The latest news...
I took in a screening of Millions at the Oriental Cinema this afternoon -- and, to my surprise, attended for the bargain matinee price of 6$US -- and I quite fancied the film. And, before I receive a reaming for enjoying the film, let me say -- the enjoyment I took away from it did not derive from the( pseudo-)mystical, Christianity-advocating plot-device. In fact, I did not feel the film much of a religious work at all, as for all the protagonist's allusion to the lives of saints and visitations from same, there also existed a fairly snide, and, can I say, British belligerence to faith, none moreso than the anti-Mormon (erm, I mean, anti-LDS) expression of the father upon learning his son had provided part of the stolen sterling to the missionaries down the street.
Rather, I quite fancied the idee fixe of the film: being nice. That kindness is... It's not its own reward, to demonstrate that triteness again, but... To have such an unjaded -- even for the death of a parent, at such a young age -- view of the world, to presume anybody (particularly those unfortunate many that bathe less than the Irish did prior to the introduction of a Celtic-specific soap in the 1950s) worthy of one's time, to start out, and even for some (perchance) after they would have shown themselves dastardly and beyond mere sinners (as we all are, no?), appeals to me greatly. I would love to be able to be nigh-always pleasant, with a non-judging eye and a mind open to all ideas (save necro- and paedo-philia, yes) as right, and natural, for at least two human beings. I would just love that... Totally love that.
Alas, I have had too much drama in my life -- and, ironically, most of it (eh, all of it before age twelve or thirteen anyways, so the first eight years of it) not made by my hand -- to ever be normal, ever be sane.
And, try as I might and may to re-introduce myself to the social life, it always gets back to my autobiography, I always become that scared little boy again...
With that, I close. But await tomorrow's entry, for empiric description of my tired life... As well, a further effort to get myself a fatwa from some of the local (and, maybe, not so local) membership of this group, i.e. more names (actually, honest-to-Got names) of people I have known and infuriated (and who have, in some cases, infuriated me) will be dropped. Prepare thyselves.
SACRIFICE.
I took in a screening of Millions at the Oriental Cinema this afternoon -- and, to my surprise, attended for the bargain matinee price of 6$US -- and I quite fancied the film. And, before I receive a reaming for enjoying the film, let me say -- the enjoyment I took away from it did not derive from the( pseudo-)mystical, Christianity-advocating plot-device. In fact, I did not feel the film much of a religious work at all, as for all the protagonist's allusion to the lives of saints and visitations from same, there also existed a fairly snide, and, can I say, British belligerence to faith, none moreso than the anti-Mormon (erm, I mean, anti-LDS) expression of the father upon learning his son had provided part of the stolen sterling to the missionaries down the street.
Rather, I quite fancied the idee fixe of the film: being nice. That kindness is... It's not its own reward, to demonstrate that triteness again, but... To have such an unjaded -- even for the death of a parent, at such a young age -- view of the world, to presume anybody (particularly those unfortunate many that bathe less than the Irish did prior to the introduction of a Celtic-specific soap in the 1950s) worthy of one's time, to start out, and even for some (perchance) after they would have shown themselves dastardly and beyond mere sinners (as we all are, no?), appeals to me greatly. I would love to be able to be nigh-always pleasant, with a non-judging eye and a mind open to all ideas (save necro- and paedo-philia, yes) as right, and natural, for at least two human beings. I would just love that... Totally love that.
Alas, I have had too much drama in my life -- and, ironically, most of it (eh, all of it before age twelve or thirteen anyways, so the first eight years of it) not made by my hand -- to ever be normal, ever be sane.
And, try as I might and may to re-introduce myself to the social life, it always gets back to my autobiography, I always become that scared little boy again...
With that, I close. But await tomorrow's entry, for empiric description of my tired life... As well, a further effort to get myself a fatwa from some of the local (and, maybe, not so local) membership of this group, i.e. more names (actually, honest-to-Got names) of people I have known and infuriated (and who have, in some cases, infuriated me) will be dropped. Prepare thyselves.
SACRIFICE.
