
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Stranger Things
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

shark vs the universe
Misplaced Lens Cap
Sweet Seals For You, Always
$LAYYYTER
No title available
we're not kids anymore.
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
taylor price
Sade Olutola

pixel skylines

titsay
No title available
ojovivo

Discoholic 🪩

JVL
almost home
seen from Malaysia
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@theonardooo
(haru): it's so amusing reading the subtitles while watching foreign films
Notes from CYCLONOPEDIA & KENTUCKY ROUTE ZERO February 27, 2013
“Transpierce the mountains instead of scaling them, excavate the land instead of striating it, bore holes in space instead of keeping it smooth, turn the earth into swiss cheese. An image from the film Strike [by Eisenstein] presents a holey space where a distributing group of people are rising, each emerging from his or her hole as if from a field in all directions.” - Deleuze and Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus
( ) hole complex [holey space] – connotes a degenerate wholeness
Unground – the process of degenerating a solid body by corrupting the coherency of its surfaces / the shadow outside time and space
From the mad Arab - “till out of corruption horrid life springs, and the dull scavengers of earth wax crafty to vex monstrous to plague it.” p. 43
“once freed from its solar slavery, the earth can rise against the onanistic self-indulgence of the Sun and its solar capitalism” p. 43
Poromechanical universe or ( )hole complex is a machine to fascilitate the awakening and return of the Old Ones through convoluted compositions of solid and void.
“void excludes solid but solid must include void to architecturally survive: solid needs void to engineer its composition; even the most despotic and survivalist solids are compositional solids, infected with void.” p. 44
“it is through survival (the incapacity of the solid to reject the void) that solid participates in ungrounding itself.” p. 44
“to make friends with the void, first one must submit to the ridged reign of the solid.” p. 47
“the only way that the solid can initialize its architectonic and composistional activities (processes for survival, developments, etc) is by letting the void in.” p. 47
“all activities of the solid are oriented towards engineering new voiding functions, convolutions, vermicular spaces” p. 47
“instead of purging mechanisms of void, nemat-functions emerge.” p. 47
Nemat Space = Worm Space - “Nemat or worm space is a complex, with a strange elastic geometry: its pourous side is constituted of itinerant lines rendering synchonous possibilities of relaxation, metamorphosis, folding, spreading tortuosity, heterogeneous dynamism and compositional anomalies of the complex.” … “it is Lovecraftian worm-ridden space that makes solidity the altruistic host of emergence.” p. 48
Incognitum Hactgenus – “Anything can happen for some weird reason; yet also, without any reason, nothing at all can happen.”
“everywhere a hole moves, a surface is invented.” p. 50
“what horrifies the living is not an empty tomb by a messed-up and exhumed tomb.” p. 51
“for every inconsistency on the surface, there is a subterranean consistency. The law of subterranean cause in archaelogy bears a striking resemblance to Freud-Jung’s suggestion that for every pyschosomatic breakdown, there is a Complex (an anomalous convolution and knottedness).” p. 53
“the course of emergence in any medium corresponds to the formation of that medium; the more agitated the line of emergence becomes, the more convoluted and complex the host medium must be.” p. 53
WHAT ARE HIGHWAYS IF NOT VOIDS, HOLES AND NEW SURFACES SPREAD ABOUT THE CONTINENT?
THERE IS SOMETHING GOING ON HERE IN VIDEO GAMES IN THE SHIFT FROM MASS TO CRAFT PRODUCTION / THE SHIFT FROM RAW RESOURCE EXTRACTION TO EXTRACTION OF ANOTHER, AFFECTIVE KIND
DERELECT MINES / ANTIQUES DEALER
CATHODE RAY TUBE TELEVISION / VIDEO GAME ON PC DISTRIBUTED THROUGH DIGITAL NETWORKS
OLD MAN WHO WAS A ROOFER / YOUNG WOMAN WHO IS A TELEVISION REPAIR WOMAN
ROUTE ZERO / COUNT OF ONE
KENTUCKY / GLOBAL (CAPITALISM)
SOLID / ( ) HOLE
GHOST / FLESH
FISH TANKS / CTHULHU
hi it's been like a month since i've had access to any kind of cinnamon and i don't think i've ever felt this strong a yearning for a spice is this what people in the 17th century felt like
ON SEEING THE 100% PERFECT GIRL ONE BEAUTIFUL APRIL MORNING
by Haruki Murakami
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo’s fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl. Tell you the truth, she’s not that good-looking. She doesn’t stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn’t young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a “girl,” properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She’s the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there’s a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert. Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you’re drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I’ll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose. But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can’t recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It’s weird. “Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl,” I tell someone. “Yeah?” he says. “Good-looking?” “Not really.” “Your favorite type, then?” “I don’t know. I can’t seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts.” “Strange.” “Yeah. Strange.” “So anyhow,” he says, already bored, “what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?” “Nah. Just passed her on the street.” She’s walking east to west, and I west to east. It’s a really nice April morning. Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I’d really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world. After talking, we’d have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed. Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart. Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards. How can I approach her? What should I say? “Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?” Ridiculous. I’d sound like an insurance salesman. “Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?” No, this is just as ridiculous. I’m not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who’s going to buy a line like that? Maybe the simple truth would do. “Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me.” No, she wouldn’t believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you’re not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I’d probably go to pieces. I’d never recover from the shock. I’m thirty-two, and that’s what growing older is all about. We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can’t bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She’s written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she’s ever had. I take a few more strides and turn: She’s lost in the crowd. Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical. Oh, well. It would have started “Once upon a time” and ended “A sad story, don’t you think?” Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened. One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street. “This is amazing,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you’re the 100% perfect girl for me.” “And you,” she said to him, “are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I’d pictured you in every detail. It’s like a dream.” They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It’s a miracle, a cosmic miracle. As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one’s dreams to come true so easily? And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, “Let’s test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other’s 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we’ll marry then and there. What do you think?” “Yes,” she said, “that is exactly what we should do.” And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west. The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other’s 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully. One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season’s terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence’s piggy bank. They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love. Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty. One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew: She is the 100% perfect girl for me. He is the 100% perfect boy for me. But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever. A sad story, don’t you think? Yes, that’s it, that is what I should have said to her.
I found this in the sea of chrome tabs on my phone
i have no idea why it was there but i probably found it after somebody mentioned it in a film or something
but also in the original post there was a "asian loneliness" tag like????
american problems
my friends in amsterdam: “23 degrees outside, no wonder it’s so hot in here”
me:
how did this meme already outdated you really overestimated sunny dutch days huh
I get scared when I eat beans.
isn’t that a funny sentence
but then again, what is funny about ridiculing somebody’s fear?
i mean, fundamentally, what is fear really? situations where our tiny monkee brains are forced to reconcile with the immovable giant that is our world? extensions of concerns stemming from previous bad experiences? ingrained defense mechanism built from our cavemen ancestors? (btw i hate the cavemen ancestor whatever the fuck built in arguments that just sounds so culty and pesudoscience to me but yes)
this sounds way too pretentious sorry
it’s just that I often dwell on things that I know I shouldn’t dwell on, because digging in a big deep hole that’s already very big and very deep does not contribute much to the discussion does it? i guess it’s also very on brand for me to be stuck trying to do something that I know is impossible. (less so now, but I could be very stubborn, or so I have been told) It also doesn’t help the fact that I’m afraid of being shot to death while living in amsterdam, one of the safest city in europe, like who the fuck even thinks of shit like that??
not to quote mulaney but, for years I was a child, in many many part i still consider myself a child I have way too many dumb habits and quirks that I need to iron out before I can convince myself that I’m an adult. As a kid, I would often wake up crying to my parents, telling them that I, in fact, do not want to go quiet into that goodnight and merely perish at the ripe age of 80 and would rather not let time gain its victory over me. over the years, that hasn’t as much dissipated as it has kinda burrowed deeper into the two inch deep kiddie pool that is me. Sometimes, usually unprompted, or most of the time when I start watching videos from Vsauce, or that one time I watched a Ted-EDU animation on heat death, the good ol’ comforting snake of dread slithers out of whatever hole in my soul it buried itself in, and starts dripping venom into my ears again for approximately the 80 bijillionth time.
reading camus and thinking about the meaninglessness of life yet still rebelling against that has certainly helped me with not spiraling too much from homebase but, that’s a topic for a different time.
but i guess fear is also one of the most definitive part of the human experience, is it not? the sharing of pain and worries and woes, that could have stemmed from the simplest thing like a can of beans, to know that you are not alone in this puddle of anxiety, to find solace and reassurance in simply possessing the fact that there are indeed someone there that could ease a bit of the weight that you’ve been holding onto for so long. To know that despite it all, sometimes life just like to tease you out a bit by throwing you a lifeline, tricking you into believing that maybe god put you on this earth for a reason ;)
okay that got a bit too nihilistic but you know me
i mean, i think beans are worth it though, even though you might cut your finger on the can every time (or almost every time I’m not one to generalized I ain’t your cans of beans) you open them, they do be beans though, and beans are pretty great. They come in so many shapes, all of them can be described as bean-shaped, and their flavour is so unique and comforting. Just a sea of sameness culminating into an experience that can be described, not to use big words here, but like "a mouthful of beans."
i love beans.
i hope beans love me back.
A Love Letter
This is something I wrote at the start of the year. I think this is manifestation of how I was starting to think about film more and more. (and by film I mean these 4 films) Again with everything I post here there could very well be errors and mistakes but I'm not assed to correct them :)
Film is an interesting medium to say the very least, to quote Yi Yi , people who go to the cinemas lives three times as long. It allows glimpses of lives that could have been. For us to live vicariously, feel vicariously.
But film also let us live in it, breathe in it. Melt down the border between art and viewer to the point where you’re immerse in it. To actually make you feel.
Love is a very peculiar and delicate part of life. Call me by your name and Portrait of a lady on fire put those intricate part of lust and yearning into a shotgun and just blast it straight at you. To not feel is a sin. Rather than an actual shotgun to the heart, like the finale of both film, the buildup to that oh so gut wrenching punch is where the genius is. The characters, the interaction, the exchange of glances, the running, the sitting, the swimming, the smiling, the “because I wanted you to know“, the crying, the whispering, the touching, the opening of oneself to such a degree that seemed impossible. All the ways where it reaches out to us and forces us to look deep, deep inside of ourselves.
Where as they focus on the heartache in romantic love, Little women uses the same medium to show us family and relationship. How they endured hardship, how sisters love each other. Moving through all of their lives while not losing any of that tension. It just felt like a hug, letting us witness where life takes everybody, how it’s all going to be alright.
From love comes joy and safety, it also brings endings and heartbreaks. Marriage Story examines the anatomy of a relationship from its demise. Despite the separation of the two characters being the thread of the movie, it shows us in all the little cracks that the main characters still care deeply about each other. Through arguments and awkward conversations, how it just doesn’t work out, and how that’s completely fine.
All four of them feels like the tide to me, how they ebb and flow, the tension and the release, the ups and downs, weaving emotions through moving pictures and sound. Sometimes you’re floating on it, sometimes you’re pulled deep in it. Creating that portal through which you can see Timothee Chalamet fuck a peach.
“To have it for a day is better than never finding it at all”
Blue Valentine, Derek Cianfrance - Interview Magazine
To be very honest with you, I ain’t too optimistic about romantic relationships now. Not that I think I’m not capable of loving someone or that it is unlikely that someone would love me for me, it’s just that the idea of two person being in close proximity of each other for an extended period of time seems like a head on course for disasters.
I often wonder why films about doomed romance intrigues me so much. Other than the obvious reason of them subverting the heavily romanticised ideas of love and relationships that Hollywood has implanted into all of us for years, I think it’s how they spark a series of reexamination of preconceptions in my life.
Blue Valentine, Call Me By Your Name (or its more well known title, Fuck Me By Act 2), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, 500 Days of Summer, Lost in Translation, Marriage Story, La La Land, and Her: all depicts what was a deeply impactful relationship to the main character(s).
When something doesn’t work, it’s a great time to deconstruct it and figure out what made it work in the first place.
“Endings doesn’t mean failure,” that’s what director Noah Baumbach said when asked about his film Marriage Story. I think that’s a beautiful sentiment, when a car breaks down, you can take the time to get to know the car a little better, and in turn maybe even find out what caused it to break down in the first place.
In ending comes change, at least in good endings that is. If endings don’t cause you to change, you might find yourself ending up in the place you started the whole mess in. Just like the ending sequence to Eternal Sunshine, where the whole thing is cyclical.
okay at this point I think I’m juggling too many things at once so I’m just gonna keep it short
The more I think about it, the more I truly think what makes the important things in life important is the process and not the result. Please note that a 17 year old boy who has yet to see even a speck of what life truly has to offer wrote that but, take what you want.
I guess what I really want to say is, go watch all the movies I mentioned please okay thank you bye.
We don’t look up enough
I know the title sounds kinda boomerish, and I guess the point I’m trying to make is also kinda boomerish.
oh we all should look up more, really take in all the world is offering to us but hey I stand by that sentiment.
It’s very easy indeed to live a life of cynicism, especially in the world we’re living in right now. Fucking the scales of right and wrong are just all tipped over on its head; police brutality; systemic oppression; fucking governments being useless and the one percent just making everybody mad. But allow me to propose this idea of: yes the world is shit, yes everybody should be riled up about people being treated like shit, but there’s still a lot of good in the world. It would be a damn shame if that all beauty goes to waste.
Especially in a city like Hong Kong, looking up just never fails to amaze you. To look is to care, to see and observe all the intricate details of something. Next time you walk that route you’ve walked a million times just, take sometime, slow down your pace, and look around. Look at the buildings, look at the people. You might find something you like, you might find something you disgusts you like sports centers using comic sans for their name. But hey regardless of what you find, you still looked. Things never come to you. Even if a falling star dropped to earth, it wouldn’t land on your feet, you’d have to look for it.
It’s easy to live a life of cynicism, heck I sure lived that life. Always being detached and sarcastic. Disregarding everything remotely genuine as phony or fake. Building up that layer of defence. In my mind everybody needs to go through this face, where we peeled off the facade of everything and deconstruct it down to see not everything is flowers and sunshine. But it is also definitely not a phase you should stay in forever.
Being genuine and vulnerable is a completely normal thing. I guess you can tell from what the fuck I’m writing right now but introspection does not equal to detachment. I also wanted to write about passion but my brain isn’t really handling it right now so maybe another time. I don’t even know if I made a point in this one. Oh I know I recommend watching Columbus by Kogonada, it’s such a wholesome movie and I can’t stop thinking about it.
Also looking up helps to release tension in your neck muscles so there’s another reason why you should look up okay thanks bye.
This overwhelming sense of loneliness
Thinking is tiring. I basically did nothing but think today though. Well, that’s not true I also read a book today, finished a book to be accurate. I guess reading is just suspending your thinking temporarily and simply let ideas flow into your mind like an IV drip. Wow that’s a weird analogy.
I just can’t get rid of this sense of lonesomeness after finishing the book I guess. I read Norwegian Wood btw in case you’re wondering It is strangely fitting for me to be reading it at this time of my life: the summer before college. As the story is basically just the protagonist, Toru’s first year of university. The level of connection i felt with Toru is actually kind of scary. I share a lot of the ways that he looks at the world: his seemingly impossible way of always caring too little or caring too much; his yearning to understand someone, or to be understood by that someone; his confusion in his identity; his attempts at making sense of everything; his feelings of being an outsider, not really participating nor necessarily having the urge to participate. Often I wonder whether this is just a phase or is it how i really feel. This feeling of isolation and being emotional distant seems to transcend cultures. Or maybe this is another example of confirmation bias in action, and it’s just me subconsciously picking books and stories that share similar themes. hm
feeling lonely Being alone and feeling alone is two separate concept, I realized recently. Wayy too late if i’m being honest with myself. Yearning to be understood, wanting to be wanted, the need to be needed. Physically being with someone doesn’t mean those hungers are satisfied. Humans are indeed social animals after all. We crave connections, we crave relationships, we crave sharing experiences with people we care about. As much as angsty rebellious teens think “I just want to be left alone, no one will ever get me.” In the end we all just want to be alone with someone. Or maybe i’m just genrealizing to a degree that it’s not true anymore but, at least that applies to me.
but here’s the thing i think one of the reason why people feel like nobody understands them is because, now i’m just hypothesizing, they don’t understand themselves in the first place. To really know someone else, or to let someone know you, you gotta know who you are to begin with. iunno maybe that’s not true
the bittersweetness of being alone is something I really enjoy. that sense of freedom and liberation is addicting to put it lightly. but at the same time you wish you were not alone, you wish there was someone besides you, sharing your worries, you sharing their worries. I’ve come to realize that life is filled with these contradictions, these bittersweetness, these trade offs. This overwhelming sense of loneliness what’s so bad about it?
also i really like lists of threes huh
reblog if ur a fuckin piece of shit
Forcing yourself to work on something that you have no real motivation for
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Created by Fabio Cautella
(via:assorted-goodness)
A lonely god by Belhoula Amir
OH MY GOD YOU NEED TO DO MORE OF THESE! IT'S AWESOME!