Notes from a Drive Home

And all at once, the world became this beautifully methodical sequence of events.
The neon of the gas signs were bokeh city lights and the tire treads on the roadside shook like red autumn leaves as cars swiftly passed. A sparrow flew in sync with my car gliding with the warm summer breeze. A line of cars made their way towards me in the opposite lane, their headlights dim lanterns in the evening horizon.
Horse girl rode her bike along the path. Horse girl was a small girl about the age of my sister who always rides her bike up to the pasture to feed the horses baby carrots. Every time I see her, she waits patiently at the gate, the horses ignoring her off in the distance. This time she rode with satisfaction spread across her face, a crumpled baggie bunched in her fist. The horses had been close enough to feed this time.
I saw the face of God in the deep oranges and purples of a particularly well defined cloud. The golden rays gushed into the off-set blues and greys. Heaven had made itself evident tonight.

The world was putting on a show. A revival of sorts. The scenes and characters were all the same - all too familiar episodes of life I pass on a daily basis without taking a second glance. But today, it was being revisioned. I was watching a masterpiece. It was cinema in its purest form. The discolored fabric car seat and cool air conditioning my theatre, the windshield my silver screen.



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Summer so Far...

Pulsing Bernard Hermann scores push the flow of words from my fingers. Writing a paper about Nietzschian trends in Alfred Hitchcock films has become much more vehement than I had anticipated.
I love this summer class. Waking up at 8am and sitting in a really uncomfortable chair for 3 hours is not my favorite aspect of the course. BUT I'm not complaining. The torrential downpour of Hitchcock I get during that class has been invigorating. Even outside of class I rewatch old favorites we don't have time to cover over the 3 weeks.

Uncle Charlie inches towards young Charlie, his secret about to burst from her naive lips. She knows too much. Uncle Charlie slowly turns around and walks back up the staircase, a threatening ferocity in his eyes as he turns around to see her still standing.
I slowly divert my eyes from the screen to notice a girl sitting on the opposite side of the room, her glance completely transfixed on this classic Hitchcock climax. As the music began to pulse she smiled with awe, utterly taken by the scene. My heart begins to beat faster and I let the scene take me as she has, the suspense pushing me towards the edge.
I notice these instances throughout the films we watch. The Hitchcock climax starts its slow descent. Grace Kelly breaks into the house of the suspect, Mr. Thorwald, to grab the evidence only to be met by the man himself. Jimmy Stewart, restricted to a wheelchair can only watch through the window as Thorwald violently grabs her and throws her across the room.
I see a man sitting in the front row, discontent tugging at the edges of his face. He winces when Thorwald begins to shake Kelly, there is nothing he can do either but watch helplessly.

I love this.
Never have I noticed more audience identification with whats transpiring on screen than I have in a room full of people watching a Hitchcock film.
Film is so beautiful. Everything about it. Its power to control emotions, persuade, among other human qualities is so sincere.

It helps when you have a master like Hitchcock at the reigns too.

I'm feeling ill today, not in spirit, thankfully.

I saw a small child wave at me from a maroon minivan today while stuck in traffic. I smiled and waved back and pictured the satisfaction the child must have gotten from the gesture. Turning back around in her seat, a subtle smile spread across her face. The radio softly plays soft rock as her mothers plump forearm rests out of the open window.
It was the simplest of interaction between two human beings, and it gave both such a feeling of gratification. The scene was a comely thought that pushed me further into more thoughts of the beauty of the world:

-Christopher McCandless, aka Alexander Supertramp
The thought that one mans flawed, but awe-inspiring view of life could transcend all the forces against it is comforting. Many claim he was lacking of common sense, stupid to go into the Alaskan wilderness so unprepared, his death by starvation inevitable.
And I agree.
But his passion and fervor are awe-inspiring. The over-romanticized version of the story told by Sean Penn in the 2007 film Into the Wild works because of that notion. He's a tragic hero, one full of flaws and inexperience. But his passion and radical message make up for his shortfalls. The vivaciousness of his idea of detaching from a materialistic society to live among the purity of nature is stirring. I thought the film was just beautiful, a true testament to the human spirit (or what the human spirit should be).

-I love when people tell me things and I replay them in my mind. Alex used this metaphor of his life going by like a train, because of how busy he was. Its a simple image but I made it this epic scene of Alex riding on a train, reflection against the lush passing forest. Images of the life he's leaving behind suddenly replace the scenery creating a surreal entrance into his thoughts.

-The other night I was at a party. Eventually we all piled into one bed in the corner of a room with no lightbulb and listened to some old vinyls. One by one people left, the size of the bed proving to be too small. I was left with just me and two friends who were half-awake, Pink Floyd's, "The Dark Side of the Moon" playing on the record player. I realized how chic and ridiculous the scene was whilst staring at the top of the bunk bed above me. But I felt privileged to be a part of such a moment. I thought "this must have been what it was like" as the screams and laughter from the other room found their way through the walls.


I think I want to make a habit of this. I'll focus my writing on movies and these "beautiful moments". It always makes me feel more at ease when I write things like that in here.