Black, white, red, and now

Hey hey, not much to say... as of late. Living the life some times seems more like a struggle for awareness than the unabashed awareness of living that I believe it should be. But the train continues to chug-a-lug, even if there's a mountain in the way. I find my memory lately reverting to the first two years of college, for some reason. That was a time when, for instance, I might sleep soundly enough that my alarm would not wake me up for class. The alarm would, however, wake up my neighbor, and her subsequent banging on the wall would then wake me up. A good system, huh?

Particularly fond memories of the times at 21 Lewis St. in Somerville, where Jorge and Eric lived, as well as Julian and Troy (a.k.a. the hip hop artist Magmuzzle) and later, others. These memories appear in black and white and red. Black and white, because of the film stock used in the document of that time which most sticks out in my mind - "Mondo Politico" - which, if one ignores the pretentious attempt at a message that the film makes, is a fun and esoteric snapshot of our lives at the time. Red, because of the "Commie Room," in the basement, where some times there was a fight club, and more often, there was a smoking circle. Also in that time period, there was romance (and equally, mishandled situations and blown opportunities), there was cinema (nights watching L'Age d'Or, Underground, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me, etc., with an always eclectic group, in the living room), and there was music, which seemed to perpetuate it all; something about the centripetal force of our location between Harvard, Central, Inman, and Union Squares. Not only a creative time (or, it would've been, if we were motivated enough), but a time of camaraderie and passionate association.

I watched Underground again last night. It reminded me of the genesis of "Mondo Politico:" Alexandros had suggested we watch Underground - a great, great film - and then explained that the plot is a sort of allegory for the history of Yugoslavia since WWII, represented by the relationship of the two main characters. When the U.S. military invaded Iraq in 2003, I thought it might be fitting to make a cinematic allegory of the relations between the U.S. and Iraq since '79 or so. Peter played a Satanist, representing Iraq, and Eric played a Mod, representing the U.S, and in the film, they are roommates. The interstellar pretensions of a second year film student! But I still enjoy watching Peter pour holy water onto the ground while reading from The Satanic Bible, and Eric dicking around on a skateboard while wearing a derby hat, and then the two roommates getting into a fight. And of course Underground has a large Communist element to it. The Commie Room at 21 Lewis had a huge hammer and sickle flag draped over its sound-proof walls. I believe it was like that when the guys moved in. Black and white and red....

In a circumambulatory path, this drift of the mind has led me (yet again) to a declamation against practicing the arts. You see, earlier in the day, I was thinking about the effect that trashy TV has on the psychological and social make-up of the masses. I thought how I'd like to make a film not about the consuming, alienated, and isolated lives that TV seems to encourage; but about authentic participation and communication, lives imbued with an active poetry that has nothing to do with words. And perhaps making that film would be a step towards living that life. Then I watched Underground - one of the most wonderfully anarchic, vibrant, unique, and lively films I've seen in quite awhile - and I felt a bit empty inside. Passive and uninspired and ready for bed.

I must quote Vaneigem again: "What do I want? Not a succession of moments, but one huge instant. A totality that is lived, and without the experience of 'time passing.' The feeling of 'time passing' is simply the feeling of growing old. And yet, since one must survive in order to live, virtual moments, possibilities, are necessarily rooted in that time. When we try to federate moments, to bring out the pleasure in them, to release their promise of life, we are already learning how to construct 'situations'."

An afternoon of a few weeks ago. Susanna was visiting, and making a breakfast of couscous, honey, and nuts. I got out the OJ, and noticed a full bottle of Andre in the fridge. She suggested mimosas, I put Operation Ivy on the stereo, and we were off. The warm breeze under the ever-more-luminous sun reminded me that I have a hatchet in my room and a stump in the backyard. So, to the yard for an axe-throwing expedition! My roommate Anjela mentioned the Cathedral of Junk, Jess came to pick us up, and off we went. A three-story tower made entirely of items that would've been thrown away, an afternoon of leisurely exploration, looking into mirrors surrounded by hubcaps and bicycle tires, climbing ladders to a massage table in the sky. And industrial freezers populated with paraplegic dolls.

And then to Taco Vallerta for gorditas and horchata, sitting next to the window, families coming in for a Sunday meal, while other patrons watch Sunday soccer on TV. Simple, yes? Let me federate these moments, let me make this instant last forever....