Thursday, October 18, 2012

The Cafe

In the cafe I locked eyes with a Yorkshire terrier wearing a Sharks Rugby jersey. His eyes spoke of his dissatisfaction with life and his longing for death. The humiliation of his anthropomorphic half-identity moved me to tears. Suddenly his manner became as that of some Hell beast. He transformed into a hulking, eight foot tall mass of fur and misanthropy with drill bits where his eyes had been. With an up-close gaze he drilled into the eye sockets of his keepers before sucking out their brains using the thorn-lined proboscis that had replaced his formerly adorable snout. A chorus of screams accompanied his flight into a nearby forest plantation. In his honour, I opted for salad instead of potato wedges as my side dish.

The Prisoner

You awake one evening to find yourself chained to an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Undecorated and grim, it is a cell and you are the prisoner. You scream, but but nobody comes. You scream aloud that you are not afraid; that you are afraid; that you never could be. You scream for solace. Nobody ever comes. Surely you are in an uninhabited wasteland. No living thing can hear your pleas. Observing your naked body, you see a message has been hurriedly scribbled on your torso. "I am coming. You will suffer." In a panic, you writhe and struggle to escape your bonds before your captor can return and act on his vague threats of torture. You struggle until your struggling itself opens wounds; until you realise that this is a futile gesture. Slowly but inexorably the hopelessness of your situation crawls onto your consciousness, rising above every impression. You resign yourself to whatever fate your anonymous foe has planned for you. Slowly your misery strips you of all hope, save for that of a quick death. Hours turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. You are nourished by your fear. Sustained by perpetual apprehension. After many years you are an old, shriveled wreck. The ugly trifles of existence have driven you to madness like the small drops of water torturers let fall ceaselessly. They irradiate the refuge of sleep. You notice through a crack in the boarded window that the sun no longer rises. You turn your head to one side like someone who wants to be alone with their laughter.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

A futile gesture


You awake one evening to find yourself chained to an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Undecorated and grim, it is a cell and you are the prisoner.

You scream, but but nobody comes. You scream aloud that you are not afraid; that you are afraid; that you never could be. You scream for solace. Nobody ever comes. Surely you are in an uninhabited wasteland. No living thing can hear your pleas.

Observing your naked body, you see a message has been hurriedly scribbled on your torso.

"I am coming. You will suffer."

In a panic, you writhe and struggle to escape your bonds before your captor can return and act on his vague threats of torture. You struggle until your struggling itself opens wounds, until you realise that this is a futile gesture. Slowly but inexorably the hopelessness of your situation crawls onto your consciousness, rising above every impression. You resign yourself to whatever fate your anonymous foe has planned for you. Slowly your misery strips you of all hope, save for that of a quick death.

Hours turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. You are nourished by your fear. Sustained by perpetual apprehension.

After many years you are an old, shriveled wreck. The ugly trifles of existence have driven you to madness like the small drops of water torturers let fall ceaselessly. They irradiate the refuge of sleep.

You notice through a crack in the boarded window that the sun no longer rises. You turn your head to one side like someone who wants to be alone with their laughter.

Sunday, October 07, 2012

The beauty of 70mm: Stills from Samsara

Ron Fricke's Samsara may not offer very much besides pretty imagery, but boy does it do that well! Shot in 70mm, it's a showcase of how much can be crammed into every frame of the stock's 2.2:1 aspect ratio.

It is unfortunate that no 70mm prints will be released for projection, as the final film is projected in 4k digital. Nonetheless, enjoy the feast that is the following stills taken directly from the original prints:

(click for higher res).