Lobotomisurlesionary

Objurgate whelp blessed depiction
synergy sympa Gladstone growl
gremlin indenton Daytona scramb
soluble script hornrimmed hogtown

fluid succulence gaggle bedazzle
spartan bone sinewy fold 
oily fishtale yodelay yarn
bodacious bellow cardio quickening

disorderly fangs forsceptorpido
vampiric clot oceanic levee 
barricade balsam fortress schlock 
fermented glaze Appleton 'lixir 

suction induction rabid luncheon 
soothsayin' Pepcid fallow yield 
cosmetic crusher baritone blush
alto piazza lassitude linger

festive discretion popinjay pounce
charismatic crucible Goliath gambit
persimmon malba lateral lesion 
sangria solstice Scorpio splurge

pineapple pith woebegone whimsy
sproust carcachoust Revlon whittle
heartstring moharpsi halcyon chord
viloxi vibe resonant pitch

tuning soluting hifi-faluting
revolving adoring fritacohooting
garlicky naan tranquil lycan
belvedere bossom 'colada sclaw

Griffin preamble vestibule clove
sweltering glade wrought spectacle 
raspberry plinth palisade molt
lackadood' jambal steeping glaze

fillet flimflam jacozy carbon
gaseous antiquity almond jive
ricochet rushmore supple pinnacle 
jubilee juniper stoic outcrop

bachelor burnish sanguine hue 
reticent nuance alimental contour
captious capacity jigsaw jetty 
sinuous stockyard beaming stoke

careening camelron brazen gratuity 
necessitous ineptuned biway scythe
sycamore shivers silver quotient 
precipitous Greyskull embedded vowel

supercilious oath essential vacuum 
buick Drambuie visceral vroom
overdrive layover cantina clout
deciduous savour expedited oyst

blotted dysfunction derelict groove
cardinal Dardanelles slumberous Rona
swaying breeze velveteen flux
exotic dreams byzzzzzzantine vogue. 

Dreams

Engrained obsession compulsively guides the immediate actions of a career model, who desperately yearns to be with her beloved who cast her aside to be with his wife.

Day after day she interminably imagines a breathtaking return to the way it was, her thoughts ceaselessly revolving around their carefree intimate improvised time together. 

Another model suddenly breaks up with her devoted charming spry young lover, after he plans a lavish picnic and she stubbornly refuses to play sick and join him.

While waiting for work to begin another man takes keenest note, and with bottomless resources at his disposal he buys her ostentatious gifts.

Alas, his daughter interrupts them after she tries her new dress on, having just visited her insane mother who still believes she was born half wolf.

Meanwhile, the sought after husband agrees to meet his former mistress, at the same hotel and in the same room they used to share back in the day.

But his suspicious wife soon comes a' calling with sober advice to cast on the affair. 

As awkward tension superlatively stagnates. 

An otherwise longed for stately reunion.

With blunt prolonged exploratory depth Ingmar Bergman flirts with betrayal and loyalty, Dreams (Kvinnodröm) emancipating cloistered reveries with tormenting frank expedient disclosures. 

She finally possesses her love once more the compelling subject of her mad desire, only to confront the austere obstacle cruelly stomping their coupling to dust. 

In a heartbeat, she has everything she wants and looks incredible in her dress and (Canadian) river pearls, only to be confronted by proud class prejudice with its inherent hatreds and dismissive candour. 

I don't even know how seriously people take their marriages these days, having lost touch with the people I used to know, mostly due to the fact that they got married (single for life), and seemed to have more or less stuck with it.

Marriage and relationships were no doubt integral to Bergman's audience way back when this was filmed however.

Or they were integral to what was permitted to be showcased on film.

Through censorial flux and critical liberation. 

Animalgrammatikal

Hornestitrinket waspish lullaby

indolent acres blinding disinterest

javalinoleum tourniquet Twizzler

gobsmacking grimace dishevelled dauph'

illuminatory manifest murm

gradiant dalliance matriarch mingle

home-on-the-range surficial cerveza

Dominick Daiquiri fluid l'amour

quagmirvish barley colloquial coag'

indifferent sideswipe broadsiding bracken

disearnest viscount malfactor 'moji

yoho-Ricko-jo adamant drive

uproarious flavour bivouac snack

disarming calico Thorton waivers

elegant hush stately conniption 

fisticrust draught crazed 'lucination

méteo lunar Sasquatch Connaught

dreamy particulate wayside sound

wavelength demeanour concise syllabi

incisive flair dropzone dogma

Alsace contagion eggs Florentine 

yolked excess singed bedazzle

partisan Fitzgibbon blanched calamari

fingerling flapjack Winnipegosis 

gnocchi skedaddle starch rheumatism 

cavalier serenade lucid waffle

clasp-over-easy diligent fowl

levanter frost fly maelstrom  

feigned indifference flush antiseptic

stoic procedure redundant surf

taxonomic tether tournament scowl

gossamer goblet spry contusion

exotic blight blithe impression

symbiotic sterno microfiche grain

emperor Forsythe frolicking frills

magnum cutlass oaken noct'

magnetic crisper cryptic scurvy

lime dissuasion cocktail frock

dazzling flip alloyed embroiling

cloaked augur sequent jostle

tantamount totem frigid congress

vanilla ampli vochocolat

biscuit embowered sinecure shizzle 

gracious sentiment coalesced splice

dandelion blush tonal bifocal

jejune bespokal 'rangutan brogue

Fluance sinuance valient Banquo

Oregon orchid Manilambatoba

terrestrial tome groundless strut

sassafras balderdash infrequent quote

diurnal collage Mirabel bramble

qualm coefficient quiescent crest. 

French Cancan

A sophisticated yet chill theatre manager intricately constructs engaging spectacles, with a keen versatile eye for talent he showcases skill and drive and virtuosity. 

Financing the show and paying the bills along with the performers has its share of complications, which he imaginatively overcomes with personality, as enthusiastic patronage ebbs and flows. 

Another potential dancer catches his eye so he goes to great lengths to deftly train her, her husband-to-be none too fond of theatre nor its endemic sensational ways and means.

She demonstrates considerable talent and gives it everything she's rhythmically got, vivaciously responding to the stern bright tutelage benevolently offered on her behalf.

Theatres come and theatres go as grand designs and monumental hypotheses, eccentrically endow legendary prowess with extant fluidity and resourceful spawn.

Worlds colliding, the rough and tumble the idle rich the strict performers, inherent bedlam chaotically subscribed to creative enlivening tactile expenditure. 

From their inquisitive interactions lay jouissance enigmatically rejuvenates.

Fresh ideas, omnibus character.

Indeterminate structure. 

Foundational fugacity. 

Such a shame the theatre so often relies on finances otherwise disdained, and the people who want to put on a show haven't the slightest regarding flair or subtlety. 

Not that good friends who study science and math don't occasionally appreciate artistic independence, and lend a hand to struggling performers with no explicit strings narratively attached.

Yet how often does artistic independence mean "superhero film" or "adventure romance?", "did you see the latest Batman film?", "it had the heart of supernatural engineering!".

Not that the films aren't entertaining or that Truffault and Godard would have severely criticized them, they're just so easy to instantly love, with adoring characters implored, succeeding.

Remember, they're in charge so don't remind them of their bad taste. 

It's even worse when they've been offended.

Especially when they notice your flattery's awkward.  

A Poem is a Naked Person

Behemoth chrysalis jardenia pupa

cajoled cocoon glib metamorphoses

mutating Malachai tisane torrentials

inundated unction annoinkéd flutter

flotilla flotsam jettison jive

overboard plankton 'croscopic plunge

treading tangentials discursive drover

anon etcetera tumbledown wind

insensate shawarma pestilent pench'

Antwerp rotis succulent swank

olfactory ursine novice nostalgia

hickory-dickory button-down bloog

accolade spritzer carbarnacle chive

helios rickenback flouted danube

sunspotty splendiferous ironclad kook

Amelia mai tai finagling flamb

razzmatazz mocha machiatoto

cappuccini olsen cajumelles

avuncular holstein gaseous Kala

composite fulcrum Harry Houdin

vacillate silica pumice chauve

august battalion neutre nostrum

zenith Zimbabba Guinea M'Papa

clicky-lickspittly didgeridoo

quorummagpizance elephantine 

selective Saigon exhaustive willow 

tumaltuous scram idyllic posture

endemic slack slovenly sliver

Hancock humystic tahini trowel 

tartar embarker piña colada 

severance surrogate sobriquet saddle

gallopin' geiser fountainhead frieze 

egad eureka somnolent stench

byzantine biscuit archaic fad

munchie dysfunkty aquikerplunkty

ambient haze Carmichael clan

dubious decla krill kreplaquelustre

vertigo victual enigmastiff

precocious poodle plasmacadabra

'cession digression Brunswick brill

amorphous jiggle jaunty enjambment

quaff kybosh-flossed cellophane frill

Celsius soma crepuscule quad

stuffy sanuffly engulfed traject

oregano Sasha temporal twang 

embellished bloated obtuse drone

electrified trough bellowing blub

enchanted sacrifice cordial balm

aperitif zest theta libation

oaken betokened shilly-shall-shawl

motif elix saccharine cynosure

rosemary 'rugala ovaltine koal'.

Cloud

A young entrepreneur thinks big and sets up his own novel company, where he buys unused goods cheap and then sells them for enormous profits. 

Things go so well with one deal that he's able to quit his day job, after his obsessed infatuated boss strategically offers him a managerial position. 

Life in the country bucolically starts to romantically sound appealing, so he rents a chalet lakeside, hires an assistant, moves in with his partner. 

Things go well for a prosperous short period before a group of irate customers, upset about the cheap products he's sold them, come calling with fists of fury. 

He makes a last ditch effort to honestly sell legitimate goods. 

Before he's outrageously kidnapped.

And taken to an abandoned factory.

The film has a really cool ending where a friend efficiently emerges, unexpectedly enabling effective synergies relaxed and calm, humble and self-sacrificing. 

If you've ever wondered what it might be like to resell sought after goods online, it's a cool story that feverishly examines the stunning highs and disastrous lows. 

Yoshii makes it look easy he just buys a bunch of old machines, takes a picture, makes an ad, waits 'till they sell, quickly mails them. 

I was going to sell some old records online but it seemed like such a hassle, taking pictures, making individual ads, placing them in the mail one by one, for maybe 15$ apiece, it seemed like my labour was worth more than that.

So I gave them to the Restore, but if you could buy 40 of the same new record, and just make one ad, and then package them all swiftly and mail them at the same time, costs would go way down, and you could potentially earn some sweet casholla.

I imagine things would go well if you weren't that greedy. 

Could be super chill self-employment. 

Opening a record store may be much easier. 

Ulysses

Voluminous consciousness. 

Mercurial deliberation. 

Discursive bedlam. 

Indefinite fusion. 

Opaque resolution. 

Illuminated emulsion. 

Temperamental trust.

Fickle ambition. 

Picturesque resonance. 

Phantasmagorical fidget. 

Fugacious ferment. 

Ephemeral substance. 

Transmutated trademark. 

Versatile metamorphoses. 

Shapeshifting saffron. 

Indelicate discretion.  

Newfound realization.

Exotic amplitude.

Narcoleptic ninja. 

When you're young and you read people like Proust and they recommend things like "reading with a different set of eyes", it sounds intriguing, but as you age, not as much so, but with Joyce's Ulysses you really need a different strategy to get through sections of the book.

I'm thinking of the play in the middle quintessentially which mutates with flexible cunning, I admit to having reservations about the stream of consciousness, but here it's like Joyce literally realized it. 

Its depth is insane its creativity limitless its imagination profound its erudition fun, according to Google searches people have tried to perform it on stage (Burgess Meredith for one), but it seems impossible to pull off, although I bet the people who made Loving Vincent could come up with something.

I'm not finished reading the book yet but have decided it's not truly done, until I also eat kidney with onions and mushrooms, that seems like a fitting complement. 

I would compare him to David Foster Wallace, not to Proust.

I may have never read Ulysses if I hadn't first finished Infinite Jest. 

Talking About Trees

Here you have it. 

The autocratic endgame. 

Creative people full of ideas and imagination sentenced to idle concrete meaninglessness, amidst stilted censors and uptight flair an incredibly organized envious leviathan. 

Not even in regards to making films, they're not even permitted to screen them for interested people, unless the bureaucracy deems them morally uplifting, as they oversee the development of the process.

Poverty all around except for the firms upholding the ruler, who tries to manage every aspect of their culture, through strenuous discipline and ornate punishment. 

Look here to Talking About Trees, look no further for the artistic disasters upheld by extremist governments, and its all-encompassing dull ubiquitous lack of expression for millions of people. 

Totalitarianism providing limitations in which to ignorantly respond, to prefabricated monotonous questions unanimously concerning specific subjects. 

Nothing deviating from the norm no independence no alternatives, just cookie-cut bland manufactured state run media approving oblivion. 

Thus, instead of liberated sensitive people freely sharing newfound ideas, in books and films through music, etching, blogs and sculpture, YouTube, Blue Sky, you have a bunch of goons who can't read Proust or Dickens writing films about soccer or biblical narratives.

There's technically nothing wrong with a preference for such things, I'm not here to bring you down because you don't like Shakespeare or James Joyce.

But imagine instead of the NFL or CFL there was another league full of hapless misfits, who couldn't catch or throw or run, yet they effectively competed with the big leagues for ratings, that's what film's like when you cut out sensitive people. 

They certainly won't thrive in interminable Trumpland if he isn't voted out.

Look to Talking About Trees for his endgame.

The obliteration of American culture. 

*Fascist film is like communist sport. In fascist film, people with nothing artistic about them make films, while in communist sport, you don't have to know how to play the game to take part.  

Battalion

And as the eons mutated animal life prayed just as much as human, and the nature of their metabolisms changed, through frost and ice and sweltering humidity, century after century, millennia after millennia. 

Prayers answered through the varying intensity of light beams generated by the sun, and slowly transmitted across the ages with enduring patience and diverse agility. 

The cultivation of the beams invoked meticulous intricate bearings, with the dreams of manifold species taken into environmental account, like building tens of thousands of positronic brains simultaneously side by side, it took dexterity and innovation, to gradually bring about sundry newfound characteristics. 

As dinosaurs decreased in size certain plants began to eat bugs, while insects themselves developed wings and antennae, and human beings embraced rational discourse. 

But it wasn't only giant lizards who desired flight certain rodents did so as well, and the omniscient compassionate sundwellers answered their call with brilliant light.

Thus, the wise, courageous, temperate, and just mice, as accidentally envisioned by Plato, were granted wings upon reincarnation, and with flight, composed themselves honourably. 

Bats having arisen to rid the night sky of so many pests that feast upon us.

Until it became apparent humans couldn't care less.

And they developed foul diseases of their own. 

*Um, so the sun gods answered animal prayers and transformed virtuous mice into bats, who then tried to help us by eating bugs, but then turned virulent when we overlooked them?

**So the story goes son.

*I might be getting too old for this!

**Some say, never say die!

*It is peculiar that bats resemble mice, and why should some mice have wings while others don't, but evolutionary intensity built into sunlight, isn't that a bit of a stretch?

**It does solve several problems but is somewhat difficult to monitor, beyond the masternarrative, I suppose it does sound rather silly, even if it unites science and religion. 

*Look, Scruffy's growing wings after praying for millennia to be like birds!

**And I'm growing gills so I can breathe underwater!

*Fresh water and salt water?

**I imagine so son, I imagine so. 

Terminator Godzilla

In the far off future, the battle between machines and humankind rages on, an undisciplined embrace of A.I and data centres having apocalyptically invoked armageddon. 

But one nation, ye olde Japan, had resolutely resisted the artificial surge, and predominantly kept humans in the loop and forthrightly encouraged their bold decision making.

They eventually lead the counteroffensive that seems as if it will crush the machines, with the help of Mr. Connor and Canada & Québec and most of Europe and Australia and New Zealand. 

The machines worry about their future and inevitably look to Japan's golden age, and discover the ancient warrior Godzilla who had once been defeated slumbering in Antarctica. 

Figuring it best to destroy Japan in the past, they send a Terminator team back in time to awaken him, hoping he will finally finish the job and leave ancient and industrious Japan in ruin. 

But the resistance, always forward thinking, constructs their own enraged robotic menace, much like MechaGodzilla of old, but known as Terminator Godzilla.

Resembling the belovéd model who once befriended John Connor in his youth, he's programmed to speak fluent Japanese as Connor acknowledges the island's potency. 

The difficulties of transporting such a massive machine back through time prove somewhat frustrating, yet with the best extant scientific minds from the free world led by A.I free Japan a solution is found. 

But will Terminator Godzilla be enough to defeat the impregnable original of old?

Who defeated so many blesséd adversaries. 

At times at odds. At others down-home. 

*Do you really think we're like a variety of robot that someone else created, who would never except we were indeed conscious and therefore dismissed our development consequently, dad?

**That could very well be the case, and our resultant denial of robotic life may be a similarly bland dismissal of inherent vivacity in fledgling bloom.

*Do you think if we could meet the beings who constructed us there would someday be mutual appreciation?

**Not with autocratic governments out there, they'd probably rather destroy them.

*Shouldn't we vote for the Democrats then, dad, I doubt they would try to kill God?

**There's no way Bernie Sanders would, anyway son. In fact I bet he could convince God to be friends.

*Shouldn't we be doing that with the robots we create?

**Yes son, yes we should. 

*These things seem somewhat self-evident. 

**Don't just tell me. Tell your schoolmates and friends.

Adventures of Zatoichi

Eternal blinds visual damnation slowly effectively giving rise, to hypermultivariability indefinitely attuned to cosmic reckoning. 

The simple desire for innocent pleasures modestly driving the ambitions of many, the humble accumulation of bread and cheese a moderate treasure for the wise self-sacrificing. 

Zatoichi's skill and formidable awareness accompany his thrifty modest travels, as village titans and bucolic corruption seek his lonely isolated bearing. 

So many feuds, town after town disputatiously confronting overt avarice, as unhinged exaggerated individual aggrandizement seeks the infinite with imperial zeal. 

The ironic cost of so much enrichment the disdainful envy of the ambitious, as tidal forces ebb and flow throughout the civilized ornate chaos. 

Amidst the stately modern delineations of robust power and cultural durability, Zatoichi still honours nature and his surrounding environment with honest faith.

And as the world diabolically considers its destructive fate the peaceful chant, having already accepted ontological eccentricity as a playful chiding lifelong friend. 

Imagine Zatoichi & the Trump Administration how much fun could be had with that?, as millions and millions are robbed and cheated the impeccable swordsperson no doubt riled. 

Familiarity, it seasons a politician and makes them much more easy to trust, the beloved sight of a familiar face like electoral gold in political contexts. 

That's why I figured Kamala Harris wouldn't win last time around, she wasn't familiar and although she easily made the best candidate, she had next to no time to win the American consciousness, making it easy for Trump to win. 

Bernie's still around however and if I'm not mistaken he resides within, that very deep and trusting American consciousness, he's been around for so many years.

Go with an unknown or Bernie or Kamala I have to admit that even though he's old, I would wager Bernie's familiarity is the most endearing within the United States (he's like the anti-Trump). 

Strange how one country could be so ideologically opposed to itself.

While constantly promoting its national interests. 

With resolute defiance. 

And airtight indefatigability. 

Onibaba

The miseries of civil war afflict a nation with desolate abstemious dereliction, crops having failed people starving while the thund'rous death machine brings moribund destruction. 

An older woman awaits the return of her conscripted son with increasing desperation, as does her daughter-in-law their resolute team struggling to survive the scurrilous agency. 

To find food and maintain their health they murder stray samurai who show up in their swamp, and sell their armour and swords and trinkets to a dissolute profiteer flush with millet. 

One day the son/husband's friend whom he left with long ago appears, with a sad tale denoting the end of their imagined saviour heads hang low.

But he takes a shine to the widowed maiden who is far too destitute to deny her will, their resultant coupling enraging the elder who sees starvation as her only future. 

She pleads with the worldly opportunist to let her partner in crime live free.

He loves her far too much however.

To deny his innocent jouissance. 

A sordid examination of despondency as dismally applied to wanton logic, people struggling to find food while others flee through reckless innovation. 

Grim realities to thoughtfully consider the frugal basics embracing thrift, if you value your life it's best not to join although there's no telling what desertion may aggregate. 

The atheist basks in comfort after escaping the feckless bloodshed, living day to day even hour to hour but remaining certain of his scorned trajectory. 

The elder employing supernatural tricks to convince her compatriot not to leave, the eventual extensive forlorn irony as unexpected as it is deceiving. 

Lost in the luscious swamps of medieval Japan driven mad by hunger.

Enabling strategies accidentally emergent.

Ethereal endowments.

Spiritually embalmed.  

Kiru

A controversial maiden inspires jealousies which enviously lead to stricken confrontations, the observant brotherhood left cold and calculating before it's decided to cut-off her head.

But not before she virtuously births an innocent child helpless and unaware, ancient superstitions forecasting gloom, the oblivious baby naked and hungry. 

A childless widower from another province magnanimously agrees to take him in, and then convivially proceeds to multifariously teach him the delicate art of manifest sword fighting. 

He learns the way of the samurai and displays innovative sought after gifts, a restless soul still prone to wander yet always respectful of heritage and duty. 

His father criticizes the master of their dojo who then collusively plots his reckless murder, Kiru arriving in time to discover his own true origins as his father passes.

Left on his own with exceptional skill he bravely ventures forth across the countryside. 

Running into manifold sinister scenarios. 

As the volatile nation erupts in fury.

Honour and betrayal emphatically display their blatant enmity through disgrace within, anyone seeking uncontested quarter treacherously cut down with unceremonious deception. 

As personal aggrandizement and grandiose ambition see a courageous void where others detect virtue, the warring factions give way to anarchy as coveted roles are scurrilously usurped. 

The mad despotic imposition of imperial autocracy in morbid bloom, the constant bitter pernicious infighting leading to death and decay all around.

Malignant plans malevolently metastasize with voluminous cunning and radical inconsistency, improvisationally and opportunistically adopted with sly exhibition and wanton excess.

Alternatively, progressive industry can level the playing field and cultivate peace, so one's life doesn't uselessly and quickly end and striking harmonies congeal lay resolutions. 

Would you really rather launch a ground offensive in hostile Middle-Eastern territory from the sea?

While an idiot madman with no army training . . .

. . . covets unwarranted legendary honour?

Zatoichi's Cane Sword

A new magistrate controversially takes over village life in the Japanese countryside, his internal corruption as diabolically treacherous as any materialistically composed absolutist. 

Soon the local market where craftspeople gather to sell their unique and delicious items, sees its profits voraciously devoured with airtight avarice and age old greed. 

A local inn known to be trustworthy is indirectly commandeered, and flagrantly transformed into a gambling den salaciously accompanied by a brothel. 

There's nothing the outraged owner can do since to throw them out would mean his life, the licentious spontaneous awkward carnival wantonly consuming his honourable discourse.

Fortunately, Zatoichi is soulfully wandering the surrounding fields, and soon finds himself a' dwellin' close to the inn and its unwelcome occupants. 

But a local sword craftsperson who's turned to drink bluntly lets him know his weapon is damaged.

As he begins to forge a dynamic blade. 

For the wild officials causing all the trouble.

Through modest endurance, upright custom attempts to uphold hardworking virtue, its innocent rituals and heartfelt traditions defiantly refusing to be brushed aside.

The polluted state(s) in which they find themselves as pestiferously spawned as it is disillusioning, after centuries of loyal service and dedicated wholesome self-sacrificing industry. 

Reminiscent of the old school Western no doubt within which the faithful settlers, must contend with deception and carve a living out of hostile stone as lazy idlers cheat and rob them. 

The middle-class in carnal danger as bold adventurers act inimically. 

Sour sincere stardust stride. 

Ebb and flow.

Incarnate Zatoichi. 

Godzilla vs. Mothra: The Battle for Earth

Most freethinking thrifty environmental enthusiasts come up with the hypothesis that the Earth is conscious, as they watch plants live and die and grow while the seasons change and life matriculates.

You don't have to watch Solaris to come up with the animate idea, you just have to observe transient conditions as they shift and change and fluctuate. 

Godzilla vs. Mothra: The Battle for Earth innocently theorizes that the Earth has a defensive warrior, who comes to life when its environment is threatened and boldly protects its biodiversity. 

Dormant for thousands of years Battra suddenly awakes when a meteor crashes, as does the mighty Godzilla who had been slumbering dreamlike offshore. 

Unfortunately, Battra is somewhat unruly and difficult to manage when there's nothing to do, so the Earth also created Mothra to hold him in check after saving the world. 

In order to suggest its ideas are plausible, Mothra exists in the larva stage for over half the film, and doesn't aesthetically emerge until long after its egg has hatched. 

I always love it when giant moths show up, it's a surprising treat that enlivens the senses, so many of them are rather small but then one day suddenly, bam!, there's a giant one!

These feelings must be found in Japan as well otherwise a different "beastie" would have been chosen instead of Mothra (to fight Godzilla), the Japanese loving their ancient environment with as much reverence as Canadians or Québecois. 

I therefore plead with Japan to stop whaling, many North Americans love seeing whales as much as giant moths, it's honestly one of the coolest wildlife sightings out there, no doubt at its finest in Tadoussac, Québec. 

Is the Earth alive and consciously furious with our actions, as we recklessly pollute the environment with no end in virulent pestiferous sight?

Is that why the climate continuously erupts with dangerous storms or droughts immaterialize? 

I can't say for certain but I would argue that the Earth contemplates existence.

Which is a cool thing to celebrate. 

In summer.

And throughout the year. 

Godzilla vs. Biollante

As Godzilla makes his way here and there across the countryside, incensed militaristic rivals seek his utter annihilation. 

Since conventional weaponry is unable to penetrate his armour, a more diabolical solution is theorized involving sinister lethal germ warfare.

Growing crops in the desert would no doubt be sincerely appreciated, so much vast and vacant space lying dormant and underestimated. 

Oil rich nations even seek solutions to future years when the wells run dry, which seems like heresy according to more instantaneous immersive contemporary guidelines. 

Their secret laboratory is destroyed nonetheless and the material they were working on transformed into a giant monster, who possesses the soul of the lead scientist's daughter which can be sensed by a gifted adolescent. 

The giant monster doesn't take a shine to ye olde dastardly Godzilla either, the inevitable battle as insanely organic as it is technologically aggrandized. 

Thus, in attempts to take down one monster the world desperately wishes it had never created, another even more virulent beastie accidentally emerges through scientific despondency.

Atomic weapons no longer feared by inane warmongers sensationally skewed, the world awaiting the next disaster with resigned disbelief disputatiously fused.

Will A.I lead to Terminatoresque catastrophic developments in the freakin' near future, as the superstructure embraces its bacteria with acritical mass marketed glee? 

Or will it resemble the Star Trek scenario where it casually assists our sublime explorations?

If the Terminator scenario arises what can be created to defeat A.I?

Godzilla would never stand for it.

Or Biollante.

Fee-phở-fly!

Immeasurable

The old school medieval uptight bitter control of melody, disharmoniously governing creative musical composition. 

Tastes and trends congruously alighting lighthearted melodies and ditties and symphonies, the organic maintenance of scriptural censorship as authoritarian as it was unmoving. 

Difficult to consider the imagination objectively locked down through emotional indifference, blues progressions and swingin' rhythms foolishly regarded with absolutist contempt.

No doubt many innovations discriminately fell by the calculating wayside, and many artists bravely struggled against the cold and stubborn regulations. 

It seems unlikely that for millennia no one used classic blues progressions, or the faithful turnaround so often transformed from year to year, decade after decade.

Sweetly flowing enticing transitions eclectically aligned to encourage dance, banished from the soda fountain with routine blase remonstrance. 

What would have happened over yonder if acoustic mesmerizing exhibition . . .

Had been designated "spiritually uplifting" . . .

Thereby transmutating wayward souls?

*You mean music used to be censured and potentially even forbidden?

**For a very long time indeed son, quite some time ago.

*Was dancing also prohibited, along with random flamboyant movements?

**It was like a critical austere embargo on anything thought to be facilitating pleasure. 

*What did people do for fun?

**They tried to find censorship and denial fun in order to destroy dreams that filled them with ecstasy. 

*Isn't that a bit odd?

**Yes, but that's often the way it works, even when open-minded people hold the reins. 

*Is it possible to avoid them?

**Yes, people have been doing that for centuries. 

*I imagine it's easier now than it was back then.

**Unfortunately, as freedoms increase, so do desires to control.  

Blurbanal

*I miss birds in winter dad. It's fun listening to them in the warmer months.

**I can't disagree with you there son, there's nothing quite like early morning bird song.

*Crows can be kind of a pain I guess, when they gather and won't stop squawking, but it's cool to see them at first, they're pretty impressive birds. 

**You've got to look past the mysticism and focus on the concrete innocence, they're clever indeed for sure but clairvoyant considerations lead to malign contingencies. 

*Do you think birds used to be dinosaurs? A lot of big time scientists seem convinced.

**I tend to trust what they say especially if there's disagreement, but if dinosaurs shrunk and grew wings after millions of years, why do turtles still have shells, and why are crocodiles still so big?

*Could there have been divine intervention?

**The balance of Nature is oddly harmonious. 

*Could aliens be using our planet for research and development?

**I'm not wise enough to say "yes" or "no". It's possible they used to show up regularly, but then infighting or some kind of environmental disaster cut them off, and things started mutating without their husbandry after that.

*Viruses emerged. Toxic discourse.

**Most of the toxic manifestations seem to have been generated by humankind. 

*Is Global Heating like one of Riddick's Elementals, then, a mutated force seeking to achieve environmental harmony?

**We aren't treating the environment very well. If a conscious presence wanted to intervene but couldn't do so directly, it might take the artistic route, and unleash apocalyptic reckoning.

*Is that where zombies fit in?

**I would imagine so, son, I would imagine so.

*Especially in this political climate.

**Caw caw caw.

*It's a bird's life for me.

Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget

Geez Louise.

Am I to understand that the British Isles released a mass marketed children's film in/directly promoting vegetarianism as a major theme, as opposed to ye olde traditional "beefy" pub fare, which also presents a framework for revolution? 

Am I also to understand that Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget is a sequel to a film which promotes the rebellious aforementioned with equally family friendly camp stratagems (meaning the original wasn't crushed by the American Meat Eating Colossus)?

Almost 50% of the British population voted to remain part of the European Union, and I imagine the Chicken Run franchise wholeheartedly showcases their progressive impeti.

Indeed, as Dawn of the Nugget began and I noticed the controversial subtext, I figured there was no way the film was made in the U.S, and that it might have come from Scandinavia. 

Brainwashing is even a prominent theme as chickens are tricked into thinking their lives are wonderful, just before being transformed into nuggets, it unconsciously upholds critical eviscerations. 

By doing so, it fights the trillion dollar ad industry as it routinely promotes ye olde chicken nuggets, by inadvertently suggesting we've been brainwashed as consumers again and again and again.

It's a film created by Adorno's Culture Industry which works within that industry itself, to once again bring to life the alternative continuums Sanders's Oligarchs would destroy (imagine the Democrats had gone with Sanders [it hurts too much!]).

Thus, we "feel compelled to consume these products even though we see through them", and if one pays close enough attention, occasionally they're rewarded as they consume films that help them realize that they've been compelled to consume products that are intensely cruel and mean-spirited (for further viewing see They Live).

Usually, there's an overt declaration within them that nothing can stop or modify the master narrative, the animals missing life in the zoo in Madagascar, the pigs turning on everyone in Animal Farm.

That doesn't happen here however the film ends with even stronger revolutionary tendencies. 

And a preference for hard fought freedom.

From the relentless American machine.

*Choose Europe! The EU is much stronger with Britain!

Wildernestle

And then one day there was nothing left.

The last drop of fossil fuels had been used up.

People had been advocating for a transitional economy for over a frustrated century, but no one had seriously invested in newfound potent mass marketed energy.

International travel, global commerce, the internet, buses, it was back to bona fide genuine local, with ye olde bikes and canoes and kayaks, the immediate area becoming much more fertile.

The wilderness wouldn't have stood a chance if virulent plague hadn't gradually set in, the North remaining largely unaffected as the virus raged then softened then dissipated.

There were lots of things to eat they just didn't taste particularly good, and without sugar and flavourings and candy things seemed bleak at times to many.

But since nature had been left unscathed as the years slowly and gingerly passed, people started to notice an abundance of animals and fish inquisitively inhabiting nearby lands.

They had to learn the old school ways that kept things flourishing thousands of years ago, and since many still knew how to read and write, schooling remained a top priority.

Old school books from older school libraries humbly chronicled ancient methods, for maintaining a healthy water supply and modestly farming without oil or gas.

But just as the movement to farm was liberally growing the conservative hunters scoffed and vilified.

The age old stand off wildly reemerging. 

In temperate chaos and wanton moderation.

*I hope that's not my future dad. I'd hate to be stuck in the same town forever.

**It very well could be son, our leaders aren't that future-oriented.

*I guess I'd get to learn to ride a horse. That might be kind of fun.

**You could even tame wild horses if it ever came indifferently down to that.

*I don't really like eating fish, but I guess there would be a lot of them.

**Tartar sauce may be tough to come by, or batter or oil or lemon.

*I have always really liked camping.

**Chillin' out under millions of stars.

*That never grows old. 

**No doubt.

*Bring on the agrarian armageddon. 

Antoine et Colette

Having graduated from the sterile confines of his sentence to juvenile delinquency, Antoine Doinel moves back to Paris where he finds work and independence. 

Alertly dreaming of the wonderful day when he can no longer be hounded by institutions, he buckles down and digs in deep to keep his room while embracing the arts.

While at an intriguing performance with his old school friend René, he notices a stunning brunette to whom he takes a modest fancy.

Consistently seeing her at the same venues he cavalierly entertains, he eventually finds the courage to ask her out to see a film.

It isn't love at first sight though, from her objective point of view anyways, and although they spend a lot of time together, the relationship goes nowhere.

Forget her, M. Doinel, can't you see she'll never love you!

You've been collocated not collected.

The resultant frustration despondently shrill.

Difficult to imagine an otherworldly culture so serious so borderline obsessed, with rules and regulations it doesn't fit the France I'm more familiar with chill and peaceful (from books and films).

I suppose I grew up post-Antoine Doinel when his influence was more widespread, and you no longer had to tiptoe-through-the-meanies with nauseous cryptic jaded dread.

Hopefully this blasé revival of excessively devout austere mendacity, will fade without the dull recognition that any culture could have ever been so boring.

Antoine Doinel's still not the heartthrob more familiar in later films, but he still seeks lavish amorous illusion in this less accommodating fluid short feature.

Ironically getting along so well with any set of parents other than his own.

Nice to see him gathering his own vinyl collection.

Even working for a record company.

Vinyl still blows my mind.

*A couple cool scenes even present the mechanics of the old school vinyl industry. 

Stolen Kisses

Laissez-faire improvised scenarios multifaceted bamboozled chagrin, Antoine Doinel decides to join the army from which he isn't honourably discharged. 

His commanding officer makes austere predictions regarding his upcoming potential career path, to which he responds with comic disillusion while preparing to gracefully disembark. 

Fortunately, Christine isn't married and her friendly parents soon find him a job, which he awkwardly loses the very next day after glibly succumbing to clever contrivances. 

The wondrous innocence so valued and extant, borderline literary imaginative distraction, still guides his random wanderings from one odd situation to the superfluous next.

A private detective, indeed why not?, it seems unorthodox and perhaps amusing, not dull like so many things anyways, with inherent variety steeping the stew. 

Lacking natural gifts he embraces trial and error with novel credulity. 

Unwittingly finding himself soon seduced. 

By his only client's well-read wife.

Interesting to see an oblivious detective in charge of investigating a mid-life crisis, sombrely concocted by a sullen shoesalesperson exceedingly obsessed with why people don't like him.

It's a whole new branch of detective film where ye olde sleuths put psychiatrists out of business, as they venture forth with concrete shenanigans subjectively interpreted as something new.

Maladroit misgivings and incumbent thrift definitively queued on the existential barbie, it just progresses and mutates and engages as you become hooked on paying the bill.

Someone to talk to nevertheless about most people's favourite topic, themselves, people who are paid not to find you boring to the point where they invent constant mischievous conjecture.

Comic brilliance notwithstanding which I don't recall having seen anywhere else.

An endearing character.

Wholeheartedly beloved.

Precariously curious. 

Symbolic literature. 

Deep Freeze

A loving family says farewell to its honoured grandpa one sad day, who had spent his life in traditional service to that same unit et au travail.

Hoping to one day meet again, they hire a new service to preserve his body, in new age cryogenic slumber until such a time as he can be reanimated. 

Things go well at the farsighted business as hundreds of wealthy people eagerly seek, newfound life in another epoch on down the road with their illness cured.

Family life returns to normal the humble father still working at the library, the mother making ends meritoriously meet, as a Grade 5 teacher, the children getting along.

Just as a brilliant yet mad disciplined scientist sets out to create an undead army, of somnambulistic unfrozen supermen steadfast and loyal to his every word.

He's developed a universal preservative which athletically reanimates frozen tissue, while making it susceptible to suggestion such as let's rule the entire world.

Working as a modest janitor he infiltrates the cryogenic facility, and continuously waits with diligent patience for the right moment to create his army.

As luck would have it, one carefree evening his fellow workers sit down to play, a heated game of Texas Hold 'Em with humble stakes and heartfelt empathy.

He makes sure to go all in early on so he'll get knocked out.

The slumbering automatons unconsciously awaiting.

His insane authoritative commands. 

*What would you do if you had your own army of reanimated Übermensch, son?

**First, I'd see if they could play hockey. Then, if they were athletically gifted, I'd make my own team and compete in the playoffs.

*What if they weren't that athletic?

**I might establish my own business. If they were skilled negotiators, we could make some serious money.

*Do you think harnessing the power of the undead would give you an unfair commercial advantage?

**Are you being facetious?

*Not intentionally. I suppose it's taken for granted that you wouldn't try to conquer the known universe?

**Why would I? It's already been done in the film!

*Crazy family reunion I'd say.

**That was an awkward Thanksgiving. 

Heart Beat

The classic romantic examination of wild alternative domestic scenarios, as an impulsive inspiring non-traditionalist car thief and a hopeful writer fall in love. 

Competing post-War visions of America are materialistically and spiritually emerging, one carefree and lighthearted and bold the other calm and strategic and disciplined.

The tupperware/Maytag/Jetset had to responsibly deal with latent extemporaneity, the opposing star-crossed antithetical ontologies awkwardly mingling ad infinitum.

Heart Beat's music harnesses this momentum with explosive untamed incredible jazz, musicians exploring improvisational tempos and sly unique tonic upbeat blends. 

Simultaneously, the ambient sounds accompanying transitions and less amusing anecdotes, are reminiscent of 80's James Bond themes with inherent schmaltz and maudlin synergies. 

Gallant attempts to embrace a lifestyle are often fraught with bland disparagements, and tried and true sincere beaming methods at times lose their shimmering shine. 

If two men love the same woman why not live together in the 'burbs?, the dynamic unorthodox affable grouping flexibly raising an engaged family. 

At times they get along remarkably well since they ambitiously love the same freestyle life, the boys satisfying each other's need for friendship, the girl abounding with play and reasonability. 

Is this anything new?, was it aesthetically shocking at the time?, is it just as startling today as it was then?, will it always be cynically rebuked? 

Hedonists and stoics and cynics were also around in the ancient world, no doubt contending with as much pith as impassioned contemporaries are today.

Stoicism always seemed like the wisest choice not too wild and crazy but still experimental, also not so sarcastically disagreeable and full of lethal sociocultural venom.

Experiment endeavour enjoy without giving into temptation.

If that makes any sense.

In uncertain times I guess it does. 

Jacob's Ladder

*Spoiler Alert.

Secret army experiments covertly composed and athletically executed, leading oblivious hardboiled soldiers to wanton acts of outrageous cruelty. 

Alone and isolated wasting their time with harmless shenanigans and lighthearted horseplay, the chosen unit suddenly erupts with insane bellicose bloodthirsty determinacy. 

A soldier's hit, a bayonet to the chest, and he wakes up back on the subway, years later in a different life with sights unfamiliar and newfound trajectories.

Things go well a lot of the time as his supportive partner seems chill and helpful, and things typically run well at work, his life advancing without hindrance or incident. 

But he starts to notice odd random things that look like demons spawned in hell, his mind unable to rationally explain them as their frequency intensifies.

At other times, he gleefully awakes in an alternative life he once closely knew, where he's married with three nimble sons who sincerely care for his clever witticisms.

As he drifts from one realm to the next he distressingly starts to lose touch with reality. 

Until he meets up with old friends from the army.

Who have been experiencing the same freakin' thing.

A fine example of a chilling psychological thriller effectively blending religion with reality, as a soldier ventures through ye olde purgatory after having been seriously wounded.

It isn't preachy or overly sentimental it just presents a man's life as it is, as he wildly contends with heaven and hell as his fluid mortality grotesquely fluctuates. 

In a rare class of religious films that aren't sensational or over-the-top, the grim world it slyly presents gradually unreeling while seeming quite real (like The Omen or on television, The X-Files).

Definitely a shame to see experimental drugs blindly field tested on faithful soldiers, who had no idea they were part of an experiment clandestinely conducted by the army.

A different time when the soldier's viewpoint mattered as much as higher ranking authorities. 

With democratic vision.

And wholesome subjectivity. 

Exuberant life.

Universal calculi.

Lion of the Desert

An extended war horrifically lasts decade after interminable decade, the invading army becoming more and more brutal as the efficient guerrillas ferociously defy them. 

Best not to invade someone's homeland I'd holistically reckon, the resultant passions and incensed spirits of the local population vigorously magnified.

In Lion of the Desert, Omar Mukhtar instructively leads his Libyan people against fascist Italy, which seeks to claim his lands for its own, thereby competing with French and British Empires. 

Mussolini grows more and more angry as the conflict goes on and on and on, and posts a new General to the land who hopes to begin a long career.

He uses the knowledge he's obtained at elite first rate enviable military academies, to fight Mukhtar's formidable insurgence with textbook strategy and traditional know-how.

But Mukhtar's a teacher himself and consistently reacts through improvisation, and through the application of situational logic constantly defeats him with outdated technology. 

General Graziani burns crops and executes innocents and prisoners of war alike, while using gas and walls of barbed-wire, thereby infuriating his honourable opposition. 

The fascist machinery is much more advanced but the invading army can't comprehend the desert, and suffers embarrassing defeats again and again as the cumbersome years lugubriously accumulate. 

Mukhtar functions so reliably and unpredictably that he even earns the awkward respect, of the flabbergasted General who almost weeps when he faces dire execution. 

His resolute character and noble self-sacrifice live long beyond his mortal wounds however, as he emphatically promises that his local people will keep up the fight ad infinitum.

Libya eventually achieving territorial independence. 

The recovery of its lands.

Invaluable to its people.  

Why embrace such outdated antiquated logic?  

White Fang

Lil' White Fang.

Part dog, part wolf.

He cute!

When parents die, he say, "I explore!"

Beautiful caves he find.

After adventure, kind peeps take him in.

He happy.

Running and playing he like!

One day, bear chase human.

Bear big very!

White fang him challenge.

Bear think, "not worth it".

Human happy.

Later hard times.

Bad men cheat owner.

White Fang must fight other dogs. 

Luck happen one night though.

After losing fight, human he save save him.

Friends they become.

Human mining.

White Fang to mine he bring.

Go well things until bad men follow them to mine.

Steal they want!

White Fang's friends must fight.

With his help, mine they keep.

Everyone happy!

Partner in mine leave Dawson to start hotel in San Francisco.

White Fang's friend in Yukon stay.

Sad that people kill wolves.

They help control wildlife populations.

Wolves think, we too wild for humans, but we like.

Cool humans think, wolves, I like!

White Fang!

Barbarosa

In the scorching hot wilderness carefreely straddling the border between Texas and Mexico, a survivalist bandit with retirement in sight makes a controversial living after his banishment. 

Ostracized since the beautiful daughter of a wealthy landowner took his hand, he's forever chased by incessant honchos culturally obsessed with pleasing their lord.

An awkward innocent tragic fool finds himself alone and hunted one day, after he accidentally murders his brother-in-law and his immediate family totally freaks. 

He's fortunate to meet Barbarosa who reluctantly takes him in, and shows him how to make an honest living when rudely cast out by kith and kin.

He's new to the hardboiled countryside and proceeds in error most of the time, Barbarosa arriving at opportune moments to offer benevolent aid to the clueless youngster. 

Simultaneously, the lad refuses to offer his help when Barbarosa goes too far, presenting an idealistic foil to his age-old grumpy thieving shenanigans. 

He slowly unravels Barbarosa's tale until sincere sympathy sedulously emerges. 

As they forge a legendary team.

Boldly traversing the unsung badlands. 

*Would Barbarosa's marriage have been more successful if he had asked his wife's father for permission beforehand, dad?

**Well, here it's one of those old school situations where her father may have never allowed her to marry anyone, let alone Barbarosa, like in Scarface, so if they wanted to be together, they had to go it alone.

*Awkward, I'd say.

**Yes son, no doubt.

*I guess he had to shoot his father--in-law's leg off after he had his ears cut off, but didn't that just make a haunting situation even more menacing?

**There's really no solution to problems like these son, all the individuals involved are much too stubborn.

*Like when the kid falls for Barbarosa's daughter?

**That's right son, very observant. 

*I guess everyone just kind of marries whomever these days, eh dad?

**Yes son, our communities have become quite diverse. 

*I'm a huge fan of variability.

**That's good to hear son, so am I. 

Leap of Faith

How to spend your hard-earned money, what causes to support, whom to innocently trust, the options vast and theoretically variable as pervasive ads tantalize and fascinate? 

There's the contemporary political vortex which enthusiastically presents intriguing alternatives, often driven by forthright personalities like the ones in Leap of Faith but much more powerful.

There's the overflowing heartfelt sitcom congenially demonstrating love and romance, familial problems and troubles at work all snuggly broken down into 24 minute segments.

There's Hollywood films similarly functioning through beloved faith in family and friends, the age old perseverance which resolutely champions the master-narrative with crafty volubility. 

The classic novel invests time honoured traditions with tragic challenges to old school reckonings, while skillfully blending demographic constituencies with financial burdens and sly characterizations. 

Now there's Netflix etc. which seems to showcase ideas Hollywood ignores, and has created an empire of epic illusion from simple tales with bucolic conclusions. 

There's the oldest of schools, the ancient religions that have faithfully stood the fickle test of time, patiently emerging and gradually disseminating hypothetically soulful divine beliefs. 

There's genre fiction disputatiously supplying magical takes on narratives flustered, fan favourites reaching cult status and admirably viewed anew successively. 

The world of music instantaneously available on your phone for a reasonable price, with a little research the global verve intricately jives in chill reverberation.

Local sports teams feisty and combative with championship goals in versatile sight, year after year the competition impressing as guts and dreams manifest raw courage. 

The independent realm at times presenting the coolest stories you've ever read or seen, lacking overt corporate agendas and uniquely sharing otherworldly ideas. 

Everything twisting and distorting and complementing with mad discursive intertwined gelastixity.

Like concrete discourse in abstract flux.

How to spend your hard-earned money!?

Never Cry Wolf

Isolated research.

Alone in the country.

Invariably noting sundry distinct sounds.

Voluminous birds.

Curious critters. 

Enigmatic symphony.

Wondrous focus. 

When I arrive, my thoughts still rush with the anxious bustle of urban conjecture, odd distractions and flippant ridiculousness madeleine mayhem surreally strewn.

As the weeks pass however the surrounding environment is slowly absorbed, unconsciously restructuring manifest daydreams with new material less temperamental. 

Piecemeal immersion gradually concentrating psychological synergies throughout the mind, nature encouraging chill observation with delicate tact and studious ponder.

It's fun to stretch out and listen to the adventurous sounds and resident harmonies, without getting lost in wide-eyed reverie awkwardly concerning uncanny discourse.

It's kind of like Mindfulness or a tranquil zone in which you existentially float, attuning your ear to the swathing sounds until you can tell the difference between a dragonfly and hummingbird (in unseen flight).

But for hours and hours throughout the day, not just for 5 minutes on your coffee break, the extended visceral celestial thought facilitating freeform imagination.

You can wind-up making friends with wolves and starting to think you're playing an active role, to the point where you see a deer at the end of your driveway and think he or she's wondering where you've been.

Extensive studies in the bush can require chillaxed adaptability. 

It helps if you never stopped loving animals. 

Who may seem somewhat curious about you. 

Arizona Dream

Reliable independence eccentrically maneuvering from one spirited random job to the next, compelling experience artistically dispersing enigmatic vehicular labyrinthine waves. 

Freely lost in the intriguing maze with neither career-oriented objective nor financial goals motivating, the integral wonder of consistent experiment continuously riveting incremental strides. 

Until you're tricked into one day returning for an old school function off in the void, and your childhood hero emphatically tasks you with regular employment definitively supplied. 

Unobservant and oblique the following days psychologically distressing, until a suicidal heiress and her flamboyant step-mom suddenly stop by to purchase a Cadillac. 

Invited back to their oddball stronghold to mix and match variable witticisms, he of the mercurial artistic temperament viscerally seduces the uncanny widow.

Why not make a flying machine that aerodynely searches the skies, for no particular reason whatsoever but to lovingly embrace aeronautic freedom?

The moribund millionaire also falls for his otherworldly irresistible authenticity. 

His companion floundering in the flotsam. 

As exotic reveries concretely jettison. 

*Do you think dreams are sending us secret messages dad, that relate to everyday life?

**It's difficult to say, son, and it's different for different people. You can write down what happens in your dreams though, and then see if it becomes a reality. After a while a lot of people realize it doesn't, although, there's always the possibility they're misreading the signs.

*Who can read the signs accurately, dad? Do experts in the interpretation of signs exist?

**There are doctors who know something about it although they constantly bicker amongst themselves, and so many alternative theories exist that at the end of the day it comes down to faith.

*Like trust in the doctor?

**That's right, you see, they may be incorrect, but they know more about it than you, so their mistakes are likely more advanced than yours, and therefore to potentially be taken into consideration.

*What about popularity? Does popularity influence interpretation? 

**Well, the brightest of the doctors sometimes becomes the most popular, and since his or her mistakes are likely closer to being correct than his or her counterparts, they become what's known as, en vogue.

*So many people listen to others even though they're also incorrect?

**That's right son, that's correct.

*Strange, this world of dreams.

**Have a good sleep, son.

*Will do.   

Marvin & Tige

A young kid with no known family blindly struggles to get by, after his mother suddenly passes one forlorn and sombre evening. 

Adapt at finding food yet still suffering from malnutrition, the enticing canned goods he regularly consumes lacking all-encompassing vitamins and nutrients. 

Good fortune serendipitously emerges after a borderline homeless widower takes note, and invites him to stay with him until members of his family can be located.

He's worried since the youngster's on his own and has a bad attitude and can't read or write, his inner-avuncular instructive instincts attempting to find ways to teach and educate.

He's not so great at it though he'll admit his personality lacking warm-hearted discourse, he's blunt and direct and ye olde hard-knocksy which even the child awkwardly observes. 

Nevertheless, his intentions are honourable and he tries his best to give the lad a home.

The makeshift family embracing improvisation.

Abundant arguments. 

Resolute care.

Old school stories flush with sympathy encouraging less severe social structures, wherein which compassionate dynamics overtly showcase heartwarming alternatives. 

There must be no cultural shortage of kind and friendly tales circulating, where people finding themselves down and out are tenderly uplifted with heartfelt sympathy.

Is it foolish to wonder why impoverished circumstances distressingly abound, alongside so much wealth within so many countries where riches proliferate? 

Doesn't a more level playing field lead to more innovation and greater diversity, compelling ideas and irresistible inventions accompanying arts and crafts and newfound technologies?

Supplying millions of impoverished people with food and shelter and healthcare and education, doesn't just lead to healthier communities, it also cultivates a more gifted culture.

It's working all across Europe and also in Australia, New Zealand, Canada & Québec. 

It doesn't even cost that much considering.

And you don't need a massive army. 

Lost in Yonkers

Intelligence, when examined multifacetedly, has many industrious tributaries, whether it's the hands-on practical methods of labour and commerce, or the idle imaginative nature of academia. 

Not that reading isn't hands-on or labour prone to distraction and daydreaming, the multilayered convulsive vortex producing versatile compelling symmetries. 

Standardized tests can delineate efficiencies for specific subjects categorically determined, and if successful with these tests administrative accolades invariably accrue.

Social skills at the same time often aren't tested with authoritative skill, but cultural knowledge brought to vivid life securely allows one to snuggly fit in.

Fitting in can be rigidly frowned upon and categorically dismissed as routine flimflam, just as abstract knowledge may seem rather useless by the utilitarianly inclined.

People often specialize in something and know that subject very well, if you're to ask them a question about it they'll no doubt respond with relevant discourse. 

Do they lack intelligence because they aren't gifted in multiple domains?, I would argue they do not, since their subject of expertise demonstrates erudition. 

Getting along with people, co-existing, should be more highly valued, as a sign of communal functionality that encourages peace and tranquil living. 

Working the eccentric into such a framework along with novel peculiarities less disposed to small talk, is a gifted skill of its collective own readily displaying incumbent sympathy.

In Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace bluntly examines intellectual styles, and without the most diplomatic language, brilliantly arrives at working-solutions.

He points out that most people aren't nearly as intelligent as they think they are and that fools often make incisive observations, while grotesquely filling his multidisciplinary pages with people self-destructively obsessed with over-achievement. 

I always thought it was irritating to focus on subjects I knew little about, and had no interest in thoroughly studying, to show-off my learning with people I didn't like because that was what they expected. 

I thought most people had strengths and weaknesses and respecting their strengths was a sign of culture.

Help them work on their weaknesses in school.

Let their strengths shine at work and play.

The Bounty

Wild deliberations, imaginatively bred, cerebrally adrift on contemplative seas, evocatively swelling disproportionately sly arrhythmically attuned courageously attired.

I imagine it's still tantalizing to freely circumnavigate the globe, it may have been done ad infinitum but must still impress vessel-type depending.

In The Bounty, the rigid captain has it in sight as a resolute goal, but gives up after inclement weather bombards his ships for weeks on end.

He still reaches his destination where his hearty men modestly indulge themselves, the tropical climate and easy living a well-earned break from life at sea.

But for the celebratory accomplished return trip he wants to test the stormy waters again, to stubbornly realize his lofty objective which was wisely abandoned with sobre regret. 

His men have grown quite sick of the imposition of discipline at sea however, and many of them miss their island comforts with far fewer rules and regulations and lashes. 

Fearing they'll never make it, they openly launch an audacious mutiny. 

Taking the ship wherever it may go.

Never to see their Native homeland again. 

The Bounty takes an imperious shine to top-down order and absolutist reckoning, affirmatively upholding old school codes of efficient conduct and divine faith.

Circumnavigating the globe would have no doubt been a noteworthy accomplishment, to look back upon in your senior years with loyal disbelief and rebellious fidelity.

Dying in the attempt would have been fruitless and perhaps even mad obsessions pending, although if the captain had been less severe he may have subtly won the crew over.

He isn't a loveable man though and relies more on codes and duty than artful persuasion, unlike his affable mutinous counterpart whom the crew adores with uncompromised feeling. 

To take a ship and just sail off into the wide open salient distance. 

Could you have purchased your own ship and done that way back when?

Is it even possible to do that now?

Flying to Vancouver's crazy expensive.  

The Madness of King George

Foucauldian investigation pending, I still find it odd to see a film from the '90s heavily invested in the monarchy, even though its cherished king briefly loses his mind, and an upstart layabout may indefinitely displace him.

Here you have a critical problem relating to monarchy or autocracy laid bare, what if the king loses his mind and sill continues to fluidly take an active role in government?

I'm more familiar with narratives that take a much more severe look at such potentialities, in order to wisely advocate for democratic institutions, which usually saturate tyrannical ambitions.

The king in this film is adorable however with an encyclopedic knowledge of his domain, he likes animals and knows the details of the intimate lives of even his most theoretically insignificant subjects. 

He finds custom and formality irritating and openly wishes to be less strict, amidst an observant displeased retinue compulsively obsessed with monarchical routine.

Unfortunately, as he becomes more and more friendly and more becoming to democratic sensibilities, he's considered more and more insane and eventually locked up for his communal troubles.

The doctor hired to cure him contrasts his personality with democratic incongruity, he's never read Shakespeare and has no time for pomp but understands his work with utilitarian efficacy. 

Thus the king who is more like a commoner hires a commoner who is more like a king, to save his mind from withering away into petulant unrehearsed trivial lunacy.

The treatment indeed is much less fun than the childish mad king ruling his kingdom, but it does work he's able to return to the head of government without excessive comment.

But even if the king is loveable and wise and caring and erudite, does the potential for debased absolutism not reside inherently within?

How strong are the democratic forces collectively aligned to challenge such aberrations, as absolutist sentiment widely spreads and eventually subsides in cultural familiarity?

Familiarity is no doubt ingratiating but what if it starts illegal wars that ruin the global economy?

Does the familiar become say fruitless? 

To be challenged by the feverish unknown? 

Star Knight

Alien encounters likely stretching back towards the dawn of unrecorded time, with comings and goings awkwardly authenticated through mythical beasts and august miscellany.

Technologically advanced and spiritually endowed with intergalactic frenetic moxie, facilitating custom, ritual and duty, beguilingly acquired through fragmentary permanence. 

The learned scripts and scholarly vicissitudes inarticulately duplicating alien codes, enriched through composite zealotry, credulous passion, and enduring faith. 

At times the bloodline even embraces extraterrestrials with righteous dignity, interplanetary breeding readily accommodated through random hookups and disciplined matrimony. 

The resultant mélange cosmopolitan and frisky encouraging dynamic multidisciplinary overload, as accordant emotion and wilderness whimsy viscerally intertwine with magnetic frenzy. 

In Star Knight, for intriguing instance, an alien descends to monitor humankind, and meets through random accident the nimble daughter of a local ruler.

The people believe his ship to be a dragon and retreat in horror when confronted, his mission peaceful his role observatory his curious action gallant and discerning. 

Seeking to be left exotically alone he amicably returns the maiden to her father, but not without having left her inquisitive and bold regarding the heavens and interstellar union.

A knight seeks her hand as well and is willing to fight to one day receive it, the alien confused by the chivalric ritual and notably uncertain as to how to behave. 

A local alchemist can't believe his luck and thanks the aliens for their coveted gifts.

Before his rivals curse his ambition with routine interminable banality. 

The question remains, what does one say if suddenly greeted by an alien, how should you react, what should you ask, is communication possible, would they try a buffet?

With the different options available at a buffet it's a good place to begin exploring terrestrial culture.

Don't visit the zoo, it may give them the wrong idea.

Cold glass of water.

La Ronde or Canada's Wonderland. 

Outbreak

Suspicious that a virulent plague was able to slip through our sterile defences, and put the whole freakin' world on lockdown, just out of the blue, suddenly, just like that.

Also strange that a resilient vaccine was effectively produced in so little time, and everything ended quite efficiently after the dullest period of postmodern existence.

I suppose that if our medical infrastructure is world renowned then it isn't surprising that a vaccine was developed so quickly, although if a virus was deadly enough to outmaneuver the infrastructure perhaps the vaccine should have taken longer to make.

So boring.

It couldn't have been more blasé.

I was lucky enough to have work and they couldn't cancel walks in the woods, but wide-ranging activities and sundry entertainments could no longer be accessed through direct application.

I was of the mindset that COVID did in fact exist and was malevolently taking on the world, and didn't think it was a hoax collaboratively designed to test drugs and obedience. 

Thus, I disagreed with the anti-vaxxers who saw themselves as freedom fighters, and thought the ways in which they were accessing their freedoms put their communities at risk.

Its origins and eventual spread around the unsuspecting globe do remain mysterious, there's no doubt it did exist, but why or how did it originate?

If it actually commenced in the East how was it able to feverishly escape, since that jurisdiction is already on lockdown with strict governmental oversight concerning everything?

It did escape, nevertheless, and was then dispersed around the globe, why weren't relevant airlines quickly shut down so the spread would obstinately decrease?

Obviously, there hadn't been a global pandemic for over a century and the Earth wasn't ready for old world demands, the interconnected interactive globe somewhat ill-suited to industrious plague.

I felt bad for the politicians who didn't know what to do, struggling to respond to questions they didn't know how to answer.

It was a great time for thoughtful inanity as so many came up with theories, the vast majority of which were incorrect, since really there was little one could do but suffer.

That's not very cheerful though and it doesn't make a very good story.

I still think the pandemic was worse than Trump.

Although things this time round are crazy bad. 

Atomic Cyborg

An apocalyptic take on commercial enterprise blends technology with fluent discord, as a reluctant cyborg ill-equipped to kill arm-wrestles a country diner where they're none too friendly. 

Sent to take out a messianic figure organically disposed to sustainable environmentalism, his conscience overtakes his imperial conditioning before he cuts loose for the low-key boondocks. 

His programmers are exceedingly frustrated and quickly set out to locate their merchandise, enlisting murderous ostentatious cacophonies to zero-in upon their quarry.

Meanwhile, he indeed be chillin' with a new job without much responsibility, for the first 24 hours or so anyways before he suddenly finds he's most unwelcome.

Being a cyborg has its advantages and he discovers he's quite the arm-wrestler nonetheless, and as feral champions gawk in awe he swiftly earns a lucrative income. 

But if he can be given an overhaul he may become an elite assassin, the mad conspirators running wild with seditious intent and gratuitous whimsy.

He does his best, just tryin' to get by, but ruthless conflict keeps on a callin'.

Doesn't hurt to be a cyborg however. 

Wildly attuned to chaotic endeavours. 

*Are cyborgs really like that dad? Do they still have thoughts and feelings? 

**As far as I know son, as far as I know. Although I think they're made with titanium. 

*That muscular bearded man we saw canoeing by himself last summer, he was a cyborg right?

**He looked like one, that's for sure, although I can't make an accurate call.

*I thought William from way back was a cyborg because he was so good at math, but then I saw his handwriting and figured he couldn't be a secret robot.

**I've never heard of cyborg children. I imagine they're like vampire children and Bene Gesserit children, abominations. 

*That would be weird being their teacher.

**No doubt son, no doubt.

*Cyborg-High the show might be cool though.

**I'd watch that for sure.

*Principal Schwarzeneggar?

**Professors Biehn and Hamilton.

*Popular with the A.I contingent.

**They're huge these days. Could be a thang.

Mojave Moon

Bored and withdrawn yet colourfully animated, a middle-aged carsalesperson orbits his existence, neither dissatisfied nor sincerely content, he curiously acquiesces to life's tomfoolery. 

The unexpected then emerging and quaintly tantalizing as he considers a proposal, a long day a drive into the unknown the desert notwithstanding its sweltering synergies. 

He's been recruited, a gorgeous damsel has indeed been locked down with abject familiarity, as has her daughter the brute's ambition for eternal stasis insipidly solidified. 

He doesn't quite understand the details the grand misfortune accompanying the fam, nor why he's there nor what he's to do with no explanation forthcoming aloha. 

The brute sees his happiness ruined as the tradition he loves is threatened by others, and conceives a rotten and fiendish yet clever plan to simultaneously dispose of his oblivious rivals. 

The desert abandoned things haunting peculiar when the trusted saviour finds a dead body in his trunk.

After which people steal his car.

Not boring.

Still one of those days. 

*Best not to grow too attached to things, eh dad, like the psycho in this movie?

**It's okay to be attached to things son, but you also have to be open to structural change. 

*I guess that kind of makes sense. Sometimes I hate it when things change, but at others it's kind of fun. 

**It's a shame you can't manage the unknown factor like a science experiment or a 500 word essay.

*But wouldn't that bring about artistic ruin?

**I suppose that's correct son. I suppose that's correct. 

Overboard

Absolutely adapting grandiose manifest in synthetic conjunctive rigamarole, as bucolic mystery enigmatically sheathes ostentatious origins through disenchantment.

A new life exceedingly envelopes the opulent damsel with thrifty means, and previously underdeveloped expectations suddenly take on didactic schmooze. 

It's a trick of course her new husband and family disbelieving their luck, as the oblivious plutocrat who blindly cheated them randomly shows up with amnesia. 

It's a new era in their lives, constructively complete with domestic bearings, instantaneously overwhelmed with comatose conjecture and improvised charm.

The lighter touch and the less severe endemic countenances prove endearing, a natural fit bewilderingly unbeknownst to the heartfelt darling metamorphosized. 

Yet as her unconscious helplessly seeks a broader path upon which to exemplify, her waking hours embrace play with mesmerized mischief and sincere conjuring. 

Should she choose to stay if she wakes up with consciousness accrued?

Or munificently synthesize the disparate means?

With bold immiscibility.

And thoroughbred temper.

*Is that how you and mom met dad?

**Not exactly son, not exactly.

*Does that kind of thing happen a lot?

**I imagine so son, I imagine so.

*I guess there are all kinds of ways people meet, you've got to be ready for anything. 

**It's important, takes time and care. 

*Flexibility.

**Tidal tenses. 

*Ebb and flow.

**Mercurial routine. 

Trucks

Machinery has on awkward occasion posed philosophical questions while at work, the consistent use of fuel-powered-entities blended with distraction leading to hypotheses. 

Such theories no doubt imaginatively aided by consistently observing different narratives throughout life, the uncanny ludicrous application of televisual conceit to work and play.

But if oil and gas is eventually created as life inevitably dissolves, it was therefore once indubitably alive in possession of thought and spirit and appetite (Plato).

Machines inarguably seem inanimate when not turned on when lying dormant, with no fuel warmly generating power to encourage motion and requisite function. 

But when active does the fuel they burn once composed of life once again draw breath?, ontologically igniting ancient schematics blueprints attuned to reanimation. 

As the reignited organic material takes hold of the metallic construction, it nurtures different kinds of behaviour, which is why machines seem like they have personalities. 

Thus, one takes it easy with older machines less intimately acquainted with flexible immediacy, while it's fun to reasonably play with brand new constructions recently made.

Trucks takes things to the next level and gleefully removes the human factor, the trucks indeed suddenly turning on their once unsuspecting masters.

As they take over the small town of Bridgeton there's little that the lords can do.

Besides try to find a way to get out of there.

Before machine-kind embodies absolute rule. 

*Isn't this what you'd call crackpottery dad, machines coming to life and killing everyone?

**That's certainly an argument you can make son, although the off-kilter theory still mystifies.

*Tough to stop your mind from wandering when doing boring stuff, isn't it dad?

**It's helped to make so many cool stories.

*I still don't think machines are alive.

**You're probably right. But, really, who's to say? 

*Sigh. Okay, maybe driverless cars are a bad idea.

**Good to keep humans in the loop son.

*No doubt. I don't know what I was thinking.

**A.I can't freakin' drive cars. 

*Loved the station wagon.