Harakiri

Iron clad austere absolutes definitively guiding a warrior's code, effectively upheld with rigid distinction from age to age and epoch to epoch.

Yet as the hardcore cookie crumbles and less severe ways of life embolden, manifold exceptions to stilted structures playfully contend with mischievous endurance. 

A family on the brink of starvation desperately sells off all their belongings, impoverished samurai obtusely set free after their loyal master was dismissed.

An honourable man refusing the distinction of seeing his daughter linked to a chieftain, contradictorily preferring to see her wed to an old friend's son as broke as he. 

Happiness enlightens for a while as innocent love convivially manifests, and the family makes ends meet while wholeheartedly enjoying each other's company. 

Until one day the child becomes sick and there's no money to buy him medicine.

The son-in-law thinking he may find some at the palace. 

If he pretends he's willing to kill himself. 

When it becomes apparent that they expect him to do it, he asks for a few days clemency, after which he states he'll return and freely fulfill his heartfelt promise.

They refuse and don't inquire into the nature of his request.

Deciding not to be regarded.

As a refuge for the damned.

Had the young samurai explained his plight the governing administrator may have been merciful, but the thought of being industriously retained produces too much longing to be disregarded.

The obstinate nature of the leader his obdurate refusal to grant his wish, firmly demonstrates the concrete candour which eventually deprives many of their lives.

Do the compassionate and merciful not ethereally ensure the cultivation of communal life (Los Angeles and San Diego)!

Rather than blunt destructive agency (Republican idiocy starring Trump)?

Through novel artistic intricate synergies.

Who thought the peaceful gains of 30 years ago were something to be foolishly disdained?

What a difference to see a world like this.

Trump's Christian supporters must know he's an apostate of hell. 

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!