn´t he change it, or why wasn´t he corrected by his successors. A true semioticist would certainly try to find answers to these questions – if, say, Umberto Eco were to pass through town and ´stumble` upon the ´Blue Danuble`, he would definitely sleep there and try to find out why that is it´s name – and then he´d write an essay, maybe contemplating the hopes and dreams of oppressed people – and maybe he´d come up with an association to Columbus, who, I believe, always thought that he had landed on an Indian island, not on an island of the new continent? But I divert. My point is: the true semioticist is a universal scholar – a Renaissance man. Jakobson, Barthes, Eco – they think and write about everything. Not just language and literature. But also: art – high and low brow-, sociology, history, psychology, philosophy – everything. I´m goin`out on a limb here in saying: semiotics is the basic science – not mathematics or philosophy. Hell, math is nothing but a sign system. Plato, one of the most important philosophers writes about ideas, eternal concepts behind this world of physical signs. And Aristotle – Poetics and scientific terminology, anyone? I´m telling you: that that is isn´t just that, man! Appearance equals existence! Art equals life! Metalevel equals subtext! Form equals substance! Signifier equals signified!
Short dramatic pause.
-Et voila! I rolled it up for the host to light it up and us all to smoke it up!
-Right on, man.
There is nothing better than intellectual masturbation – well, ok, there is something at least as good; and given the right occasion, the right surroundings, the right crowd – the one might just lead to the other. The other being the D of the formula: Desire.

The later the evening the more scattered the groups. A lot of people have already left – in pairs or alone, and most groups have diminished into pairs – or loners. One of the pairs that have left are my object of desire and me.
I´ve taken her to one of my favourite places in town – the old graveyard behind the newer one. This is the place where I like to wander about at night to regroup and think and write. I like graveyards at night in general – but this old, long unused graveyard has something very special.
-What is this?
-A pagoda. Asian architecture. The most interesting thing about it is the story behind it. You want to hear it?
-Definitely.
-About 200 years ago the pagoda had been part of the will of Helena Talviecze, owner of the fortune of an obscenely wealthy family, whose members mostly spent their time with a glamorous lifestyle and the anticipation of Helena’s death. Accordingly as soon as Helena became ill they had planned a pompous burial and an expensive monstrosity of a family mausoleum that would tell everybody how little they cared about her. When finally her will was read it revealed a clause that shook the greedy conventionalism of her heirs. No statues, no tombstones or crypts should ever be engraved with the name of one of the family. Instead a pagoda would have to be build on the ground by the cemetery, surrounded by a Chinese garden. All family members would have to be cremated and their ashes scattered over the place while the pagoda and garden had to stay well kept, otherwise the whole fortune would fall to the church. This family is now extinguished, and no one uses this graveyard anymore. – This pagoda is maybe some sort of empty sign, if you will. The original meaning has since vanished – it just makes no sense anymore, it basically never did – on some weird level it was meant to be meaningless. Maybe that´s why I like it so much – the backstory is intriguing, but, overall, there is nothing that can interfere with my own thoughts and ideas…
Then, suddenly, without any kind of ´warning` she comes to the final A of the formula: Action - she just sucks me into her. She might not be talkative – but she sure does know how not to render her tongue completely useless. No more talking, no smooching around, no hanky panky – she plunges right into oral combat.
And, as sudden as the kissing started, she undresses – and seeing her in all her glory…her tits, breasts, boobs, thingies – there is just no sound image that can do the mere concept of them any justice – let alone the physical realization of that concept. I just have to touch…and…they feel just as they look.
As if by magic, I also get undressed and we lie down. On the naked floor I celebrate her perfection with my lips and tongue.
Whatever literature has to offer on the subject of eating pussy – whether it´s the nitty-gritty realistic, pornographic kind what with the smell and taste, the pubic hair in the mouth, the warmth, the wetness – or the erotic kind what with the flowery metaphors and what not – it´s all true, but it´s still just a grain of the truth. At this very moment there is more at stake for me. Very briefly, I remember all the pussies I have eaten right down to the first – at the age of six. Of course it was no eating, just tender kissing and probing.
As an adult one always talks about these things as if they were mere games – and that they were, but children tend to take their games very serious – and despite the innocence and playfulness there was no naivete involved – on a very basic level we knew exactly what we were doing – we hadn´t had sex education yet, or had caught our parents in the act, or had seen sex scenes on TV – or, at least, we didn´t need all that to know that the male thingie belonged into the female thingie, and that it was a matter of the highest intimacy and importance. And the innocence involved was merely the effect of not having to worry about the right pretext and context (chatting up, my place or your place, romantic music…), the right size of it, contraception, finding this certain spot, penis failing to erect and the aftermath of it all – and that innocence was what I got back in this very moment.
I look up, and past the belly and the tits our eyes met – this is definitely one of my favorite points of view. I don´t know if it is her look or her hands in my hair – but something pulls me back up to her, and we kiss – this time with more tenderness than at the beginning. As we kiss she pushes me on my back and sits on top of me. She looks down at me with that look, that women always have when they´re on top – that look saying “You´re mine!” but without the condescension and possessiveness of those words. Entangled in that look, I at first don´t notice her slipping it in. But as it is wholly enveloped by her a warm tremor of realization washes through my body forcing my head to fall back, my eyes to close, my hands to wander rather aimlessly around her body and my loins to attune to her rhythm. And as friction and moisture seem to dissolve our genitals into one warm unity, all my bodily fluids concentrate at this very point, and our bodies, the floor, the pagoda, the graveyard, nature, the world, the whole of the cosmos bleed into one…

…all becomes one…

…all is one…

…all one…

…alone…

…that´s what you are. Not alfuckingone, but afuckinglone. You jerk-off. Absofuckinglutely pathetic. You had it all going for yourself. You could have had her, but no, you have to ruin it all, you have to talk all the time…oh dammit, now my thinking even pollutes my fantasies. Look at this, there it shrinks away and on top of that the pressure of the other fluid comes.
While I stand there pissing, I suddenly have an idea. As if the pressure on the bladder somehow has a firm grip on the brain, and releasing the bladder also lets the synapses connect and the stream of ideas flow.
I sit down and start writing:

A Parody of the wright as a young guy by Mercusz Kerl

“ ´…washes through my body forcing my head to fall back, my eyes to close, my hands to wander rather aimlessly around her body and my loins to attune to her rhythm. Inside my whole self an orchestra consisting of Isaac Hayes, Aretha Franklin, the Supremes, John Lee Hooker, BB King and the London Symphony Orchestra interpreting Beethoven´s 9th symphonie – not the phony Gospel-like English translation, but true to Schiller´s orgasmic poetry about ecstasy, paradise and God as unifying spirit of the cosmos. As I hear this my body, our surroundings, nature, the world and the whole of the cosmos become one. All is one. I am in the truest sense of the word: alone…`

My teacher once told me I should beware of taking narcissistic pleasure in my imagination. But isn´t the imagination there to take pleasure in? And isn´t the pleasure of the imagination always narcissistic. All art, all writing, youth, life, imagination are nothing if not masturbatory. We shouldn´t beware of that, we should delve into it, revel in it, wallow in it…”

As these words flow onto a piece of paper, my blood starts to flow into it. Rather than subliming the libido through creativity, the release of creativity seems to set free certain urges. This Creatus Interruptus must be rectified. I jump onto the window sill of my open window and greet the morning – which has sprinkled the horizon with a blazing inferno of clouds – in the most gloriously sublime way possible.

textual healing: Erschöpfergeist

2006-11-14T15:41:00.000-08:00

When I get that feeling
I want textual healing...

...with "Erschöpfergeist" by Christian Senksis

In den letzten Jahren habe ich beim selber Schreiben und durch Lesen von Texten aus meinem Freundeskreis gelernt, dass es wichtig ist persönliche Dinge im Geschriebenen zu verwenden. Ich meine damit nicht große Traumata oder anderweitig prägende Erlebnisse, auch keine entscheidenden Charaktereigenschaften, sondern kleine Details, Spleens, triviale Erlebnisse, an die man sich trotzdem erinnert. Ob man nun Charakterstudien, Horrorromane oder Fantasy schreibt, ich glaube, dass die jeweiligen Autoren immer wieder solche Details verwenden - vielleicht sogar im neuen Kontext als charakterdefinierende Eigenschaften.
Beim ersten Lesen von "Erschöpfergeist" vor ein paar Jahren hatte ich dieses Aha-Erlebnis, das diese Details hervorrufen können, bei der Beschreibung der Essgewohnheiten der Figur des Herrn Sendemann: zuerst die Pommes, dann die Currywurst - ein solches Detail erfindet man nicht. Das macht man entweder selber, oder hat es bei anderen beobachtet.
Mir ist beim erneuten Lesen aufgefallen, dass es genau diese Fülle an Details (nicht nur an Spleens) ist, die die Geschichte so lesenswert und wahrhaftig macht - und so herrlich absurd. Vom Titel über den ersten Satz, die Struktur, die "Uhrwerk"-Metapher bis hin zur Schlusspointe funktioniert dieser Text gleichsam wie ein Uhrwerk. Sie erinnert in ihrem Humor, ihrer Präzision und ein bisschen auch in ihrer Sprache an die Kurzgeschichten von Kurt Kusenberg - ohne dabei aber plagiatorisch zu sein. Wer weitere Texte von Christian liest, merkt sehr schnell, dass er seinen eigenen Stil hat - und seine eigenen Essgewohheiten (wie ich aus Gesprächen über diesen Text und leibhaftiger Betrachtung weiss;-).

the usa had a bunch of philosopher kings

2006-11-10T14:46:00.001-08:00

http://www.time.com/time/photoessays/2006/rumsfeld/

somehow the link doesn´t work - sorry, but you can just enter it.

great pics, better words. my favorite pic is the b/w western one, with rumsfeld doing his best eastwood impression, and bush ready to draw when the clock strikes noon. and cheney - well, he looks like the nerd who couldn´t harm a fly, but...
and the best words: socrates has nothing on the unknown unknowns.

"RUMMMS" goes a career

2006-11-08T21:03:00.001-08:00

from the bbc via warren ellis

when "satire" is overdoing it

2006-11-08T20:51:00.000-08:00

i found this on warren ellis´ blog who found it on the livejournal of someone (hepkitten). that everyone can produce satire by manipulating images on the one hand is great, but somehow i thought the whole pic looked fabricated - sometimes reality is satirical enough: just look at girls face and her clothes and the doll - that in itself is funny - but my fave is the young guy on the right - the look on his face is priceless - the only comment/title i would add to this pic - if any! - would have to be the republicans favorite word: family values!

babys wissen mehr als wir denken:-)

2006-11-06T16:19:00.000-08:00

i truly think that most photographers on this planet are leftwing radicals and media terrorists waging war against bush. i have never seen a pic of him, where he seems remotely photogenic - always looks stupid, pissed off or evil - and i don´t think it´s all his doing - there´s always some element of the photographer seeming to wait for the most anti-photogenic moment to make a snapshot of...and babies seem to leftwing as well;-)

anderweitig veröffentlicht (von mir): Der schneller schrieb als sein Schatten

2006-11-06T01:20:00.000-08:00

das ist ein text den ich für die studentInnen-zeitschrift der philfak der uni koeln - die "philtrat" geschrieben habe, bevor er durch die redaktion gegangen und mein eigenes korrekturlesen gegangen ist - quasi ungekürzt und unver(manchmal schlimm)bessert, allerdings auch mit einigen stilistischen, orthographischen und sonstigen fehlern meinerseits.
enjoy and appreciate.

Der schneller schrieb als sein Schatten

René Goscinny – seines Zeichens Comic-Szenarist, Humorist, Mythopoet, Kosmopolit und Franzose – zum Achtzigsten.

Herauszufinden wie viele Europäer anhand von Goscinnys Werk, v.a. den Asterix-Geschichten, Lesen gelernt, Humor gebildet, Interesse an Mythen (auch des Alltags) und Geschichte(n) geweckt, Liebe zur Sprache und Medienkompetenz entwickelt haben, wäre sicherlich eine von der EU finanzierte Umfrage a la PISA wert. Fest steht jedenfalls, dass er wohl zu den meist( und frühest)gelesenen Autoren Europas, vielleicht sogar der Welt gehört.

Dieses war noch nicht abzusehen, als er am 14. August 1926 als Sohn polnischer Juden in Paris geboren wurde um dann in Argentinien aufzuwachsen. Als er dann im Jahre 1945 nach Amerika ging um für Walt Disney zu arbeiten - wozu es nicht kam – war er also schon ein Weltbürger im besten Sinne.

Dort lernte er Harvey Kurtzman und weitere spätere Autoren und Zeichner des MAD-Magazins kennen. Kurtzman verschaffte ihm denn auch Gelegenheitsarbeiten in der Werbebranche. Außerdem lernte er Maurice de Bévère, später besser bekannt als Lucky-Luke-Erfinder Morris, kennen.

Im Jahre 1950 kehrte er nach Europa zurück, wo er sich anfangs auch noch als Zeichner an einigen eigenen Comicserien versuchte, zum Beispiel die kurzlebige Detektivparodie „Dick Dicks. 1951 lernte er Albert Uderzo kennen, mit dem er später in mehrfacher Hinsicht Geschichte schreiben sollte. Vorher sollten sie aber noch gemeinsame Gehversuche machen, und mit Uderzo als Zeichner und Goscinny als Szenaristen verschiedene Comicserien für verschiedene Publikationen schaffen, unter anderem die auch in Deutschland bekannten Geschichten um den Indianer Umpah-Pah.

1955 dann bat ihn Morris seine schon begonnene Serie „Lucky Luke“ zu schreiben. Mit der Geschichte „Die Eisenbahn durch die Prärie“ – ab diesem Jahr erstmals auch als reguläres Album in Deutschland erhältlich, passend zum Achtzigsten – begann dann diese fruchtbare Zusammenarbeit, die bis zu seinem Tode laufen sollte. In über 30 Alben, mehreren Kurzgeschichten und zwei Zeichentrickfilmen parodierte er historische Ereignisse und Figuren der USA, wie den Run auf Oklahoma, den Pony Express, Jesse James und Billy the Kid, und beschäftigte sich aber vor allem mit dem aus Filmen bekannten Mythos „Wilder Westen“ mit seinen Revolverhelden, Saloon-Schlägereien, Duellen und Ritten in den Sonnenuntergang.

Das Jahr 1959 ist in zweierlei Hinsicht das vielleicht entscheidende Jahr seiner Karriere. Er gründete mit verschiedenen Kollegen zusammen das Magazin „Pilote“, für das er auch bis 1974 als Chefredakteur fungierte. Unter seiner Ägide war dieses Magazin nicht nur ein Forum für sich selber und seine Freunde, sondern auch eine Talentschmiede, die so wichtigen Künstlern der frankobelgischen Comicszene, wie Reiser und Möbius ihre erste Chance gab. Außerdem schuf er selber mit Uderzo zusammen „Asterix“.

Die Geschichten um den Helden Asterix, seinen Freund Obelix und ihr kleines unbeugsames Dorf wurde selber schnell zu einem Mythos, zu einem französischen Trivialepos, und einem unglaublichen internationalen Erfolg – mit Millionenauflagen, der Übersetzung in deutsche Mundarten (Asterix op Kölsch) und Latein, neben all den anderen unbedeutenden lebenden Sprachen und Filmadaptionen, sowohl Zeichentrick als auch Spielfilme.
Aus seiner Feder stammen aber auch die weniger erfolgreichen, dafür aber umso beliebteren „Isnogud“-Geschichten, gezeichnet von Jean Tabary, über den Großwesir, der Kalif anstelle des Kalifen werden wollte – und dabei aber immer kläglichst scheiterte, was ihn trotz seines mörderischen Intrigantentums doch wieder sympathisch machte. Außerdem verfasste er ungefähr 160 Kurzgeschichten um den kleinen Nick und seinen Klassenkameraden, die auf den Kindheitserinnerungen des Illustrators Jean-Jacques Sempé beruhten und Millionen von Kindern, auch in Deutschland, begeisterten.

Als er am 5. November 1977 bei einem Belastungstest an einem Herzinfarkt starb, hinterließ er ein Gesamtwerk, das Tausende von Seiten füllte und Millionen von Lesern, jung wie alt, begeisterte.

apotheose der fertiggerichte

2006-11-05T00:02:00.001-08:00

dieses bild ist auf dem fotoblog eines guten freundes zu finden - ich habe mal die idee zu einem essay über fertiggerichte, speziell dosenravioli, gehabt. viel weiter als folgendes, bin ich nicht gekommen:

man nehme eine dose ravioli.
man nehme einen löffel.
fertig.

das geniale an dosenravioli, ist nämlich, dass man sie, im gegensatz zu anderen dosengerichten, kalt essen kann! die apotheose des fertiggerichts. man braucht heutzutage noch nicht mal mehr einen dosenöffner.
einen viel besseren "essay" als dieses fotografische stilleben hätte nicht mal der meister der essays, montaigne, hingekriegt.

aller anfang ist schwer

2006-11-04T23:38:00.000-08:00

was schreibt man am anfang...
was man will kann man am besten zeigen - im laufe der zeit.
naja, willkommen auf meinem blog - der mal auf deutsch, mal auf englisch, mal beides sein wird.
appreciation - wertschätzung ist ein komisches wort, aber genau darum geht es: um rezipieren, kommentieren, analysieren, interpretieren, bewundern, staunen, kritisieren, reflektieren - von was - allem! filme, fernsehen, comics, internet-fundstücke...
viel spass beim (hoffentlich) "appreciaten" meines geschwafels.