The Good Ones

This is perfect in so many ways...

Lovesick

I never had a Dylan moment, but it seems it may be happening now...and it suits me better to be wailed and wracked by Jack White.

Showing tonight

Pasolini’s "Arabian Nights" – “The Flower of a Thousand and One Nights” is a lush, carnal reincarnation that feels retro-fresh. There is nothing “perfect” about this film which is its allure. Perfection is boring. Upright cocks and hairy bush, wild-eyed actors… The film is so real and full of human yearning…it’s a reminder of the lustful power of story, of real fleshly and human connection…and the yearning of impossible passion…The movie is full of eternal lustings in full flagellation. Not nearly as sadistic as “Satyricon” (Fellini), Pasolini exposes the beauty of the sexual body through the conduits of the heart and the mind. The realness and absolute earthiness of this film make it a life-changer. Something you won’t soon forget, like Chet Baker’s “Almost Blue” or Calvino’s “Invisible Cities.”

I admit that I dosed off in the middle of it (it was the wee hours of the morning), but it was like a continuation of a dream. My head fell against Damien’s chest*, his arm still around me and I drifted from the sands of Yemen and camel’s crossing the desert into a warm, sensuous slumber. I felt his hand caressing my shoulder and I fell off to sleep in that half-awake way; fully aware of the present reality, the room, the movie playing on the laptop, the weight of his body against mine…and aware of the drifting, co-mingling of realities and film into REM dreams…I woke up to feeling his fingers pinching my nipples lightly and his heavy breath in my ear as he kissed my cheek.

This film reminds me of afternoons with a new lover…yet undiscovered desires.

In our immediate gratification society, we look to porn with regimented routines and positions to get us off and moving on to our next task within our cubicle. That’s why watching Pasolini’s Arabian Nights is a salve over necessary wounds. Sex – passion, and most definitely love - is under-nourishing without story…

*Herewith all names of friends, lovers and families will be changed to protect their privacy.

4th Street

Oh, I get it now, thanks to M....

She- Wolf

Jesus christ...Cease and desist. Finito, for the momento.

There is a moment when you have to choose: follow the pack or follow your own path. This is the time. This moment is happening. I've created my own path, and I like the direction of it. It feels good and it feels right. It feels worthy and it feels buoyant. It holds me up. But there is no money in it. These two sentences sum up the essence of my issue, my mental fuck-up. "How are you going to survive?" - the echoes of my mother reverberating through my head. Cripes. No, I can do this. These are incredible people, the world should see. Their vision of life and the world is wholly worthy of a new audience...a wider scope. Their vision should be heard as well as seen. I am the one that has to introduce them.

Engage
Boldness
Courage
Succeed