Archives For Our Stories

This was a movie that I tried unsuccessfully to shrug off.   A sci-fi themed movie about Depression.

Depression scares me.  I just ask myself – how can people be like that?  And I know that sometimes I am like that.  Luckily not the debilitating degree of the Kirsten Dunst character Julia, but to some extent this is a demon that mos of of face on, perhaps, a too regular basis.

What do you do when you are feeling down?  What about those closest to you?  How do you deal with these things?  At times I understood and at others I felt like the Kiefer Sutherland character, John.  the husband who married into a family of loonies.  He obviously doesn’t “get it” but you can easily sympathize with him.  This is something I find myself not wanting to “get”.  It’s similar to death, and in this movie it was much easier for me to contemplate my feelings on the destruction of the world then on that of a person close to me, or myself, suffering from depression.  It is what they say, the average person has a greater fear of public speaking (something that in my adult life doesn’t faze me) then they do of death.

Now I wonder if depression is something you have without even knowing?  Chatting to those close to me, they tell me I humph and haw and act listless.  Is depression something that one can have without even knowing?  Could it be a problem in my life effecting others the way that I am afraid of being effected?  Arghhgg – I don’t think of myself that way, but that no longer means that it is not true.

If I was to learn something from this film it is that depression is a reality, like death, that at somepoint I will have to confront.  I guess this is why there are shrinks (and xanex) to help you with these kind of qustions!

As for the construction of Melancholia, I thought it was excellent.  The opening was a wonderful decent into dreamy imagery.  I would have swapped my personal soundtrack including Pink Floyd’s Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun and Black Sabbaths’ Hand Of Doom.  The imagery was languid and enthralling.  The feelings were impressed into your cells, a few hours later I am still fealing a weight on my chest.

Justine basking in her Melancholia

 

There is another aspect to Justine, in her attitudes toward’s her sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg).  It is selfishness.  Her sister shows almost nothing but patience and love, though she does express exasperation on occasion.  Then when the end draws near, and Claire has a simple request of ending it with a glass of wine and a song, Justine calls her plan out as ‘complete shit’.  After all the patience shown by those around her,  for her character to display no empathy or care for those who dote on her, in a way brings me back to my prior point – that perhaps it is difficult to know that you are suffering from depression?   If she was unaware of her actions, that might allow the subsequent thrashing  of those others. The other option is that she is just a selfish bitch?  It could be a fundamental character flaw of character of a symptom of the disease?  I have the disturbing feeling that I am both selfish and condescending and that I am more on both sides of this relationship then I may realize.

So there was a long world away. Settled down into the midnight soul. He ate butterflies and ran the river. Too many souls behind him to turn around now.

Where is the future? How long does it take? You’re already there she said. He looked at her solemnly and agreed. Treasure of love is that enough? Treasure of love till the glow of the sun sinks in the sky. He always last the longest of all his compatriots. But sometimes he packs it in and give up. Why he is not sure, but it always longs for the mother. When she left he was just a boy. He has traveled far and seen many things. Unfortunately he forgets most of them in the time flow. Perhaps he would be good in the future. Should he put himself in stasis? What are the chances that your re woken up? A gamble he will take at sometime in life. When he is old and dying and wishes for one glimpse of a future world. And we can all only hope that he is woken up in a utopia.

—-

There was a Halloween party put on by a mafioso. Everyone was required to be in costume and there was wonderful entertainment. Dancers and performers twirled and spun in their revealing attire. The throng was loud and vibrant in their revelry. Fireworks were put on for everyone’s enjoyment; well not everyone as the wife of the mafioso, her hairdresser and two randoms were shot and killed during the explosions. So well timed that no one heard the shots. Most went home none the wiser, though obviously some arrived with the knowledge. True Story.

Africa Hot

July 30, 2009 — Leave a comment

The layers of sweat beaded off layers of sweat as they rolled down my back, forming a pocket at the base of my spine.

Africa Hot

It was hot. How hot? Africa hot. I say this not because I’ve been to Africa- Even though I’ve visited Morocco a few times, but that is like an African saying he’s been to the US, just because he’s set foot in Hawaii, or Alaska.- but because I was passing 3 tall Africans, dressed in robes that may help with this heat?, who were quietly standing by their table on Spring St. Small flutes, beaded necklaces, a few wooden pipes and a range of pocket items, from coins to small dogs made out of reed, we neatly arranged on their black velvet cloth.

Watching them sweat under their umbrella, put me in mind of that old statement – Africa Hot. It’s one of those dumb statements that people who don’t travel use to lump countries or even continents into single groupings. But of course there were parts of Africa are hot, real hot. I know this from my decades old subscription of National Geographic that piles up in my life. I remember reading about Michael Fey and his trek across equatorial Africa on foot. The heat and insects and insanity and wonderfulness of that have never left my mind. That pile is full of adventures waiting to be had …

These thoughts swam around the ether or my misting mind as I culled the table; I was now handling currencies I’d never heard of- Cedi & Kwacha, Ekpwele & Ouguiya- and I watched my sweat drip off the end of my nose splashing on the bright metal of those coins.

This is the beauty of New York; here on a sweltering summers day, with the head smashing down, I could trade my green cash for these foreign dreams. I imagined myself sweating in Malawi or Mauritania. Passing these coins to a fruit seller as I watched an alternate stream of humanity pass beside me.

I swapped tender with the tall dark robed quiet man, and slid away. Fingering the coin in my pocket, my bod burning in New York, while my mind burned in Bamako.

— © 2009 New York