smash list

1. James Spader, before the middle aged Boston Legal spread, and maybe afterwards, providing its over the phone. 

2. Vincent D'Onofrio, again, before the spread and away from the roles where he fucks with his face, i.e. Men in Black, The Cell, Full Metal Jacket etc .

3. Robert. Always.

4. Richey Edwards. First pin up of my adolescence and though his anorexic self loathing is a bit off putting now, I'm still hard pressed to find anyone who looks better in eyeliner.

5. Micheal Fassbender. Wot a man. Makes creepy step dads sexy in Fish Tank & was the best thing about Inglorious Basterds, (well, after the Nazi dude). 

6. Sebastian Koch. Burly & gentle all at once. 

7. Matt Dillon. There are few jaws like that anymore.

P.S

I am returning home to England for a few months armed with a nice new camera.(I paid considerably more for it than that & now realise I got ripped off.)

Sorry my blogging has been so dreary of late, all you anonymous readers out there, all 4 of you!

It's about to improve. Time to get inspired again. Huzzah!

Bed Time Read

&

 

I wish I'd met him.

Old is new

I found this rotting on my old live journal. It was posted just over a year ago and it's pretty pertinent for me that's nothing's changed!

There is some persistant feeling inside me so familiar that it is barely an anxiety anymore. It stems from rich, packed expereinces of a person's company neutured to a sterile exchange of typed words; where the humour arrises from the use of ironic smilies, while each person hopes the other is smiling as their exchnage is fed into the machine.
 It's revealing I suppose. There are some people for whom words remain just that - sign posts, news bulletins and stats. Then there are others leave you hankering for flesh and blood details and emotions however coincidental. You hope to be close to them not only in what they claim to have done but also in the very moment they sit & type to you. You want to watch their face as they do it because it's the face you miss. The play of the eyes as you watch a brain at work. Micro-expressions of that vivid life within. Maybe it's the reassurance of a soul you recognise.
 All the same, you work with what you have and throw tit bits to the grape vine, remembering that you have obligations. 
 Some people feel that same psychic pull to you even if you never feel it yourself. What you tell them is never enough. What you tell them will never be enough. They just hope to be included in your life becuase they value what they can learn from it.
 Knowing I will never see these people again is frightening. It's the persistent knowledge that with each new day these distant  fires slowly die. 
 I pass hundreds of people in a day, never to see them again. I barely remember a single face. There are too many people to know in a lifetime so the few that risk it to know you & your history are worth your time. They are worth all the time in the world.
 So to think your time with such people is through while the earth still has some to spare feels like a crime. Estrangement is the greatest theft. But it makes me wonder - if we had the time, if we had all time, what would we end up doing with it? Wouldn't we just take everyone for granted? Maybe then our sentence to know most people for a breath of time what makes our relationships function.
 It's hard to stomach neat conclusions & imagine closure while that feeling remains of a melancholic sickening. Your soul needs the sort of nourishment  the explanations offered cannot supply. I can't help thinking that it's when you are in dialogue with something you are alive. When you are left alone, some part of you dies.

x

Beats blowing glass motherfucker!

I have 4 months off for Summer, returning to school in March - what the hell?! I've already decided that the next film I make when I get back will be about a furtinure removalist with a problematic chair fetish.

My boy isn't my boy anymore but I find it impossible to introduce him as anything but that. Sad but true. I keep thinking we'll slip back into it accidentally, although I know that's not for the best right now. My GOD, his eyes are blue.

Things do seem easier when the sun's out, I must confess - there's energy in the air and my blood is warmed to the point where it actually circulates properly. I think I was hankering for Summer. It's been 12 months of Wintery weather, thanks to my jet-setting lifestyle. To usher in this happier season of vit D, my beloved flatmate bought me a bike on Ebay. It's purple with pint sized white wall tires. I'm hoping that reckless rides in breezy summer frocks will lift my occasionally weary spirit. The last month was a bit of a stinker all round.

Picking myself up (fell over again)

Firstly:

I love this song of late.

(In general: I think I need to read more of Bukowski's fiction. It keeps me honest.)

Thereafter: Saw a doco about Henry Darger the other night by the same woman who made this. It was rather scary to have it narrated by the overly knowing voice of a seven year old Dekota Fanning but was otherwise rather classy. Sensitive in its open minded approach, it has a stunning command of spanning mountains of his material. I wish I'd seen his apartment before it was dismantled in 2000. It may have had something on Bacon's inspiring mess. 

Curious?

Watch it.

LOVE

I give up.I google imaged "break up" and got this image. It was nice while it lasted.