L'Incroyable histoire du facteur Cheval

Purpose can be difficult to clarify.

Lots of actions seem reasonable enough, in terms of achieving or working towards short or long term goals, but repetition leads to logical flux, classifications of the indeterminate, and what once seemed spiritually sound, can lose its lustre if not reimagined.

Rediscovered.

If you ever find yourself sincerely bragging about something you found easy to do the first time, weeks or months or years later, it's perhaps time to find a new job, or spice up a relationship, such circumstances emerging in middle-age sometimes, which seems to go on forever and ever, and doesn't really change much overnight, unless someone's preparing bruschetta or enchiladas.

Things seem easier for this deer fly that just bit the bottom of my foot.

It's nourished itself on my lifeblood, and one would think, is about to digest the nutrients.

And it's hanging around.

It wants more.

I am now irritated and riled so I'm shooing more regularly, but even with the excessive shooing it returns, just dodges and lunges forward, perhaps seeking to limitlessly gorge him or herself to reckless epic proportions, as if my blood were an everlasting boon, and he or she was saturated with vampiric integrity.

It's bitten my ring toe too, the most useless of my toes, which has now found purpose, for it desperately desires eager scratching, I've noticed it for the first time since I last cut my toenails, and can honestly say that it's itchier than my other toes, it stands out indeed, like uninspired graffiti in an abandoned factory, that perhaps once produced socks, shoes, or bug spray, none of which adorned my foot before the lasting bites, which I must admit, are greatly disturbing the writing of this paragraph, I'm now itching with moss, rocks and nails.

Fingernails.

The deer fly just landed on my finger as I checked the time on my phone.

It won't relent and proceeds insatiably.

I cover myself in spray.

Remember why I had kayaked to this slab.

Joseph Ferdinand-Cheval (Jacques Gamblin) didn't have time for such distractions.

Was much more focused and driven.

L'Incroyable histoire du facteur Cheval chronicles how he slowly built a palace of rocks beside his home, for decades in his spare time, never wavering from his eccentric commitment, which was oft judged odd by curious surrounding townsfolk.

Tragedy strikes on several occasions yet he perseveres with herculean intensity, defining meaning through random exploration, purpose through awkward planning.

He never really says much, and when he speaks his words aren't that well chosen.

But he slowly learns it's important to say something, and not to worry about semantic injunctions, that a lot of people just like shootin' the breeze, and there's purpose in light conversation.

It complements the palace building.

Which proceeds with inspirational resolve.

Remarkably adept dedication.

A cool family film smoothly bringing it to life.

Nice.