Le Vent d’est [1970)

Film by Godard.

Dziga Vertov.

Group in Mozambique.

Marxist Western.

Cowboys and Indians.

Das Kapital.

No no.

I must be wrong.

Not Mozambique.

That was much later.

I was confused.

So this is just Italy.

But still.

Quite possibly the only Marxist Western ever made ūüôā

And, yes:  the Dziga Vertov Group.

With Jean-Pierre Gorin.

So here was the great filmmaker (Godard) subsuming himself in the communalism of group creation.

Like being in a rock band.

There might be a main songwriter (or two).

And there might be a lead vocalist.

But it is a group effort.

Rock bands are kinda like little democracies (in my experience).

So, does that mean that communism/socialism starts at its most cellular level as something resembling democracy?

It is an interesting thought.

Because Godard was most certainly a hardcore socialist at this point.

A communist.

A Maoist!

But we remember those strange counterintuitive phrases like “dictatorship of the people”.

In other words, Marxist-Leninist thought was promising popular representation SO POWERFUL that the PEOPLE became a META-DICTATOR.

But it all kinda turned out like Tom Cruise’s witchcraft ūüôā

A big bollocks burger in Eastern Europe.

And a Soviet Union that collapsed beneath its own weight.

But China soldiered on.

And juche (North Korea).

Notice that “zhoosh or tjuz” means to “smarten up” or “stylize” in that Cockney code language known as Polari.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polari

And for my dear pizzagate researchers, you should be heartened by this further corroboration of James Alefantis’ sick mind:

Screen Shot 2017-10-14 at 11.20.10 PM

Why do I have a feeling about this?

Because of Bowie’s last album: ¬†Blackstar.

Screen Shot 2017-10-14 at 11.24.26 PM

But reinserting ourselves in history, it is rather obvious that communism soldiered on mostly in the East.

Let’s not forget Vietnam and Laos (both still communist to this day).

Thus, Wind from the East.

Yes, Peter Wollen, there’s definitely some Brecht in here.

Especially in that scene when a fucking horse finally shows up ūüôā

Not much of a Western without a horse.

So there is eventually one horse for Gian Maria Volontè.

Volentè, of course, really WAS in Westerns (about five years previous).

A couple of those great Sergio Leone “spaghetti Westerners” with Clint Eastwood: ¬†A Fistful of Dollars¬†and also¬†For a Few Dollars More.

So kudus to Godard, Gorin, and the whole Dziga Vertov Group for getting Volontè.

But really the star is the beautiful redhead Anne Wiazemsky, who passed away just nine days ago.

It is no wonder Godard fell in love with her.

As he had fallen for Anna Karina previously.

But Wiazemsky was a mind.

A beauty, but a total 180 from Karina.

Of course, neither marriage worked out.

But Wiazemsky is lovely in this film.

Indeed, she is one of the few breaths of air in the whole picture.

There are certainly some suffocating scenes.

The opening shot is interminable.

Slight movements.

But eventually things get rolling.

Sorta.

Wiazemsky is splashed with blood as she is repeatedly choked by Volontè.

A bizarre scene.

Also part of this amalgam was Daniel Cohn-Bendit.

I thought I was seeing Mozambique.

It colored everything I was watching.

I was looking out for poisonous snakes.

Godard would eventually make it to Mozambique…later in the 1970s…but I was merely confused.

I mean, here’s a film that until recently was available only as a Japanese DVD (with no English subtitles).

That is the version I watched.

I hear there is another release of this film recently with other of the Dziga Vertov work, but I am happy enough (for the time being) to have seen it as a Frenchman might have in 1970.

My French was tested.

Allors…

This is a rather experimental film.

Perhaps it is no great masterpiece.

But it teaches that we can go backwards or forwards through time by way of cinema.

Forwards with imagination, and backwards in reality.

We were already beyond this point, and yet we have been blessed to return.

To get one step closer.

To close a loop.

Solve a riddle.

Replace a missing stone.

It was a lot of work seeing this film.

That is love.

 

-PD

Au Hasard Balthazar [1966)

If life has no meaning, then do not continue to the next sentence.

Thank you.

For those of you still reading.

You must excuse my reliance on 1/3rd of the trivium (to the detriment of the remainder).

It must be rhetoric which I employ.

Like a donkey.

No.

It doesn’t work that way.

But for those of us in poverty and misery.

How do we express our futile existences?

By affirming their meanings.

Their meaningfulness.

You have not worked your whole life for nothing.

You worked to survive.

But you survived for others.

You loved.  You cared.

You were curious.

Too curious to let the human race go.

And so, slow and easy does it goes [sic]…the autumn of your years.

Perhaps.

Another spring.

Hope.  Eternal.

Robert Bresson slips a note under our door.

A key.

At first viewing it is dull.  Ugly.

Like a donkey.

Yes.

But Bresson knew Beethoven.  Concision of expression.

Economy of means.

It is no wonder that we hear Schubert throughout this film.

And no wonder that Schubert is Philip Glass’ favorite composer.

Those ostinati.  Figured bass.

Even simpler than Alberti.

More like a rail fence transposition.

Or a Caesar shift cipher.

Ostinato.  Obstinate.

Like the donkey.

But I have patiently borne the humiliation.

I am still a youthful beast of burden.

And yet I know my hooves.

I am a genius.

A four-legged mathematician.

Give me three digits…and a single digit.

And I multiply.

I fecundate the field with feathery flowers.

Four digits.

Do I hear five?

With a memory like an elephant.

A stare like a tiger.

And a harangue like a polar bear.

But look how he shivers.

The donkey.

So humble as to not say a word.

Perhaps it was the wisdom of salt.

Salt of the earth.

A wise ass.

Yes, forever in trouble.  With my pride.

Getting kicked in the rump.

But these are really nasty assaults.

The other side of James Dean.

François Lafarge as Gérard is a real asshole.

Not enough love at home.

Feels a need to punch donkeys.

[pause]

Quite literally…the world comes to life through Bresson’s filmmaking.

Prostitutes pop up.

Pimps prance and preen.

But here we have “merely” sexual assault.

A first step in losing the ability to feel anything.

Numb.

And we have rape (through allusion, of course).

Gérard toots his horn.

Literally.

The other side of the James Dean coin.

The underside of Jean-Paul Belmondo.

A disproportionate riposte courtesy of the one filmmaker with the balls to be simple.

So simple.

On first glance it is nothing.

A donkey.

But live a few years.

And then revisit.

It is a novel.

It contains everything.

We can’t catch it because it doesn’t pop out at us in color.

One way would be to say that no one has ever looked more sad on screen than Anne Wiazemsky here.

Before Godard.

Perhaps a first conversation.

A nervousness.

It was through Wiazemsky that Bresson told this tale.

To teach the New Wave.

They hadn’t learned all the lessons yet.

He wasn’t done speaking.

The quiet tone of an old man…

I want to tell you more more more.

But this is best secret.

To appreciate the simple things.

Before they are gone.

The patient animals.

So gentle in their existence.

Not presuming.

Not running.  Not hustling.

The pack-animals.

We know this look.

In cats.  In dogs.

This wisdom.

We laugh at their carefree insolence.

But they have shown the way.

Such resilience!

Such love…

And we are taken in.

Our hearts are melted.

Yes.

Few moments in cinema feel more lonely than the end of Au Hasard Balthazar.

It is almost unbearable.

The quiet dignity of humanity being shamed.

How could we ever forget our love.

For even a second.

When we rub two sticks together at such an eyelevel perspective, the meaning of life is very clear.

But unutterable.

 

-PD

Sympathy for the Devil [1968)

To reach a moment of genius.  The genius must rethink.  Through many blind alleys and breezy revolutions.  Rehabilitated.

To speak of clever things.  No.  It does not explain this moment in time.  Police vs. blacks.  Continuation crime.

To quote Juvenal or Sallust.  You have no recourse in the moment.  You will have your name dragged through the mud.

And so we apologize.¬† We are sorry that we weren’t more harsh.¬† A final gob of spit before being shot once and for all.

A film by Jean-Luc Godard which achieves genius just as it is diverted.

Punched the producer in the face.

The revolution of everyday life.  Vaneigem.

To speak of the actors would do injustice.

Anne Wiazemsky.  Red flag.  Black flag.  And the wind of god.  On the beach.  The paving stones.

We have got it backwards because we don’t speak English.

Keith Richard.  Sans s.

And my favorite drummer Charlie Watts.

And now we have let routine take over.  Just as we asserted a revolutionary principle.

Through our fingers like sand.¬† Run, run, run…little kitty.¬† Machine guns for all.

Makes sense to whom?  Makes no difference.  Sense.

A review.  A summary.  A dissection.

An affront.  An attack.  An absolute about-face.

And so in 2015 we can only speak of Snowden.

We can only speak of extraordinary rendition.

We can comb the news like Matt Drudge.

He knows where his Red Sea is parted.  Which side his bread is buttered.  On.

We can rattle the cages like Alex Jones.  Rattle rattle.  Police gone wild.

We can blame everything on the Jews like Wayne Madsen.  What a poor aspect of great criticism.

Mostly we can find the remnants of SMPTE for the devil at globalresearch.ca

Hot link.¬† A sausage of…something.¬† Upton Sinclair Lewis.

We can thank Michel Chossudovsky because we first knew him in print.

Like Webster Tarpley.

When books have disappeared, we will know that the technological age is upon us.

And so as something of an expert I admit that I know nothing.

It leaves me mystified.  No more bands.  No more groove.

Prisoners to click tracks.

The metronomic underground must assert like Radiohead hippies.

Godard would have preferred Beatles.

It’s ok.¬† History proves him not wrong.

And I would be doing you a disservice if I condescended.

I must regard you as one mind with myself.  Even if false, it leads to the path of truth.

We’re a humble website ready to lay down our arms…rather, our lives.

We are not revolutionary.  Merely students.  Research on globalization.

-PD

Le Gai savoir [1969)

Words:  0

Publish.  1:09 AM.  Enter your categories below.  Bellow.  Saul.  HTML.  HoT MeaL.

Words:  12

The Grand Budapest Hote…

?!

I cannot express this pictogram.  CATEGORIES.  We must categorize.

Juliet Berto.¬† I’m just warming up.¬† Preview.

Words:  33

1:12 AM.  FEATURED IMAGE.  Visual.  Yes, a film by Jean-Luc Godard.

This DVD could feed a village for a week.

No food on the table.  No table.

The plot is one-sentence long (!) on Wikipedia.  The Joy of learning.

71  :Words

Trash.¬† Keep on goin’!

Au lecteur:

Current Staus:  Saved Draft.  Le Gai savoir [1969).

1:15 AM.

How long is a second?  Krypton?  Cesium?

paulydeathwish

Moi.

Preview Post.  Not coming to a theater near you (and certainly not near me).

4/16/2015

My Site.  W.

LBJ.  Vietnam.  Dropping white phosphorus bombs on the silk factories of Hanoi.

Enter your tags below.

Toe.

This film has been a favorite of mine since I first saw it.  Like a Bible in the dark.  Smirking at how clever.

152  :sdroW

Publish Immediately.

CHANGE STATUS.¬† It’s complicated.¬† In that it’s not complicated.¬† Painfully single.

File   Edit   View   Favorites   Tools   Help

Windows on the World.  Risk Waters.

You ask who died.¬† And who didn’t.¬† Warren Buffett.¬† Charity golf and tennis tournament.¬† Offutt AFB.¬† Morning of 9/11.¬† Nerve center of American nuclear deterrent.¬† We know one WTC CEO who didn’t die because she was invited.¬† Who else was on that list???

I hear the whispers of a young, balding man.  Torn in half by war.  Risking it all.  To edit a film about the Palestinians.  And the film lab is bombed.  A scare tactic.  How dare you support those Muselmanns?  Muselmensch.

Disproportionate riposte.  Flip script.  ABC

sWords:  265

1:27 AM

Louis Le Prince – Wikipedi…

Add Media.

Two sentences.  I overlooked a period.

Lumumba and Rousseau.

Freud is the head and Marx is the sex.  Theory and practice.

Give him enough rope.¬† …

Derrida sideways.

It is the brilliance of the little boy–the touching presence of the crusty old beggar.

In school we learned about Nietzsche, but no one ever told me about Jack Nitzsche.

iPhone.¬† Pronounced “ee-fone” in French.¬† ePhone.

This iswas unknown territory.¬† 1969.¬† 1:36 AM.¬† You’re late.¬† You’re really not taking this very seriously.

Bob Dylan.  Jean-Pierre Léaud.

My love is smiling by the sea.  She has gone away.  Cruel.

She stares at me from a different time.

He is an old man now.  Wild Strawberries.

Shall we try again??¬† D’accord…

Batman.  The Incredible Hulk.  Spiderman.

She keeps dozing off.¬† Tap tap.¬† Perks up.¬† Dozes.¬† Again prodded.¬† But when she slumps left (her left)…a caress.¬† It works the same.¬† She opens her eyes.¬† More painful-eyes studying.¬† Some sleep with one eye open.¬† I read until only one eye cooperates.¬† And then no eyes.¬† Off to processing sleep.

Mao was still prominent.¬† But this is where the great art of montage was first born…continued and epitomized in Histoire(s) du cinema.¬† 3.8/5.¬† My ass.¬† Rotten tomatoes…L√©olo.

Ou Ou Ou

Ou Ou Ou

So what you’re saying is that this review is a failure.

Three moles on left side of face.

No one in their right mind is asking.

Mon martyre.  Montmartre.

Jean of Ork.  nanu nanu

Tannu Tuva.

What ever happened to Richard Feynman?

Don’t call me Shirley.¬† Andrew Card.

To enjoy a cigar by the water.

Une poignée de gens

Words:  538.

Attack on language.  Send reinforcements.

2:05 AM

ending transmission

-PD

La Chinoise [1967)

Even geniuses make mistakes.¬† That’s how I thought I’d begin.¬† And then…viewing again.¬† It is like “Heroin” by The Velvet Underground.¬† Was Lou Reed, the songwriter, promoting the use of this drug in the song of the same name?¬† Not necessarily.¬† It boils down (no pun intended) to something I learned in economics:¬† positive vs. normative.

And so, we have a film by Jean-Luc Godard which is very difficult to sum up.¬† On the surface it is easy.¬† The Situationists called Godard a Swiss Maoist (a sort of double insult).¬† Even in that, they were only part right.¬† Yes, Godard today lives in Rolle…in the canton of Vaud:¬† Switzerland.¬† But he was born in Paris.¬† He didn’t move to Switzerland until he was four years old.¬† Of course, he would return to Paris for university (and eventually to make a name for himself as critic and director).¬† Actually, it was a back and forth:¬† la France, la Suisse, la France, la Suisse…like a tennis match.

Back to my point:¬† this film does not necessarily “prove” that Godard was a Maoist.¬† But was he?¬† And what would that mean?¬† Let’s investigate.

First, I should mention that I have read four books about Godard, one more which is a book-length interview, an additional collection of his writings, and finally an actual book by Godard which was published by Gallimard.  Of the first category, two were biographies (by Richard Brody and Colin MacCabe respectively).

In my opinion, a short review of Jean-Pierre Gorin and the Dziga Vertov Group are needed.

First Gorin.  Wikipedia (in English) is typically terse when it comes to Jean-Pierre.  For our purposes, it is enough to say that Gorin is nowhere called a Maoist in this short entry.

Next…Dziga Vertov Group.¬† Again, no one is called a Maoist in this similarly curt Wiki reflection.¬† The closest thing is a non-hypertext mention of the film(s) British Sounds/See You at Mao.

This may seem like laziness on my part (and it is), but it is important to note that the “Dziga Vertov” period of Godard’s oeuvre is the most unknown (and, one might say, mysterious).¬† This would be roughly 1968-1972.

And so we are brought to the man at issue himself:  Mao.

What ideas are pertinent?¬† Anti-imperialism.¬† The Long March.¬† The People’s Republic of China.¬† The Great Leap Forward.¬† 45 million dead?¬† The Cultural Revolution.

One must wonder whether it is a coincidence that the Dziga Vertov Group disbanded the same year Nixon visited China:  1972.  Was this seen as weakness by Maoists?

Let’s recalculate:¬† 40 million dead?¬† 70 million?

Just as in the Holocaust, how much about China’s “dark side” was known outside of the country during Mao’s tenure?¬† For young idealists, the concept of radical revolution might have an appealing luster, but when deaths are counted in millions and tens-of-millions the appeal should (must!) become appalling.

What were the nature of these deaths?  Mao bragged about burying alive 46,000 scholars.  One thing is certain:  there is a persisting battle between those who seek to rehabilitate the tarnished image of Mao and those who perhaps feel that the extent of atrocities for which he was responsible has not yet fully been made evident to the world at large.

Mao is a strange figure…to whom just about every superlative and, equally, insult has been applied. Just as in a criminal investigation, we must scrutinize the sources and their authors with cui bono:¬† what do they stand to gain by promulgating such theories?

Were 3 million tortured to death during the Great Leap Forward (1958-1962)?¬† If even one was tortured to death, isn’t that too many?

Yes.¬† We do not hold torturers and terrorists to be our heroes.¬† They forfeit our respect at that point…no matter how great their theories are.¬† It is solemnly inexcusable.

No, rather we uphold the nonviolent masters:  Gandhi and King.  Obama is no King (nor king).  The end does not justify the means.  We who torture lose our humanity.  We are only torturing ourselves.

And so even Nixon himself was a Maoist in a cynical, Machiavellian way.¬† Anything to counter what Reagan would later normatively call “the evil empire.”¬† Yes Mao, it is still the imperialists who are the true axis of evil in this young century.¬† But China is learning how to project its influence.¬† It would be wrong to call the China of today anti-imperialist.

Enough about Mao.¬† That is the freedom we have…at this late moment…to still express such a thought.

Godard’s dalliance with Maoism didn’t last long (in terms of his career as a whole).

Perhaps it was Dostoyevsky.¬† No doubt Paul Nizan.¬† Most importantly it was the ravishing Anne Wiazemsky.¬† Godard was doubtless smitten…you can tell by the camera’s loving gaze.¬† He would have gone to the end of the earth for her.¬† A revolutionary goddess!

Veronique Verkhovensky.¬† Her eyes are wild in their tranquility.¬† She is no paper tiger.¬† Juliet Berto is the brunette…Wiazemsky the redhead.¬† Such a beautiful revolutionary group!

Henri Shatov.  He endures the brunt of human stupidity here.  No, he cannot entice Juliet to abandon the radical cell as they dive headlong into terrorism.

Kirilov adds a dash of Peter Max color before his inevitable demise.

Will the Maoists in power continue to struggle on two fronts (ISIS and Ukraine) while fronting like sucker MCs?¬† Yeah, oops:¬† Nemtsov and Nisman worked for you…32 was 23 (if 6 was 9).

Francis Verkhovensky.¬† Like Jimmy Stewart in Rope.¬† Should we contact Arthur Lee or Althusser in regards to all those little red books of Aden Arabie?¬† I’m inclined to believe that Love is all you need.

-PD

Bande a part [1964)

I need a word.¬† Just a word.¬† A word.¬† To start it off.¬† Nothing fits.¬† Frustration?¬† Yes, perhaps.¬† Ferment?¬† That might work even better.¬† It is a feeling.¬† I search for it on the Internet.¬† I cast my net to the blog sea.¬† Ahh, Valentine’s Day…¬† Yesterday.¬† How I wanted to write, yet I abstained.¬† Abstinence.¬† Discipline.¬† Youthful anarchy.

I needed a word.  As so I sought.  Abandoned, abandonment, abstract expressionism.  No.  Alex Chilton, Anna Karina.  Yes.  After two films she was back.  Here.  Anne Wiazemsky?  No.  We will wait for her at the Tout va bien café.

Art house, arthouse, Astruc?¬† Yes. Alexandre.¬†cam√©rastylo.¬† A free-flowing style.¬† Freewheeling.¬† Big Star, Bilinda Butcher?¬† Yes.¬† Feed me with your kiss.¬† Do you know how to kiss?¬† With the tongue?¬† That’s correct.¬† You stick your tongue out and I will kiss you on the cheek.

So I found my word?  No.  I found Bob Dylan, Boise, bored to tears.  A phrase.  Bresson.  Wiazemsky.  No, not yet.  But, pickpocket.  Yes.  Money.  A big stack of money!

Broken heart.¬† Ok, now we are getting somewhere.¬† And how does a heart break?¬† Neil?¬† Love.¬† CSS.¬† No, not the computer language.¬† Language?¬† We are barely passing English class.¬† Romeo and Juliet.¬† Verona.¬† Valentine’s.¬† The world’s shittiest Starbucks.¬† Right by my house.¬† Trust me.¬† I’ve been to Starbucks in middle-of-nowhere Arizona…in a fucking Albertson’s.¬† No, Target.¬† Maybe Wal-Mart.¬† No more depressing than the one by my house.¬† Sure, the buck-toothed high school senior was not much on the eye candy scale, but I am living in the same wasteland. ¬†Neu Mexique. ¬†The place where they tested the bombs.¬† Long ago.¬† Trinity.¬† I have become the destroyer of worlds.

No, the other CSS.¬† Tired of being sexy.¬† That one.¬† And Cary Grant.¬† Yes, my jacket’s at the dry cleaner…and I don’t have any money…so I won’t take off my coat.¬† Tou bi or not tou bi contre votre poitrine:¬† dat iz ze question.¬† Something like that.¬† Claude Brasseur.¬† What a brute!¬† What a fucking asshole!! !

Chris Bell.  The singer.  The white one.  Yeah.  Dead.  No.  Cinémathèque Française.  O-kay!  Now we are getting somewhere.  But I keep searching.  The English classes are not enough.  Maybe the Chinese will prevail.  Sami Frey is betting Chinese:  5-2.

Cocteau.¬† Yeah.¬† We’ll sit in the car and listen to the radio.¬† No, I’m not allowed to do things like that.¬† Hey, how old are you anyway!?! ¬†Conlon Nancarrow?¬† Yes.¬† And the last time Michel Legrand on the big screen [English broken].

When it should be sad, the jazz kicks up impossibly happy.¬† Happily.¬† Hereusement?¬† I don’t know.¬† I am on the other side of the pond.

Crying.  Depressed, depression, depress-o-rama.  And then she feeds a tiger.

Doldrums.¬† No.¬† The other ones.¬† Not the horse latitudes.¬† Ennui.¬† Yes. She is bored, but she doesn’t know she’s bored…until she’s not bored anymore.¬† Euros Childs.¬† No.¬† Completely inappropriate.

Farfisa.¬† Maybe.¬† Pasolini.¬† Frankenstein.¬† Rasputin.¬† Claude Brasseur.¬† What’s your family name, Arthur?¬† Rimbaud, like my father.¬† But he’s dead.¬† As I pump a bull’s eye into the midway target.¬† Can I keep my chart?¬† [Crumples and throws away.]

Leave no traces.¬† Like the Situationists.¬† No more poetry.¬† Arthur Craven.¬† Shitty family.¬† It’s no joke.¬† We need that money.¬† I was in Indochina.¬† Don’t fuck with me.¬† Like Raoul Coutard.

Back to black and white.  Truly a film noir. Série noire .  Gallimard.  Says so at the end.  Dolores Hitchens.

Forlorn.¬† Ooh!¬† That’s a good one!¬† Any catch?¬† French cinema.¬† French film?¬† Harmony Korine.¬† No.¬† Later, later.

Henri Langlois.¬† Yes.¬† Now we’re back on track.¬† A name.¬† We needed a name.¬† Like Tarantino.¬† His production company.¬† Like the car scene with Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson.¬† Same thing.¬† They’re talking about nothing.¬† But they are incredibly rude.¬† Crude.¬† Blow a fucker’s brains out.¬† 2.0

But the travesty is that Godard is forgotten in France.  ;that Quentin is cooler than Jean-Luc.  Quel dommage.

Howard Hawks.  To Jean-Luc.  And then who?  David Lynch?  Not very often.  Too many misses.  Same with Harmony Korine.  But those two are as good as it gets now.

Balls.¬† Giant figurative testicles.¬† The Madison.¬† Joseph Beuys balls.¬† Wolves and coyotes and felt and fat and goldleaf.¬† Heathen child youthful anarchy.¬† La D√ľsseldorf.¬† Klaus Dinger?¬† Motorik.

Driving like madmen.¬† Park on the curb…like Billy the Kid.¬† Drive on the sidewalk.¬† The Simca.¬† Do wheelies…no, donuts.¬† The mud.¬† The giant spools for wire.¬† Tightrope.

Lovelorn.¬† Ooh!¬† Nice!!¬† Lovesick.¬† Mauricio Kagel.¬† Yeah, now we’re getting somewhere.¬† Because, obviously, there’s a smokin’ hot girl out there in blog land into Mauricio Kagel.¬† Good strategy.

We are Sami Frey, here at Dossier du cinema.¬† We are Anna Karina.¬† We are schmucks.¬† We haven’t learned yet to embrace our inner Claude Brasseurs.

How ’bout that M√ė chick?¬† Yeah, like her!¬† Except……………….monotony.¬† Morose?¬† Yeah, book it!¬† Nerval.¬† Hanging from the streetlamp.¬† Certainly.¬† Oph√ľls?¬† Nothin’.

Psychogeography.¬† Clichy.¬† The Louvre in 9:43…surpassing Jimmy Johnson of San Francisco.

AND THE SUBWAY SCENE!!!

Regret, rejection?  Yes.  Print it.  The man sleeping on the sidewalk.  Teddy bear or TNT.  Richard Hell or Richard Lloyd.  Routine.  Buy groceries.  Aunt Victoria.  Like the Queen.  And a big pile of money upstairs with the door unlocked and just a jacket draped over it.  200 million francs perhaps.  In 10,000 franc notes.

Silver screen.¬† It has to be silver, you fucks!¬† Spider Man does not qualify.¬† It has to be Louis Feuillade.¬† Jurassic Park does not cut it.¬† Did you see her thighs?¬† So white.¬† Black stockings over your heads.¬† Undo the garters.¬† It’s like Le Petit soldat all over again, but this time the terrorists are up and walking around.¬† That’s what terrorists do.¬† They terrify.¬† Burglers burgle.¬† Etc.¬† No torture…handcuffed to the robinet.

I don’t have time for this shit.¬† Shortcut.¬† Dying.¬† “Cheat death on the other side.”¬† J. Spaceman.

Someone to be nice to¬†me for like five minutes and then I’ll leave you alone.¬† This was Jean-Luc “Cinema” Godard on fire.

-PD