some of the greatest critics on the planet are getting on the loopy orouët slow train, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. this blog hopes to return someday to this week gem posting, but orouët does not permit it. this blog has been hijacked and has the oslo syndrome. hopefully it won't return to this week gem posting.
'tell me to love you and i will, tell me to stop and i will, no lagging. but you have to tell me these things'
this pic was way beyond synopsis avoiding, mere this week's gem posting pick of the pic of the week tagging, couldnt be stuck in with the other gems. i knew i'd love it, i usually, often, start rating movies half an hour in (!) browsing the hell out of my shoes in filmaffinity. and this was no exception. i'd even checked two or three minutes a month and knew it was gonna be huge. synopsis, then, was three babes go to the beach for the summer and.. well.. sort of get hooked up, or do they. i knew i was gonna rant bout this pic yesterday, half way in, i even posted a link on facebook, and fuck me if i avoid the temptation of leaving there standing as god intended to like we do with main pages. its either that or post it after every crap i post, i thought, and think, as usual pataphysical if you dont agree highly modern and engaging if you do. THREE BABES ON A BEACH IN A PIC?! without paranoias? in french? i dont write encyclopaedically but autobiographically, without the synopsis. i'm trying really hard to synopsis here! lets consider two posssibilities, then. how on earth is it possible to live without robert altman and eric rohmer (and joao cesar monteiro)? in the 0,00000005 per cent of the ppl in the world the ones that have free time to watch these things and get all emotional? mebbe they fuck you up, thou most probably they enliven you. how the bollocks am i supposed to wonder down a street or have a conversation without feeling absolutely rohmerian and absolutely altmanish? walk down a whattie? a windy street? a windy beach, more like it. the above quote by a mysterious and prolly fucked up poet is unacceptable deal, which is why it must be taken and overlapped. it's a good deal, neither prissy nor scratchy, neither needy nor uncaring, it sort of bounces around the wall, it's courteous yet paranoid, aristocratic yet hybrid, asthenic yet mentally weak, private, unawaiting, hurrying, impatient and lacks the courting, oddballish, streamish, panicking, poor, resiliently memorable, emblematic, sensual, impredictable, mediocre, demanding, demodé and certainly not pastiche because if it were it would be pastiche. bbye!