If it takes forever...

...I will wait for you.









And still be fully content and overjoyed, even if nothing ever changes.









Note: In response to two different blogposts. In particular, a deleted one.

We Love.

I am not sure there is a more fitting song for me right now than Pogo's "Alice." And it comes as little surprise that it birthed from what are probably still my two favorite books.

"Alice" is fractured, yet repeated, in all the ways I feel. The patterns are there, and the essence feels so obvious, but I still cannot truly figure it out.

A soothing and ominous drone loop is the base. The haze of life. A deep, but gentle drumbeat provides stability and a reliable figure to retain balance. Goofy, albeit all too common in the most beautiful way, sounds poke at substance. My heart and head feel the jabs, placing no blame on the abundance of stimuli, knowing that there is no culprit unless one wishes to complain about the terribly gorgeous variety of life. This is what it is. This is what it should be. I would not have it any other way.

The spoken samples are, I believe, taken from the line "I give myself very good advice, but very seldom do I follow it. That explains the trouble." They are spliced up to essentially morph into "Very seldom. Follow it. We love...trouble," with a bit of overlap. Alice begins to say "very seldom," heartbreaking in its isolation. But before she can even feel bad, she interrupts herself with an assuredly forceful "follow it." Further making the stand, she spurts "we love," followed by a jumble of speech, culminating in "trouble."

This could be my mantra.

It is not about the fact that I give myself good advice, but seldom follow it. Or that I urge myself to follow and trust myself. I do not even take pride in my love for trouble. Yes, all those are all actually very true for me. But the focus is more.

Feel disappointed with yourself.
Try to force yourself to get motivated or do something.
Relax, and realize who you are and embrace your identity through love.

Lugubrious. Lionhearted. Love.

Recognize and feel the first two as they come. Yes. But never be afraid of the latter, especially if you cannot always keep it in mind or soul.

After Alice concludes her first cycle, as well as after many later ones, the flowers rejoice. They are not an outside audience. They represent her objective identity, delighted at her decision to be happy with who she is.

Making the project even greater is the video, uploaded and likely created by Pogo himself, which not only fits the song but accentuates it by explaining a bit more about the pieces and the work as a whole.

Since "90%" of the song is composed of sounds from the movie, one can see the context of most all of them, while still being intrigued in the video's overall meaning. It cuts often and without much transition, yet the images all seem to bounce in rhythm and reflect their musical counterpart.

Moreover, the beginning, middle and end are perfect accompaniments to the central cycle found within the song. She starts out looking afraid and unsure of herself. Stronger images of action and power start popping up. Alice stops struggling against the commotion and lays back with a content smile.

That is what I want.

I do not want to give in or give up. What I do want is to not get too worked up over all that is swirling around or inside of me.

Although I can often be overwhelmed by it, there are few sensations or states of being that I value or revel in more than confusion. This song and video not only serve as perfect examples of my attitude toward uncertainty, of which I consider to be the only (near) certainty, but it also acts as a reminder of how great it can be to be truly mixed up.

Happy.

For the first time since Babser, I cried.

It wasn’t a deluge of tears drenching the face and hands. Just two brief instances, both within a few hours of each other, where a handful of drops squeaked out, each clawing their way down the cheek. A mighty struggle they exerted, desperate to return home. Calling out to their master, they begged for mercy. No response.

No eyes, shelter gone. No mouth or nose, breathing involuntary. No ears, only The Ocean. No skin, barriers broken. Vessel.

I didn’t even notice what was going on either time until each was essentially over, and that may have been the most healing part of all.

Since around September, I have been aiming, among many other goals, to turn off my brain more. Not only does it appear to cause much of my unhappiness, but it often just gets in the way. There is little pleasure to be had when analysis overrides action. Thus, any time I am able to strip away thought and just live: yes, please.

Sure, I needed the catharsis of crying. But an unmitigated feeling, devoid of intellectual influence, might have been something I needed even more.

It is only through the putting aside of questions, an act by which I used to define myself by, that I was free. I was free to be me.

The brain can turn a joyous feeling like “I’m so lucky! I can’t believe it!” into a depressing thought like “I don’t deserve any of this. I’m an asshole.”

There is a catch, though. Power cannot be created; it can only be granted. If I do not want my thoughts to control me, then I do not let them.

Questions are part of what give life zest, some would say meaning. But when one eschews all else in the pursuit of answers, a loss is gained.

I do not know what allowed me to cry on a seemingly random Easter Sunday and not on the many other occasions recently where I felt terrible because I could not, and I will never know. This is not to say my quest to find out is futile. I will just prevent it from consuming me.

Especially now, at a time when I might be the happiest I have ever been, I want to continue feeling. Casting out all thought is not an option; 17-year-old Alec would kill me. But questioning whether it is right or makes sense to feel what I feel is not an option either.

So, until I figure out what I am doing, although I know I never will and hope I never do, I shall reserve the unfiltered feelings for life and the restrictive thoughts for “Jeopardy!”

Because I’m tired of not being me.

It's kind of like...

Eating jelly beans one-by-one. In the dark.



(Note: I will still be putting up longer posts, and I plan to make good on my earlier promises of movies analyses. I'm just trying to experiment here and see what I like.)

No harm.

Zoe: "You can't make everyone happy."
Poppy: "There's no harm in trying that Zoe, is there?"


This might be the best dialogue exchange found in any 2008 film, or any film made in the last few years for that matter. It is both brilliant and unquestionably real. Taken from the unassumingly amazing film "Happy-Go-Lucky," this line, and the theory and actions behind it, exemplify perhaps the most noble approach to life.

Full of quirky mannerisms and jubilant energy, neither of which ever boil over into the unbelievable or gratingly preppy, elementary school teacher Poppy (played by Sally Hawkins who deservedly won the Golden Globe and hopefully the Oscar) goes about her days sharing the adoration of life's wonderment with others in hopes that they too can feel a bit better about themselves and the world around them. She abounds with irresistible, unapologetic qualities that come off as effortless and real, rather than a jumble of forced acts conducted in an attempt to appear different.

Poppy teaches her kids about birds by allowing them to make masks out of paper bags and various crafts, before requesting they flap their wings and make bird noises. Poppy doesn't yell at her classroom bully, but rather intervenes in the instances and digs deeper to find out why the boy is acting violently. Poppy refers to some objects as "what-cha-ma-call-it ding dang dilly dilly da da hoo hoo!"

She tries to make people, such as a random bookstore clerk found in one of the film's first scenes, cheer up, but never forces anything upon the unwilling. Meanwhile, as Poppy spends this extra time trying to make him happy, her bike is stolen. Rather than become angry, however, she instinctively laments about how she never got to say goodbye and begins walking home.

A lost bike is not the only negative consequence of Poppy's instances of kindness and good intentions. Sometimes she ends up hurting those she interacts with because they mistake her good nature for interest, resulting in crushing disappointment when they realize that Poppy is simply a universally caring person whose platonically wholesome actions are often mistaken for flirting.

Despite the repeated occurrence of these undesired outcomes, Poppy remains vigilant and jubilant. Yes, she feels bad for a while and learns from mistakes, but she does not abandon her merry ways, (her true self), and emerges even more motivated to make a difference in others 'lives, regardless of risk or magnitude of improvement.

Although Poppy has many other deep dimensions, such as how she is able to unconditionally accept and connect with a discarded derelict, it is her most obvious quality that proves the most interesting.

Many may read her loving aura as repulsively childish and immature, but such a judgment might be rash. Poppy is actually the most intellectually, emotionally and spiritually developed character in the film, yet is still constantly evolving, a requisite attribute of the mature adult. She may act a bit odd or kiddy at times, but she perseveres through her mistakes by always knowing that she is doing the "right" thing: being herself. Most of the surrounding characters periodically look down on Poppy for her perceived naivete, yet these same people struggle deeply with expressing themselves as freely as she does.

Realizing that one must simultaneously assume adult responsibilities, such as learning how to drive a car or working for a living, maintain the playful acceptance of young children and persevere through the rougher patches even when one is doing everything "right" is the essence of an evolved human.



(Note: This will be one of a number of film analyses/musings on life that I plan to spill out over the next week-and-a-half or so, as I have been in something of a movie groove lately. Some upcoming films/topics include: "Let the Right One In"/Relationships, "The Wrestler"/Rejection-Identity, "Frost/Nixon"/Weakness-Human Interaction, "Punch-Drunk Love"/Why this movie is probably my favorite ever.)

Affected.

When people ask me whether a movie is good or not, I usually give them an answer with similar form and different specifics. This usually entails just running through the common analytical points of directing, acting, music, lighting and so on.

Yet, the ideas of “good” and “bad” seem inconsequential in most respects, for when I ask others that question, I usually prefer to say, “What did you think of it?” or “Did you like it?” This is because saying whether a movie is good or bad seems to treat it more like an essay, rather than a novel, rather than art. Sure, essays can be art. Most of the time, however, they aim to reach goals such as a passing grade or victory in an argument, whereas art often just attempts to share experiences and make deep connections.

As a result, I regard “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” to simply be an affecting film.

After seeing it, I could not function.

There is something about what that film projected to me that classifies it not necessarily above any other films, but at the very least separates it from many other endeavors by way of what it tries to accomplish and how it goes about doing so.

I have always been fascinated by the apparent struggle between the mind and the emotions. As a typical angry teenager, I eschewed most anything I believe did not stimulate the mind. If it did not make me think, it was crap.

Lately, I have been almost obsessed with the power of emotions and their obvious superiority in terms of control within the human body and spirit. Yes, one cannot do anything without the brain, but then again one generally does not do crazy things in the name of love because the brain told him or her it was a good idea.

Given this phenomenon fascination, which I study both externally and internally, when a film is able to penetrate so deeply into the realms of thought and emotion, disorienting me on both levels, I lose normal functioning skills.

This eradication of normalcy, by what I believe to be little to no amount of coincidence, is one of the most important aspects of the film.

Due to the aging anomaly and the circumstances of his upbringing, Benjamin Button remains oblivious to the most crippling of all labels and perceptions: the normal.

It is not just because he is “different,” although that is certainly part of it. In fact, he never really seems to stand out, despite his condition. He fits in with the residents of the convalescent home, even as a newborn manchild. He fits in with a hardcore sea captain, even with zero sea sailing experience. He fits in with any crowd like a stem cell, even though he is anything but a shapeshifter.

What makes him so unique is his near lack of any defining qualities. Of course, he ages backwards. Sure, he is courageous, trustworthy, noble.

Yet, he does not seem to have any particularly impressive skills. He does not express any particularly strong emotions or particularly deep thoughts.

He calls and accepts life as he sees it, perhaps even as it is, and always notices the importance of experiences as they are happening.

Since Benjamin has never been or seen anything ordinary, he is incapable of expectations, incapable of conclusions, incapable of judgment. He is free from the boundaries of society and self-doubt. To him, everybody and everything is truly different. Thus, normal is nothing.

Benjamin is free to just live life and experience experiences.

What is most inspiring is that he actually takes advantage of this blessing. He wanders about the world, never judging anything, but merely seeing what there is to be offered, seen, smelled, tasted, heard, felt.

Also, since Benjamin is who he is, his family, including his infinitely loving mother, never seem to be surprised or outraged at what he does. They may express concern about his wellbeing or loneliness in his absence, but they all realize that all of the exploration is simply his way.

Recently, I have been extremely focused on establishing an air of comfortability around those I come in contact with, whereby I want them to feel free to express themselves any way they want without feeling crazy/stupid/alone.

It is Benjamin’s ability to act as something of a blank slate, where one never judges and never gets judged, that I realized is one of my innermost desires in life and ties directly into the aforementioned recent focus. When I realized this near the end of the film, I began to internally melt and became overwhelmed by too many theoretically disparate emotions.

This was further exacerbated by my then recollection of the truly powerful emotional moments in the film.

When Benjamin and Daisy meet again just before they begin their new life together, they hug in a specific way wherein the most sensual and moving aspect of the action is how their necks interact. These neglected regions of intense sensitivity rub against each other like a mother comforts her child. From that point on, Benjamin and Daisy will no longer need anyone else as long as the relationship holds a certain (ephemeral) status, for they will now be each others’ sole caregivers.

Near the end of the film, Benjamin becomes a child with dementia. Most children forget what they are doing shortly after they do it. In his case, however, it seems as though he cannot even enjoy it as it is happening, let alone retain the memory of happiness. Heart-wrenching.

These scenes of intense emotional focus combine with the provocations of deep thought to make the film a difficult mesh of sensations, much like the confusion created by everyday life.

One can completely lose their center of gravity and sense of place in the world. Or, one can come away with a number of answered questions and reassurance about oneself. It all depends on how the film is absorbed, how it works its magic and how one lets it affect him or her.

For some, the illusion of time can be no better exemplified than in Benjamin’s explanation that his aging is not apparent to him, because when he looks in the mirror he sees the same eyes. Others might just see it as a nice tie-in to the motif of time so prevalent in the film or as another corny line in a dragging drama.

After much thought and feeling, however, the only conclusion I can really come to is that the movie is an experience.

Much like Benjamin ventures out into the world, collecting stories and meeting people without prejudice or any notion of the unusual, the film simply exists as another experience to add to one’s life repertoire.

Note: I have purposely not read any reviews or a full synopsis of the film prior to writing this. I say this not to brag, but to inform those who may see similarities in other interpretations of the film (I don’t know if they’re similar, but they might be), to keep in mind that I wrote this without any significant sway in opinion from an outside source. Thus, if something sounds stupid or plagiarized, well, sorry I guess.

Links: http://www.benjaminbutton.com/

http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/curious_case_of_benjamin_button/

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0421715/