Decadent Pairs

In Siena the Tomasi revealed that powerful and single-minded religious vocation which later made them famous in Sicily. One went to England as papal legate and tried to settle the dispute between Henry 2.0 [my emendation] and Thomas a Becket. David Gilmour, The Last Leopard, p11

I believe I shall focus my attentions on Giuseppe Tomasi for now, then perhaps work my way back to Henry James. The Prince of Lampedusa presents the demise of the petty nobility as a foregone conclusion. Gilmour presents their obliteration as an almost radical reaction, and to the extent that I understand Dr. Cristina Coletta's abstract in her critical study, Plotting The Past, she is examining the diachronic discourse between historic episode, narrative, and how this frames contemporary perception. Dr. Coletta was very kind to me, and told me she would send me a copy of her book but she only had her reader's copy; not a total ingrate, by dint of my own obstinacy I have nearly all my tools at hand, except a visit to the point of origin. I see where I am going with Il Gattopardo much more clearly than with the work of James, and Tomasi may actually give me my framework to back into James [the New Mobility bloggers who follow my twitter account glaze over at this point saying she goes very far]. Mmm, like Mr. Ramsay's throbbing mind in his theoretical struggle, I am defying much more than domestication in my outreach. Cannot the same be said of Fellini's mastery as an auteur? La Strada is more than the sum of its parts; it borders on the magical realism that Shakespeare invented in The Tempest, which means if you are Julie Taymor you are going to be fanatical in your canonical felicity because you cast the magisterial Helen Mirren in the lead.

It borders on post war fabulism, La Strada, but it is not simply a love song to Mussolini, who in turn was a deluded optimist to the point of insanity. All of us miss the Roman Empire, whether we know it or not. We keep recreating the Colossus, not restoring the past, only reinventing the application of power. I cannot bring full brunt of analysis to on La Strada today, but did want to point out to you how commercialism exhausts genre, much as Haggard exhausts great Victorian contributions. His work is almost an Edwardian squeal about the terror of progressive erosions yet to come. The same can be said with European directors against Hollywood. Fellini is nearly Jamesian when engaging in cinematic ambiguity. Identity is a clever knife thrust into liberal pretensions, but never truly veers off the expected prescription.

Carcinoma

The phenomenology of moral wrong and evil is vast and complicated. -- Charles Griswold

At the end of La Strada, Anthony Quinn's brutality is pierced through by Masina's absence, perhaps even silence. Are we supposed to forgive Zampano? What does Fellini insinuate about oppressive relationships? If the biracial inner city Miss Eddie had not caught me totally by surprise-- she was preparing to leave, turned around and lunged at me, and her mouth said what lips say when someone hits on you-- if I was not so shocked, I would have lacerated her skull with any blunt object available, within my reach, and I would have felt justified, and might have attempted to break her arm, dislocate her shoulder; if the police had come, I am not sure if I would have been arrested. Officers on the scene are not interested in twenty plus years of traumatic events, The only method I have to circumvent my hatred of her slovenly indulgence is contempt. I know from what she told me that her Caucasian father was murdered (good) and that she "kisses everybody" when I fought with her the next day and suggested she leave. She looked frightened.

When I went to a basketball game with a technician named Rick; it was obvious about thirty seconds in I had made a mistake dumbing down to my sister's idea of white welfare trash. After an excruciating two hours, I almost almost got rid of him, but he coughed in the hallway. Taking pity I offered him tea. He kissed me. Fuck him and get it over with. Things proceeded accordingly until I discovered he lacked protection. He tried a soft force, but had obviously never confronted the resistance of palsied legs; he left, called me two three times after he skedaddled for real. I forgave both him and myself long ago. Date gone bad. If I ever see Eddie again, however, she'd face my triggered anger as a representation of ablest violation that I have experienced over the course of a lifetime.

Jesse Bering might say this is a classic aggressive response to unwanted erotic stimulus, but I'd object that attendant care management doesn't respect me as equal to ambulatory humans, and won't unless I'd rematriculate. I feel justified in defending myself against black females on the down low.