"You don't understand what it's like to disappear! To be nothing; to be annihilated!"

Edward Hermann's character is one of my favorite parts of this film.

"It reminds me of the drunk guy standing off at the café. Know what he said? 'The most important thing, ladies and gentlemen, is not love, war, money, happiness, a woman. No, the most important thing, is the subtle difference.' Yes, kitten. But hell will freeze over before you grasp that." Jean-Paul Belmondo in Godard's Charlotte et son Jules (1960)

Wahlberg of the Month Pt. II

Wahlberg of the Month Pt. I

Bob Frost

I'm always so satisfied with how this film develops.

Moi aussi, Marianne

As Balzac said, 'There goes another novel.'

From Woody Allen's Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex *But Were Afraid to Ask.

Today's thing that's better than writing an English paper

Sledding in Medfield, USA from JOE MACLEOD on Vimeo.

Scorsese Friday Leftovers

"I don't believe that someone should devote himself to morbid self-attention; I believe that someone should become a person, like other people." -Travis Bickle

"What does that mean?"

(Raging Bull, 1980)

But no one will dance with us in this zaney town

if it don't bounce back, you go hungry

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

Number one song after number one song

"Can god know the death of god? Barf." -Lucy Stewart

I've got one exam to crush, tomorrow, God in Philosophy. Remarkably worry free. December is officially the laziest month since November. After tomorrow it's 24/7 Christmas fun and debauchery until I return to the states for the holidays. As for recently, been spending my days catching up on this and last seasons of 30 Rock, eating lots of cereal, threatening to write on people's faces with an enormous black felt-tip marker, missing extraordinary early-morning English tutorials on feminist literary theory because of engagements with the toilet after nights in Glasgow to see Regina Spektor and a flask of Scotmid's finest brandy, listening to a pretty even mixture of Christmas carols, The Chronic, and the Fantastic Mr. Fox soundtrack, getting to know the post office employees on a personal level, pretending my life is as aesthetically pleasing as a '70s Woody Allen film (starting with the chunky, seasonal sweaters), and perusing every major publication's "Holiday Gift Guide" (The WSJ definitely wins this year for their unapologetic lean toward excessive luxury--erm, sorry, "pride in one's work". As for me, I can't decide whether I'd prefer to receive the six figure watch which "negates gravity's restraining force" and "looks as soft as a warming pan of milk," the Bottega Veneta alligator briefcase, or the negligee that takes seven specially-trained-in-the-art-of-lace-construction Belgian seamstresses six hours to craft. What's best is Joe Queenan's op-ed, which, despite undermining the "craftsmanship" element relied on to justify the decadence of the gift guide, encourages Americans everywhere to embrace their lavish sides and splurge seemingly mindlessly. In his words, "Getting those cash registers ringing is almost a patriotic duty, for as our enemies have learned, to their anguish, again and again, a nation prepared to kill is no match for a nation prepared to shop." Yeesh.) in an uncertain attempt to find the perfect gifts for my family members.

I also rewatched Lolita the other night when I was trippin' face after Peter's rager. In the words of Jack Donaghy, "That film has layers." Really though. Every time I watch it the absolute perfection of it resonates even more. I recently watched A Clockwork Orange for the first time in quite awhile, and had similar feelings. I think it's like that with any masterpiece though, literature or film. Like rereading a Pynchon novel and noticing all the hidden subtleties that just work to subconsciously perpetuate the meaning, like the inside of a clock eh. And I think if there's one thing Kubrick's films can be indisputably dubbed, it's masterpieces. I'm really not sure if that last sentence is grammatically correct. In any case, I'm in love with this film, and think that it outshines the novel in many, many ways, one of them actually being Nabokov's own reworking of the book. So go watch it. And then we can talk about it together. Also, Peter Sellers is a dude.



So that's that. Edinburgh has adopted a biting cold, but I don't mind it at all. To quote Sartre, "I am happy: this cold is so pure, this night so pure: am I myself not a wave of icy air?"

"You're right, James Franco, it is all about context. For example, if the context of these sentences was an undergraduate art history paper then you would get an A+ and a smiley face. However, these sentences appear in the Wall Street Journal, which is a famous newspaper that relies on the quality of its content to attract readers and advertising dollars. Less quality = less newspapers. So, in the context of writing a terrible op-ed in a newspaper and thus endangering print publications everywhere, you are—how did Jon Stewart so eloquently put it?—hurting America." [Gawker]

Today's commodity

D&AD Entry. Series of experimental covers for Faber’s new POD film range. Inspired by the phenomena of a visual glitch, the design utilizes a logarithm that translates the title and section into a distinct graphic pattern. Original script developed by Ted Davis.

Also, can we just acknowledge the level of badassery in the concept of "Gilliam on Gilliam"? Consider it: Weimer on Weimer.

"It's an epiphany of the soul"

I am in love with this film. Truly, madly, deeply.

"..letting grease drip in their faces."

A series of scenes from Orson Welles' 1942 film, The Magnificent Ambersons

mission ignore the bullshit out of existence

Watched this shit last night, following our in-no-way-unamazing Halloween feast. It was funny. There's also this kind of raw bit in the end where they end up in this pit of dead, decaying cows (it takes place on a "ranch"), and they fight, with pieces of the rotting corpses, like huge leg bones and shit, to the death. GNARLY. Mandy Lane does have quite a rack though. I'd probably do her.

It was a proper lovely evening though. So much food. Candles. Acceptable wine. Sweets coming out of our ears. I love this flat. I love my flatmates. I'm stoked. No complaints. Other than this illness, of course, which has just completely attached itself to my body, and isn't making plans to leave anytime soon, like, it's having its mail sent to me and shit. This needs to end. ALSO, this fuckin DESCARTES paper needs to fuckin die AS WELL. Why am I taking a philosophy course?? The concept of philosophy baffles me, and I don't really even think understand what it's about. Yeah I'm retarded I know.

"There but for the grace of God, goes God."

While we're on the subject..