putting themselves into trashbags, devoured by a machine of their own construction, swallowed and returned to the world as muddy, sanguine sludge and drifting fog. they sink into the ground. they dissipate in the air. it is perfect unity, the loss of self and attachment to self. in other words, the hippies must be happy with how they’ve ended up. it’s everything they ever wanted. of course.
cinematographic energies, engaged motion which is inherently and inextricably cinematic, whose impish and scattershot flow evinces the capacity for the camera to become a machine of pure pleasure, eros and libido driven to their seriocomic, carnivalesque mortal ends. the entity, the presence, arrives as a signifier of the return to the base pleasure of film as a visual art form: motion, light, color, shape, movement, and texture overtaking the rational structure of narrative, mirroring, in some sense, the base pleasure-seeking of the vulgar narcissists who inh abit its home in a manner that both elevates it to the level of aesthetic zenith and reduces it to an unsettling cosmic joke. sexual ecstasy becomes the visual ecstatic of bodies losing their forms, the metamorphosis into objects of abstract fixation and an erotic gaze which contraposes the pleasures of the bodily with the frissons of the art work.
the spatiotemporal geometries of a house; going up and down the stairs is never completed, angles press in, a lonely man in a basement like a catacomb pantomimes knighthood, tilting at windmills made up of selves from but a moment before.
we pursue a hermeneutic path, transfixed by the loneliness of engagement, the fundamental solitude of it, fixation with a psychodynamic, interior charge in its very mode of externalization. balloon arrangements in the forest, static magnetism, and the brownian motion of attraction in an oneiric haze (echoes of rollin? maybe?).
an alien frenzy, conceptual-visual bacchanals of excess without spectacle that pokes at, distends, warps the semiotic restraints that delimit narrative cinema while never exceeding its grasp entirely: we approach an irresolvable, dialectical limit.
a party (complete with all the balloons you could ever dream of) in a strange, strange world indeed.
i’m having fun, at least.