still on (msnvwls) wrote,
still on

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an experiment with my mood and the passing of time

In the beginning...
When I saw Bringing Up Baby for the first time I thought it was a very strange movie because I thought they were regarding the leopard was actually supposed to be a normal housecat, which didn’t make any sense to me. I later found out that they did actually realize that he was, in fact, a leopard, which made the movie far less strange, but didn’t do anything to detract from the fact that is actually a very, very good movie. And such is the case with every Howard Hawks film I’ve seen, except for The Barbary Coast which was a giant pile of crap, but I don’t hold that against him, not at all. I watched His Girl Friday the other night, and I’m simply floored by it every time I watch it. I don’t understand how it can be so fast-paced and manic and be so coherent and congealed and so goddamn good. I always wonder why I fall in love with Hildy Johnson every time I watch it, because it doesn’t make sense to me, like that scene in Angel Heart where you see him reach inside a drawer to pull out a notebook and pen but the only real purpose of the shot is to show you his gun. Of course he has a handgun, he’s a private detective. A lot of things about that movie don’t make sense to me, though, like why he picks up that woman’s hat or why every black preacher in every movie with a black preacher in it is a fictional character based on Creflo Dollar. I suppose all of these mysteries are unsolvable, though, sort of like “Why do the birds sing?” or “Why do I not own an album of nothing but dogs barking (The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death is the closest I can come, but John tells that dog to shut up)?” There may be no blank spaces left on the map, but there’s still plenty of mystery in this world. I’ve seen Peter Jackson’s King Kong too many times (3).

Two days later...
Yesterday was a good day. I feel weird saying that, not because good days are uncommon (though they are, but I always expect them), but because it’s odd to me how I feel it necessary to judge everything on a scale of good and bad, even if I have no idea what the criteria for a certain thing’s rating is. For example, what makes it a good day? Yesterday was a good day because I didn’t think about killing myself at all. Is that the foolproof meter by which I should measure all of my days? I hope not, because if so, then this one is already fucked. I can’t let that defeat me today, though. I told myself last night that I wouldn’t care anymore, since that’s what really gets me in trouble: not the things that I do, but thinking about the things that I do. Thinking about the things that other people do, worrying that they’re doing something horrible, that they’re further compromising themselves. Worrying, all of the time. I can’t do that to myself, so I’m not going to anymore. Or at least, that’s what I’m going to say I’m going to do.

After five hours...
I think I’m really, really gonna like this school. The first two days here have been better than any two days at Southern.

I love this city.
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