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.

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.)