Hava Niagila

there is always an exception to the rule

To reiterate, I wrote in one of my proceeding years that my focus on the community integration empowerment module which uses creativity as a therapeutic tool would be limited, thematically, though my many segues into my own disillusionment always touched base with the doctrine. Artistically, however, I have all but ignored the triumphant bugles written by authors like Joni. I read her autobiography in the hospital during my own manufactured butchery years and all I remember is her picture, intimations about her teeth. I can imagine her accusative: you can still move, yet you carry on as if becoming a member of the Gestapo would heal your damage.

I never intended to exclude ADAPT culture entirely. It simply displeases my aesthetic sensibility. Brain damage reverts humanity back to primal absurdity, even in the case of Barbara McWilliams, who wasn't born with a developmental condition. Liberal journalists paint her death in the face of disaster as a paradigm failure, but if the associated press feed covering the California crisis is accurate, then McWilliams ability to assess the situation played a part in her death, and I doubt her attendant should fault state services, already in crisis. Social Darwinism is a convenient lint for nose pickers, but biological frailty overwhelms human capacity. I too might have died over the weekend if I had not relaxed my bad arm enough to push up, as I had been trained, but if surgeons at Shriner's had not put me on an assembly line treatment I DID NOT NEED as a child, I could probably still get on the floor and get back up. I had the ability to do this, and later, if I had a firm chair with desk arms, I could get on my knees and transfer up. I no longer have the right furniture, and my pulmonary function is a factor, but doctors weakened me, and in that sense, don't amount to much, the wise treat them with contempt. Better that we glorify the Tango, a charming meta-dramaturgic effort by Carlos Saura, whetting our fascination with the violent eroticism which is a signature in Argentine politics, a dynamic fusion of rigorous passion and oppression, perhaps a possible influence on Duvall. 

Tango is more sex than the actual act of intercourse itself, as Sola is well aware as the crippled choreographer, an irony too overstated to miss in his role as the seducer. Whatever is left of classical appreciation, tango, as a national obsession, is invigorating, an evolution, one day to supersede its antecedents. 

I was born in the wrong fucking country. 

Weights of Buenos Aires

All you will see is a girl you once knew/Although she's dressed up to the nines, at sixes and sevens with you.-- Andrew Lloyd Webber's occult on history.

Juan Peron's rise and decline is not mentioned in Assassination Tango, yet I can't help but wonder if due to Coppola's influence in the production, we have an attempted unspoken allegory on the dynamic energy and tragedy of 20th century South America. Ebert's appreciation of Duvall's vehicle (a swan song?) echoes my own attraction to the aesthetic of the film. 

Professional critics voice discontent by claiming this is an indulgence for Duvall's ego? Name me a film with an A list celebrity which is not an indulgence for its star? It was not shot at an action thriller's pace, and I'm glad it was not. The hitman Duvall plays was run of the mill? Fuck that. Anderson is an old man who has his heart wrapped up in his little girl. He wants to retire. His capo, who I think was Frankie, talks him in to this foreign target.

The scenes Duvall plays with his wife are dynamic with an undercurrent. Warning: hard and dangerous sex ahead. They are also evocative of the glamour which Juan and Evita utilized to create a smokescreen around their dictatorship. There is also another dynamic, a paranoia of conspiracies which wrap around themselves, the ambiguity over who knows what, whether Frankie was trying to kill Anderson off, who might have wanted the general eliminated or panicked and changed their minds, whose strings the federal police were pulling, or who was pulling theirs. Does it truly say anything about the reign of the generals after Isabel Peron made a bid to reclaim power when I was an adolescent?

She was news then, just like a dowager empress. Should she be held accountable? Or are we supposed to be distracted by the absurdity of Pedraza filming Fellini like commercials? Does it spice up conjugal activity if you cast your wife as the threatening and subversive female against your pretend middle brow nuclear family unit? Are we being offered suggestions about despotism?

If social networking is just a complex communicating tool, why is it so much more disconcerting when we connect with those out of our past? I thought my immediate boss from Matrix would want nothing to do with me. I left Matrix in an emotional state, and critiqued, publicly, how my directors handled their project, not that they treated me badly, or discussed their erections. Dan wasn't a bad guy, as I've written. He solidified my cynicism (or skepticism) about the effectiveness of clinical psychology, but always played the decent man, perhaps due to the fact that he is a decent man. I'm tempted to IM him with an impertinence because though I've suspected Irv Rutman has been dead for a number of years, I have not found an obituary. Even if I had the gall to query that, in the sense of why it matters, or to ask for a reference so old, what good would it do me? Nevertheless, I reached out, reclaimed him. Odd, I suppose, less obtrusive than the telephone.

Inciting Accreditation

"I could have just bought another pair."-- Robert Duvall, attempting to echo what mortality causes us to lose.

It is not Alzheimer's, yet. It is mainly that I rush, and as I asked Robert to remind me, I should have edited my email to Marcia-- and this reflects the net negative of digital lives, trying to beat deadlines, trending topics, not giving ourselves gestation time. 

My own sense of alienation enables me to understand it in freaks, or those like Louise, with their particular deformities, and the girl wanted to talk books and aesthetic tastes, so it should not have been that difficult to humor her without my wounds vibrating to a banshee tempo-- but I did not desire this association for myself, on my own terms, and, even if she meant no harm, which she didn't, she disrupted my comfort zone with the other members on the list, and now I feel like nothing more than a disparaging element.

Losing competency when never having had a chance to actualize it in the first place due to physical obstacles and psychic pain, this is a terrifying prospect-- but competency related to what? I meant what I posted about respecting Marcia's analytic ability, but psychoanalytic theory hovers in the realm of discredited mythology, one that preoccupies itself with androgyny in an abstract sense. The actual reality of dealing with a clinically ill transvestite like Erik von Schmetterling imposes a real threat to a psyche, triggers revulsion one can taste, and that I had to struggle with even when I imposed myself on him and Jimmi in their unit, three floors up, or engaging with them in public.

How does theorizing, outside of tangible data related to physics or biology, enable progression? Increasingly attracted to gaunt definitions in masculine figures, I am not trying to parachute in on terminal degree scholars without having earned it. All I wish is to utilize their expertise to accomplish good work before it is too late, because working hard is all I have left.

In their eyes, I am a disruption, annoying, even threatening. But a caged animal is threatening when so many elements go against its ability to thrive, when human sexuality epitomizes itself in liberal doxology as salutary for its own transient virtue, leaving us all rutting like happy pigs. My body never lent itself to those discoveries of paramount pleasures and stimulations. Even those of you who may want to commiserate and suggest gels or orifice beads and other toys of the trade, I would object and indicate there are more important things, a restraint towards a wiser conservation, like the cruel, but necessary culling that took place on the new CW series, the 100. We've lost the virtue of self-sacrifice, yet another reason I disdain homosexual lifestyles.