Babylon 2022

At the moment of death the entire juicy miasma --- of a hundred filmic narratives worn and taken on ----drops/snaps back inwards/dissipates/vanishes and you double back down on your own old ethnic narrative of american self-actualization... I am mexican I am immigrant i dont want to die i am clark gable dying shortly after several pained smiles i am montgomery clift getting back on the horse i am chinese black circus freak rateater i am loogie made human and physical I am gay Column of phlegm gal pal anna may wong i am gary cooper gene kelly don lockwood i am lina lamont i am Pre- and post- buccal fat removal margot robbie i am an occasional vomiter i am getting off the horse. I am leaving the great protoplasmic Angeleno carapace. I am a movie that is the length of time and pure clumsy narrative running liquid backwards in jerked skein forwards looping - movie which is literally shit out of itself which is birthed in great balls of animal waste and then proceeds to interpolate its own score, I go lay flat on my bare gessoed canvas life the canvas is naked at birth then gessoed with afterbirth (the first narrative, formed of genotype phenotype and context and occurrence, is being a baby) i texture it over with translucent globs of movie paint i walk and carry it with me like Music which is emotional sensory decoration of time. Even the sort of trumpet blasts of near-stupidity this movie sometimes blows out in forceful and effortful puffs are tucked in and ugly and texture and part of it and moving and necessary probably. Man having a breakdown scene bent down over a table with face hidden from viewer. Taking a beat before leaving the scene. Three or four scenes ago an actual scene being made inside of an already-made scene. damien chazelle who is present in nepotted wooden son max minghella format proceeds to take critical Cultural Conversations around la la land and take them and actually think about them and work them around in ways elegant and morally neutral into a tender response... Some actually tasteful racial stuffs here, which are somehow accessions and reproductions of a million extant sensory narrative triggers but also which are genuinely touching.. It occurs to me that this is modern scarface the only way scarface could be made 'Today' with all applicant textures and sheens of the Time. None of us last and none of our lives have anything happen have any spikes or any individual sparkle they are empty canvas gessoed then textured by narrative overlays and the miasma shooting up the collective iCloud and uCloud and allCloud up overhead arching the silvery sheen which we all take on and are allowed to take on and cannot stop from taking on, consumerism is taker-on-erism, drone or crane overhead shot of th ewhole complex and people become sheets of linked speckles with repetitive same patches of -core, aesthetics, visual indicators of imagined lives made visible, I texture my canvas over again with this pure optimistic morally neutral but un-empty apocalypse w/ all logistical and slapstick and semiotic symbolic scenic "cinematic" trappings. Phoebe tonkin peepee-ing on an uncurbed man. And concurrent then subsequent recognition, excitement, invocation of myth. The Devil Tobey Maguire. The crass and genuinely silent film sensibility of margot robbie Silly and always somehow true performing like a dense pygmalioned layer of fat skimmed from starlet broth surface. Like the nodal opposition to julia roberts's horrible sharky lacuna performance of a person in pretty woman. An empire transmuted which begins w/ a writhing sheet of people that are nakedly gay and colored and godless but jubilant and free from either the hallowing or smiting power of 'Morals' and then who are sublimated into a shifting Linq casino system of hidden and repressed and revealed and rotting moral transgressions. Many children of incest and capital here . Slapstick which ends in death before fade out to next scene but no one really dies, there will be another scene just like it, conversations will be had again 

The ending being the four primary people-nodes of the movie finally being reduced to unfiltered Selves, free of all flapping trappings of SYMBOL, as the entire film -- film which is just monied and complex color and light -- drops and snaps back inwards and does something so random and then in the center of that sly loud mix dissipates and condenses to their bare pixels of unmixed hue. Like a live-action end of evangelion AMV hinged on the moment the guy throws deuces up at the camera. Audience w/ audience, audience lit red, green, blue, yellow, movie broken down to its lowest particle format then stretched out to screen-width. Narrowing and widening and re-narrowing and widening and winnowing and flooding over and over and over again. I will make my own movie. I will keep interpolating my own score. i will walk myself in a rich private silence to someone else’s apartment then come back to my own then go to sleep then wake up again. i will get groceries with my mother. i will go to the multiplex at the mall with my father and brother. i will have a conversation with a friend. there were and are and will be hundreds of conversations just like it. all of this has happened before and will happen again in hundreds and thousands of iterations ad infinitum i will die and really be dead i will not be dead for real though i will be sitting in the theater in the dark, with a always-carried and rising and blooming and growing silvery bubble above me, i will be accessing it at my leisure, i will be powerless to untether it, i would be naked or fucked or dying or nothing without it, i will be at the movies I am at the movies I am "making a movie" i will make a movie i will not make a movie i will never make a movie it is enough to walk around and carry "i am making a movie" with me i am i am i am one of 100s 1000s millions all movies are the same this is better and denser than most we dip our hands into the Lethe en masse then step back outside into the multiplex then into the body of the mall then into the vaguely digestive and nearly material scent still-standing in the food court then onto the sky bridge then we are falling over the railing-less side of it through the cold empty space between anus and toilet water then we make impact and open our collective ocular network to see we are on the back of some lush flying creature with our arms wrapped around the Na'vi waist of Jake Sully who is so smooth and beautiful it hurts to love him

 

 

 

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