How Americans highjacked modern culture

Now, because that's how it's been for the last 150 years – and ironically the last great painter actually came from US - unless it sells like crazy, it can't be good. And it can sell like crazy in Europe, but that just means it's pompous sanctimonious shit, right - unless it's big in US. If it's big in the US, then it's BIG. Then it's goooood. Oh, man, if it's on the New York Times Bestseller list, like the latest Madonna autobiography or Fifty Shades of Fuck Me Never, you're IT. You've got it. How could a Slovenian poet ever be good, right? Or a Ukrainian? Aren't those just communist propaganda poets? How could an African nation's poet ever be any good, can those even write?

Today, while walking through the tremendously magical sunny-morning forest-after-heavy-rain, Drej introduced me to another baffling concept: we spoke of someone being so little read, so under-educated in language, they cannot - LITERALLY - explain how they feel. And henceforth understand what they are feeling. That there is a difference between exhausted and depressed. That when you're happy you can be concerned at the same time; or if you're crying there can still be a part of you ambitious beyond all reason to live and love. In my family it would be rude to talk of money, of profit, it would be summat vulgar, but we talked about opinions, emotions and correspondence between the two all the time. Heck, I'm fit to explain to a total stranger how I can be soul-crushingly terrified and absolutely unbelievably excited about diving in at the same time. 

Americans, whose movies are their biggest mouthpiece, will celebrate sad, lonely, confused, detached, alienated writers who won't care about the fame, they'll just care about 'the truth'. Yeah. For sure. Marilyn Monroe bent herself into a pretzel for fame and fortune because she just wanted to be loved.

It's easily because many people are sad, lonely, confused, detached and alienated and this means they can become famous writers, too, if they own up to that sum. You won't see movies about NORMAL people, professional writers, having normal emotional responses, relationships and processes... Because that would mean there's a method to the madness and that method is very difficult to achieve. Same as being a nuclear physicist or - an Olympic medalist. One of my favorite essayist on the subject of creative writing states on the very first page: learn the rules, it won’t cost you your ‘genious’.

But that’s not sexy. Education. Very few can achieve that. Books written by educated people are shit, right? Well…  Yes, if American bestseller lists are anything to go by. The writers who write the really good books, unfortunately for ‘the sexy’ are not crazy, lonely weirdos. That's just an image that sells, the James Dean appeal. They are actually people who have arranged their lives to be perfect for them and slightly detached from the rest. There is no suffering in it. Mary Oliver isn't a crazy old hag. Tove Janssen wasn't a miserable old drunkard. Toni Morrison isn't a deranged old street-corner prophet. These are all very educated, decent, hard-working, level-headed, loved and respected, and normal people with a lot to say and a rich enough vocabulary to say it simply. 

You need to be interesting FIRST, educated later and THEN you need to be consistent. That's how a great author is done. That pompous, decadent shit, a 16-year old Rimbaud shooting his gay lover and then writing a love song about it? That's myth. That's the propaganda you're so afraid of, the sellable fiction of never-happened character. 

The sexy. 

Unless there's titties, possibly abused in some sense, it's not going to be a bestseller. Unless a famous person "wrote" it or ‘twas written of them – someone famous enough to be easily recognized, like Jesus or Elvis or Nixon or something.  Do you have ANY idea how many extraordinary pieces of literature there are, written by people who would wipe their arse with the New York Times bestseller lists, had they now been to civil? There are so many. So many. 

There's a word to describe this horrid/awesome feeling you'll never be able to read all the good books there are - I forget now what it is, but there is one. I'm not the first person to reminisce on it.

... so, you're only supposed to have sex very quietly in pitch black dark or does the whole world get to watch you give a blow job to your husband while you two are watching a boring movie?...

... How about copyrights to the movie? Or to an original thesis? Or tests? ... Ye. It's bad.

Watched The Circle. (Reading the book, so ... wreening* it, so to say.)It's about some super pretty (godFUCKING awfully bad) child actress taking over a leading world company from under Tom Hanks in two months by suggesting democracy should be enforced and privacy is the root of all evil. Then John Boyega (love it how they changed the char's name from Russian to french, 'cause, you know, communism) who lives in the sewer shows up and says: "Yes, costumer service girl who came on to me during a party and has since betrayed my moral code every time to get ahead and filmed her parents having sex for views, I will show private emails of my business partners to students who couldn't do their tax return yet alone comprehend the management of a hyper-company." And then she becomes their leader.

Ye. It's THAT bad. 

For a nation who will ever think communism is a dirty word, they certainly love to have their thinking done for them, don't you, little cultists?

She is so very smart she takes an unmarked boat out in the middle of a bay shipping lane in the middle of the night, in fog.

*watching and reading the same thing atm

This week's line belongs to grandma:

Me: "We went to the vet with Starbark today, to get her a rabies shot. She was scared, poor thing."
Gran: "Yes, yes, you are just not meant for bikes, honey."

Offed to watch popcorn. I mean Fate of the Furious 18.

Though this wasn't exactly Prometheus, I do have some questions. Like, how did the submarine get from the dry dock into the water? Why did the two guys escaping from it close the hatch - wouldn't it just sink if they just left it open? That was a fast icebreaker-sub! Why were they showing Gatling shells during a Ripsaw canon firing? How didn't the guy with the small penis freeze to death falling into a Siberian lake? Where were all the cops during the New York zombie-car chase? Good thing Dom doesn't have hair, or it would get singed when a nuclear sub exploded next to him ... less so if he laid down ... and probably during the Havana chase, too. Wasn't that NATO's Akula sub, which doesn't carry nukes? Do in America really ALL doors just open when the power runs out? Shouldn't there be some sort of a backup generator, like they have it in hospitals, to kick in within a microsecond? Most of these places the power is hardly ever in. Why would a chopper (miraculously still working) fly into an EMP range?

And most importantly, HOW did a Volkswagen Passat from 2003 have enough computer inside it to keep up with the other remotely hijacked cars? Seriously? 

Fuckers murdered a Bentley :(

Handmaid's tale pilot

Gotsta admit, this shit is surprisingly haunting. Well done, odd ladies who made this. Praise for the least erotic fucking scene you'll ever see (And I've watched Eyes Wide Shut - twice.)

"If it's in focus it's pornography, if it's out of focus it's art." - Billy Kwan

One of my all-time favourite characters and someone I was since always deeply attracted to for it's civility, smarts and, ultimately - loneliness, is the character of Billy Kwan, a Jakarta - based journalist with deep socialistic yearning. Shunned by other journalists who takes the job tired, drunk and to prove something of their worth, Kwan is smarter and better versed and desperate for a friend. This ultimately disappoints him when he idolises the newcomer reporter only to find him the same as everyone else. Kwan's lines are terrific, making the movie a cut above par. Sad as fuck, obviously. In a 'too little too late' sense - the worst kind of sad.

I would love to have been a lover of a man like that, were I a war correspondent in an impoverished, sweaty armpit of a world, but I fear I would only ever disappoint as well. He fed off young naivete and I was stupid when I was young and now that I'm old, I'm not naive enough any longer.

Starbark's nose is like Facebook: when we go out and take a path we haven't taken in three days, but the dogs she knows have, she is obsessed with finding out what they've been up to in the ONE day she hasn't seen them.

In case you're wondering why my obligatory 'dandelion seeds blown into the wind' pics don't come out :D (and other veggies)

Training wheels soon coming off ...

I'm getting better at this shit :D Today I rode uphill .. well, okay, not so much rode as pushed the bike, but it's the principle of the thing ... as my stamina in nowhere near that of a bike rider and neither my legs, my hands, my bum or my heart can handle the slightest bit of an incline. Purple in the face and sweating, I get off, rest, bike a bit, get off, rest ... But, to the top I got and then helped around the vineyard a bit, watching over mum as she manoeuvred the lawnmower around the neat level area. I rode down without pause, VERY slowly, then cut across the city to buy some hobby clay in turquoise to try and make myself an ancient-looking pipe.

G's workplace is on the other side of the industrial area, looking awesome in twilight - all those factories fully lit, smoke and steam billowing, great wood processing yards watering the wood, lots of rail-o-tracks, sleeping car yards smelling of car spray, an old gypsy circus storage yard, an occasional cat on the prowl, some slow, small dark rivers crawling through ... Magical ride, really.

Queen of mushrooms in a night forest ...

All you have to do, if you wish to conquer a continent, is walk in front of a posh audience (queens, TV cameras, whatever) and produce a box of gold (can be yours, doesn’t matter, can be your mother’s) and a strong, hot BROWN person dressed in nothing but feathers and a strange haircut – can be anybody, your neighbor, your florist, your son’s gym teacher. If you say you’ve just returned from a newly discovered land with riches and healthy slaves, you will inspire generations, hundreds of THOUSANDS of bandeirantes whose JOB will be to rob, rape, slaughter and enslave everyone they meet and call it adventure in the name of their government. That’s how you get then Brazil and suchlike.

The test bike-ride was so cool!

Testing the combo -> new bike -> plus Lyrosaurus Rex ... proved a success! At first we just walked a little, she alongside the bike, then we tried riding a little, Lyra running. Problems occur when she either breaks to sniff, pee or eat something, or, worse yet, when she starts charging. Since I haven't been on a bike in a decade and wasn't a particularly ninja-like rider even before that, my balance is terrible and i am constantly on the verge of being knocked aside - either by slippery rocks or grassy edges of the path or sudden steps in the trek. Since my butt isn't used to the seat (my poor labia...), most of the weight is on my hands (poor wrists), so - front -, so when I hit a root or somesuch, instead of simply sitting steady and using the wheel as it's supposed to be used, I panic and tilt. A noob tactic, obviously. I'll get better.

That said, once far enough out of the city, far enough from other people, once I put her off the leash, she immediately understood "Behind me" and simply intuitively jogged (we were going extremely slowly) a couple of feet as my shadow. We thus made 20 km today. It's not so little for the first day and for the tiny mutt. On the way back she was so tired I simply stopped leashing her when other people passed and she ignored them completely, didn't bark once, didn't even m ind other bikers passing us. It was adorable. She's passed out now and I'm recreating my wrists by typing. The day has been glorious so far. Not a single nose broken, knock on jinx.

Summer adventures, he we come!

Fucking frost damage :/

Herbarium idea

Will try to slowly - and CON...SIS...TENT...LEEEE post these as lessons in grass and plants that one finds on doggie walks :D

Know that feeling, when you can't find the right word - you KNOW there is probably a perfect word out there for the line you're coining, you just haven't found it yet? ... I love that feeling.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin ...

Bob Dylan

From a long(ing) time ago, the dark pics

Good GODS my arms ache. That was some intense lawnmowing there. Pity the weather is shit and everyone is praying the frost tonight doesn't kill EVERYTHING, like it did last year, but once my gorilla-long arms get some rest, tomorrow we continue.

.. and because I am a moron and didn't hydrate properly, my head now hurts like a BRICK.

Such a wild day. Drej and I had a nice walk, though it’s fucking cold for April, and windy, and talked about photography a lot, which always makes me feel good. I got closer to my triptych herbarium idea, which g upgraded saying I should also make a story out of following the life on an anthill, and while I waited for him and internet was down, I photographed spoons. Just because. G slept a couple of hours, then offed to have a brunch date, but got a call to report to the downtown office. I always get nervous during those calls, and when he called me back, he was a little stunned, too. He also had to go to the grocery store, which I am not allowed to accompany, because I suck at buying proper food, so I had to wait at home for him to return and we’ll go out for a coffee. A little while later he calls and I hop down and he’s sitting in the window at the entrance with one of THOSE expressions. He says he finally bought himself the birthday present that’ll make him happy. It’s outside. I walk out carefully, half expecting a Harley Davidson or a pet dragon or at least a puppy (we got THIS close to buying a pale Husky wolf-look-alike), but it’s an off-road bike. I say: But you already have an off-road bike. “It’s for you, you idiot.” Why would you buy ME a bike for YOUR birthday? Because you looked miserable the last time we went on a bike ride, using your dumpy old town bike. And making you happy makes me happy.

                O.o

Blimey.

                Of course it’s been so long that I can no longer ride a bike and am notoriously afraid of being killed in traffic, seeing me try to ride it was a tragic affair – which brought back the memories of the first day we met – when he watched me try to ride a moped.

                During coffee, he explained what the call to the office was about. One of THOSE calls. And it’s a pickle. General is not a person who likes change to come dramatically, unlike me, who has an orgasm seeing new movie posters being put up. We spoke at length about pros and cons, agreeing he’ll need more information before even knowing how to feel about it. Dad called me to ask how come I haven’t come uphill yet to mow the lawn with the new mower. Because it’s been raining and snowing, dad? I’m Rambo, but I’m not Bear Grylls.

                We couldn’t nap, so we just lay in bed entwined and talked, then he offed to nap in the bathtub full of hot water – something he does – and back in bed I made an effort to demonstrate (I suck as reacting to presents properly. I get choked up as the feels get stuck at the bottleneck, which can be misconstrued as indifference, yet is anything but) exactly how in love with him I am and how my brain is full of bike-trip plans. When he still couldn’t sleep I showed him a bunch of adorable Huawei p10 commercials. (Carl! :D ) and then played WoW until finally I heard him breathe in his sleep mode. I’m going uphill tomorrow and hopefully he’ll get his much needed – and much avoided – sleep, then we plan to go out for his birthday lunch, the three of us.

                Lemme see if I’ll be able to take some of the proposed herbarium pickies. I lack terribly Drej’s calm consistency. I want to make an effort at posting something predictable every day, but am so far only editing old, dramatic, dark nostalgic portraits...

I'm hyping the reds in the BWs to the max. It results in nothing anyone would ever like - except this mood I'm in... this odd Dustbowl capacity to it.. The kind of life and death you don't ever get in pretty pretty pictures ...

(In reality, this is a very lovely schoolgirl, in case anyone freaks out.)

Spoons, you think?

10 years younger, thinner and - short hair days!

Awwwww, found this old photo - pardon the ghastly photoshop attempt, it seems I was using some kind of pedestrian program and needed to erase the background - from my postmaiden days!! I used a kitchen knife to cut my then hair, because it got in the way of my helmet ... And yes, I was ten years younger, thinner and a lot more ... nosey (my nose is actually a lot smaller) then, what I really really miss is the evolution of having your hair grow long. For sure, having the long hair I wear now is certainly hot, but ... G has greenlit my visit to a dresser - he insists a pro does it, properly, but other than that he finally allows me to get rid of the mane. Here I also had the winter brown colour. Yay!!

Watching some YouTube stuff that is making me cry (Boogie2988 talking about being abused; the family that's abusing their kids and thinking it's fun and fine; the poor man who was thrown off an United Airlines plane, because they needed to make room for another passanger, crying "I need to get home, I need to get home..." - that is someone's father you fucking creeps!...)

... and then watching some stuff that is making me happy again. Like Firefly Funko Pop options (Jayne! :D ) and Agnes Krown without eyebrows.

Walked off hill in the rain today – there was a promise of coffee ice-cream and company of a beautiful woman at the end of descend – wearing none of rain gear, not even shoes. (G drove and took all the bags with him, as getting my canvas bag wet wouldn’t be as recommended.) Both family meals – early breakfast and late lunch were lovely, and although I didn’t eat as much as I can, ham, eggs and horseradish can be awfully heavy and I needed some air. I borrowed dad’s woolly cap and vest, so as to keep my head and torso warm, and not much else. We’re approaching that time of the season when I love having my innards warm, but my skin cold. I sleep more and more often completely exposed as well. Plus, knowing I’ll be able to change clothes as soon as I get home, made it less a real sport than a game. The hill roads were empty, no cars or people, with an enchanting timelessness to them, that made me wish I had a walking staff and a bindle of blessed ham and eggs in it. :D