A Woman of Paris

A curious belle habitually considers the manifold opportunities awaiting in Paris, should she be able to cleverly break free from the dismal prison her father's constructed.

A local lad to whom she's betrothed ventures forth one evening in aid, and after her father discovers she's fallen in love he locks his door to her forever.

The lad's own father is also unimpressed and refuses to provide his heartfelt blessing, but as she buys their dependable train tickets, he suffers a fatal collapse.

She doesn't wait around however and years later she's settled à Paris, dating the richest man in town and rather taken with the luxury.

He's quite the cad notwithstanding and even though he does enjoy her company, he's too much of a carefree schmoozer to seek her hand in objective commitment.

Her former belovéd arrives in town and hasn't forgotten how things once were, hoping to secure a rapprochement yet somewhat crestfallen by how much things have changed.

The plutocrat finds it rather comic until he discovers he's quite distraught.

Tragedy awkwardly ensuing.

Remarkably different how things might have been.

I suppose if you're born into a family that takes particular guidelines seriously, and you mature respecting various categories that may have been established regarding oblivion, the earliest ones encountered being somewhat less scandalous, that when you consider historical narrative conventions, one naturally concludes that in the past they must have been stricter.

Since the past indeed took place at an earlier stage and your earliest stages were indeed quite wholesome, the emergence of contemporary scandal a hundred years ago seems out of touch with spiritual computation.

I've heard from time to time that comedic actors hope for dramatic roles, and want to break through in serious films from a desire to develop increasing clout.

But should contemporary comedians consider Charlie Chaplin's genius, what a great thought I had the other day, just watch Chaplin's films for weeks, and the ways in which his comedic films far outweigh his dramatic endeavours, and, to add further emphasis, remain more appealing than so many contemporary dramas, perhaps such comedians shouldn't feel quite so downtrodden, should they rarely abandon humour.

Although comedy has changed remarkably what would Chaplin be creating this postmodern day?

That's a question that should be asked.

I enjoy his dramatic films, but his comedies usurp reason. 

City Lights

Wandering laidback spontaneously cherished ephemeral awakenings, sundry mysteries modestly revealing the innocent nature of unconcerned life.

An ice cream cone there, a pigeon in a puddle, fresh bread at the bakery, a curious spirit squirrel, exuberant sights wondrously manifesting everlasting charm and atemporal enchantment. 

Through serendipitous accident randomly regenerating ruminative imaginative carefree spawn, convivial soirées lacking animate precedent distractingly emerge with ceremonious flair.

Intoxicating friendship somewhat slipshod yet pleasant on flippant occasion, the generous reward for a gracious good deed effortlessly envisaged with exoteric emphasis.

Eccentric shifts the Jekyll & Hideaway happenstanced heartfelt humanistic harkenings, reified revelling rhapsodic restorative multivariable unattached festive extravagance. 

Prone to dream and accustomed to ponder encompassing romantic tales of yore, not without disconsolate modernist reckoning the expedient means the intrepid underscore.

Genuine affection modestly blooming with characteristically enthused comportment, financial strains calamitously composing exacting employment through requisite stress.

The spirited caricature at times less attuned to definitive structure and integral schedule, opportunities imbued come and fervently go as fortune is sought through frenetic finesse.

Even through pugilistic disorder tantamount temptation courageously met, rambunctious refinement preponderant puma elastic engagement unhesitant concord.

If only cerebral stability assurédly sanctified affable orbit, and night and day enrichingly endowed the Little Tramp (Charlie Chaplin) with communal consistency.

Effort engrained not adamantly enraptured with his less hostile personalized approach, a tarnished cosm abounding with resonance leading to quizzical peculiar dispatch.

Not without their fair share of ingenuity trial and error consortiums inclined appreciated, yet not so overwhelmingly invigorating as to usurp inherent inhibitions. 

But life bewitches corresponding mutually conducive alert resilient storytelling, warm and friendly habitual interaction rather agreeable tractable lively.

You don't have to be born rather rich to spiritually divine wealth from the inside.

Productive piecemeal pairings.

Untold aloft melodious blooms. 

The Great Gatsby

Extravagant timidity humbly refrains an opulent recourse to true's love sustain.

Spare no expense, attract the best and the brightest, the emotion's too deep, the goal of the tightest.

Business contacts whose illicit elixirs submerge their protractive congenial mixtures.

Sponsor time honoured traditions of courtship, implying ambitious circuitous quartets.

As fate's lavish weave blends with chance's reprieve, the noblest of dreams hail permanency.

For people, and Queens, and the prettiest things.

Preferred Australia and Moulin Rouge!