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. 

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. 

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!

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.   

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. 

Field of Dreams

August absurdity ludicrously smitten unassumingly attempts to fulfill salient dreams, a mysterious voice, haunting and tantalizing, non-traditionally invoking spiritual temper.

The flamboyant drive to lackadaisically imagine random initiatives and residual endeavours, at times resounding with emphatic simplicity so ritualistically clear it sincerely baffles.

In the age of science and reason caution should no doubt effectively guide, otherworldly ambitions fantastically delineated feverishly according to blinding sights.

Nutrient rich celestial reckoning at times practically and concretely frowned upon, literary anguish liberating in sermon creative liturgies divinely improvised. 

Resonant collectivity or "group dynamics" can customarily achieve abstract enlightenment, like Deleuze's bewitching ethereal entities gallantly awaiting throughout the cosmos. 

The acquisition of neighbourly support for goals and objectives interdimensionally transmitted, may lead to athletic industrious "leg work" as disbelief awkwardly materializes. 

Within the transcendental realm as moderately applied to books and film, more cultural leaning may theoretically syndicate poetic jive and cerebral exhibition.

If only a mutually inclusive sociopolitical playing field indeed adopted, harmonious respect for its philosophical counterparts in terms of conscience and inherent curiosity. 

Would asylums then be less committed to the regular detention of debatable "madness", and more efficaciously attuned to cosmopolitan alternative life?

More resources could be spent on the viably insane and they could live in greater comfort, transitioning from one unbeknownst psychology to another and another and another through mental exercise. 

The definitive embrace of elective alternatives seemed like the gold standard years ago, multivariably equating the seemingly incongruous with ephemeral substance and illusory charm.

Multidisciplinary integrity intergalactically fuming with geometric insight, never led to destructive wars or remarkable sudden increases in the price of fuel.

"Build it", indeed I say, "why not?", "there's probably nothing else to do".

Try to finish the project before December.

Then see what's up next year.

Could be fun.  

Cheminstrel

Incommunicado restless interlocutor

opaque isthmus crackling wood

baroque embellishment ludic verve

incessant antics quivering fletch

summited circa pinnacle plush

inordinate view symbiotic horizon

dazzling downpour gracious melody

leapfroggin' lacka ambient haze

cardiovascular decked out dygnashing

quizzical camper sandstriking smidge

fussy instructions aghast retinue

punctilious incline almond bitters

sawdust sucré atemporal flux

modest demeanour exemplary marrow

chestnutterance spitfire samosa

whiplash stampede 'tripetal blush

accelerant catalyst crucial consumption

jaundiced jaguar infinite loop

Danube dispiriting swollen embankments

didgerdeluge ominiondation

exotic sampler smithereens scoot 

vacillate vermint crafteaspoon critter

vanilla sedgling vehicular blinds

botanical blimsy tobaccolades

frenetic fissure frugallaghershwin

optimal nominal whole grain blather

tantamount treacle viscid supplication

invertebrate buzz infinite fleece

brittle consternation bewildering blasé

comatose stride sleepwalking sentience

dizzying drowsy succour shallot

labyrinthine strata lithe collocation

Morpheus mingle curious swagger

inchoate charm vouchsafing vessel

subconscious structure shapeshifting sands

elusive elocutus jocose jammin'

husky interlude cerebral paucity

juxtaposed lick rhythmic pulse

crescending sorcery glib diminuendo 

improvised guideline denouement stress

fitful romance disinclined thriller

comedic quark siesta sci-fi

meteoric magma galactic chemistry

soluble liquified coaxing unknown

enigmatic math eccentric equipoise 

garland sugargomellow enterprise

rooty microbe coagulate granule 

aggregate shade pebble bipedal

octane inducement incognito nebulae

'dromeda snorbit courageous descent

fugacious fauna feverish fruit

extracurricular unique venture

spawned. 

Buena Vista

Ricochet mesmer slipstream succour

lavender lychee ostentatious box,

glimmering gambit salient showcase

articulate amber forensic flutter.

Disputatious dimples congenial hoodwink

Cartesian ruse distracting artifice,

gatewaylaid fractal allegorical thresh

starboardroom stilts incensed interrogative.

Surmiserly summit plasticine perch

meteoric missive platonic pulse,

organic stature compatriot bling

mythicustardis rank collusion. 

Rubiks lexicubist heuristic hustle

postulate pulpit jalloquent jammies,

nasal synaptitude ‘cilious sights

budding gustation auracular spore.

Envisaged spawning clan osmosis

atypical tinkering noxious loci,

demstereo breadcrumbs stray emissions

Helios hummuster hamster queue.

Rowdy ‘curricular ringside hocus

glistening glide drenched composed,

sonorous speed pitchfork titling

lathe immersion soothsaying’ chide.

Chomnibus chortle burlap burmagma

echohort hooting jubilant shade,

regal component emerald swirl

nominal bombast negligent girth.

Lazuuli thicket persnickety pomp

opalescent timber carcabijoux wood,

auriferous musée optical transmission

looseleaf insignia sierra grotto.

Embellietzsche wiz imputed signs

carnavalesque temper video highlights,

modest decorum macadamia crunch

glamorous nuisance haughty hardwire.

Eggstatic scramble dynamo rouse

emphatic clamber captious wrinkle,

revitalized cessation indicative lullaby

nutrient flux panjam’Alabam.

Cardinal construct tectonic willow

birch barking mad-hasher dashery-doo,

mandolin rhythm sinewfoundlinger

scallop malaise recrudescent tread.

Cavalier cadeptation kalamuschmooze

otiose llama blesséd bray,

beure d’arachide dissimulacrum,

cyberspace sizzle bold conjecture. 

Many things taste better with salsa.

I like to just have the odd mouthful.

Spicy, but not too spicy. 

Variety begets tempation.  

Dogmesticikitty

The snow refused to charitably yield and continued falling for weeks on end, the resultant piles indeed insurmountable as commerce and education could no longer function.

Even the army was unable to clear the vast voluminous onslaught of flakes, and people were locked down in grim seclusion with no emancipating end in sight.

For some, it was plain old February the dead of winter putrid and zombified, it was just a matter of one more board game before the resolute sun would resplendently shine.

But this time it didn't, the unabashed snow snidely fell with blanketing tempestuousness, as emphatic worries gradually increased with distressing implacable disregard. 

It felt like the time of the caveman as cloistered hysterics began to erupt, and too much time had awkwardly passed to relieve the tension with play and song.

When, to make matters worse, domestic cats and dogs revolted. 

And forged wild hunting parties of their own. 

From which safe refuge could not be found.

It's utterly absurd.

Like our cherished pets would ever wildly revolt against us!

It doesn't make sense if contemporary logic is keenly taken into universal account.

Still, the scene where the gigantic pack of dogs vehemently descended on the ________ team, was crazy intense and filled with emotion through the creative use of traditional plays. 

I suppose it was a bit cliché to have the army taken out first, to make the film that much more harrowing as the snow continued to fall.

The battle at the sequestered nunnery between the sisters and the barrage of cats, was spiritually sinister in its death-defying bedlam, no doubt ill-suited to Sunday school.

Throughout, the bewildered Trundle family oddly observes the ancient imbroglio, scholastically endowed and academically inclined they can't explain the pestilent reckoning.

I loved how the hibernating animals emerged from their slumber to save the town, passionately criticizing the dogs and cats for casting off their traditional domesticity. 

Ending the film with the bucolic, Just another god damn February, left me somewhat overcome with joy, the bizarro crisis having been averted, not bad for animation. 

Good Morning

Dashing undulation conundrum vibration distinct deconstruction anomalous motif, excessive earthenware tropical seclusion haphazard happenstance lithe resuscitation. 

Breathtaking burnish animate intake sedulous smarm audible iota, siesta cistern ebullient scowl treasure cheshire churl Romeow kowtow. 

Volcanic indigo luscious lugubrity exultant quake tornado traction, swirling sophisticates Socrates sojourn dialecTuring torpiddly testude. 

Dartnel doozy seditious clench incorrigible artifice flayed gesticulation, infinitesimal thrift iridescent moonshine engaged narcoleptic sugarbeet swoop.

Dissonant diletante brisk encapsulation pandromeda malt salubrious scion, steadfast ellipsis stalwart lobe omega maestro marigold slur. 

Palimpsest postulate discursive allegory improvised bulletin Nantucket news, wilderness waffling cerebral sentiment mortisane rigour halélélou. 

Seductive synergies ola oasis picturesque paradise celestial cruise, vehicular voisin soluble circuit erratic decompression hark carbone. 

Nimble encampment forested Fresca feverish fireside mountainous 'mallow, abeyance alight solace configured cavalcade coastline balustrade buzz. 

Singsong serenade innocuous utter aquifer 'ology haberdash swank, detailed disinterest commodified coda koala catalyst saffron luge. 

Heretofore halcyon auriferous yolk toastie taberknickknack fi-fye-foamfries, stately indifference complacent coaxing cajoled consignment indefinite flamb.

Stifling staccato pinpointed mottle cranberry twizzler doting dust-devil, transmutated transience simmering broth renaislàinte 'beration ursignatory. 

Lay back.

Give a demonstration. 

Casually observe.

Reiterate. 

Testudinosaur

A young foolish eager adult who enjoys walking through the woods, notes the changes in the forest as the vigilant years distend.

His mother wonders why he's so obsessed with taking photos in the woods, but kindly notes the intuitive goodwill curiously in touch with his endeavours.

He's able to find work which often keeps him strictly occupied, the crafting of exceptional texts first and foremost on his mind.

Unconcerned with traditional appearances or the usual ways in which people act, he compiles a vast collection of eclectic novel bric-a-brac.

As time passes, the resident animals become more accustomed to his presence, and stop worrying when he shows up at the local marsh to take his pictures.

In tune with local wilderness rhythms, he begins to notice turtles on the tracks, engaged in humble exploratory actions as they carelessly observe and note and wander.

As trains often use the very same routes to conduct their commercial affairs, the artist becomes alert and watchful in his cataloguing of the turtles. 

Then one day, a train approaching, he sees a turtle on the tracks, and moves quickly to swiftly move him/her to a safe location in the forest.

His timing is somewhat off and he arrives too late however.

Only to miraculously emerge.

In the supernatural land of turtles. 

With a larger budget the land of the turtle may have seemed more convincing, not that it doesn't have its unique features which encourage light compelling applause.

I liked how the turtles he moved off the tracks were pissed when they saw him in their land, and vented their sublime frustration with grizzled undisciplined nonchalance. 

Using real turtles in the crafting of the intricate scenes may have been frustrating, if they weren't incredibly adorable and innately attuned to all things cinema.

Theresa Montesque naturally shines as the helpful mom, who takes a modest interest in her son's work while trying not to be overbearing.

Who knew that turtles were using the tracks to secretly travel between dimensions?

As the sun beats down with wild intensity.

Throughout the typical working day.

*The voyage back to the forest is cool as well. 

**Never play around train tracks. You never know when the train might show up.

Gandahar

Lost in the peaceful elegant simplicity of humble distinct village life, the people have neither want nor vehement complaint as the carefree millennia fruitfully merge. 

Living harmoniously with nature they have all they need to frolic and gambol, the matriarchal realm organically constructed in heartfelt sonorous temperate melody. 

Yet strange occurrences begin to take place as villagers on the outskirts are found turned to stone, with no indications as to what's going on the mystery confounding the Council of Elders.

The leading matriarch's impetuous son is reluctantly chosen to swiftly investigate, quickly heading out on a winged steed to the unknown reaches of illustrious Gandahar.

After being attacked in the sky, he is sympathetically taken in by Dickensian outcasts, sublime survivors of a different regime which embraced fascist experiment to achieve mad objectives. 

Longing to return to their former city they use special powers to aid the warrior, who continues on his industrious journey with resolute courage and resourceful knowhow.

Only to discover a villainous plot whereby an army of hostile robots.

Is being lead by a murderous brain. 

With the hopes of condemning his people to oblivion. 

If industrial and technological revolutions hadn't utterly transformed existence, would the mellifluous state of organic nature not be more reliable still?

Life may be shorter with less creature comforts and useful medicines may be hard to come by, but would there be as much of a need for them if disease itself hadn't critically evolved?

We did live this way for thousands of years and even if people did fight amongst themselves, was the health of the planet still largely unaffected and were many animal species not driven to extinction?

If oil runs out, the consistency of the future will no doubt be mired in fluctuating uncertainty, will organic technologies emerge to sustain the infrastructure, or will the advanced lock the remnants of civilization down in gated communities? 

So many forecasts, potential disillusion, so much to learn, variants and mutations. 

More chill to settle into the Holiday Season. 

Friends and family, warmth and magic. 

The Blob

A quiet night in the peaceful countryside picturesque and romantic, delicate and adoring, a young couple familiarizes itself with the night sky through active stargazing and vigilant discernment.

When a gigantic meteor from deep within space suddenly lands nonchalantly nearby, a local woodsman out for a stroll in the vicinity taking a closer look.

At first everything seems fine it's just a rock harmless and nondescript, but after it cracks open a translucent goo gesticulates and wavers with distressing undulation. 

The woodsman picks it up with a stick and then brings it to his hand for closer inspection, where it smothers his skin and absorbs his bones with greedy invasive absolutist hunger.

The young couple arrives to find him overwhelmed with pain and helpless frustration, they immediately agree to give him a ride to a local doctor who agrees to see him.

Back in town everything seems fine shenanigans alight - a dull even intensifies.

As the encumbering goo increasingly expands.

Aggressively digesting.

Every human it encounters.

It's clear that imminent space danger is posing a limitless unprecedented threat, and the grandiose resources of the entire world should be excessively deployed as a countermeasure. 

A giant interconnected web of satellites should gallantly cloak the world complete, to boldly save our economic interests and definitively ensure that nothing gets through.

If North America, in consultation with the United Nations, comes up with the imposing ubiquitous design, aesthetically vetted by Québec, and humorously lampooned by Ontario, the effective blueprints should be ready in a fortnight, after which security will be impeccable. 

Threats from space should only modestly take up around 3.5% of global budgets, and should we hunker down and buckle up there's no freakin' tellin' how much "ground" we'll cover.

I used to think the night sky was just a peaceful tranquil dome, effortlessly excelling at facilitating dreams and coordinating wise immaculate dominion.

But with the tangible threat of the enemy it casually obscures it must be tamed.

Like the frontier from The Last Starfighter.

Let's get 'er done!

Just in time for Christmas.

Zatoichi and the Fugitives

Lonely travels honourable service distinguished expertise impassive unbound, moderate spirits laidback luminosity chillaxed script amicable spawning. 

Village after village undaunted impressions heuristic avenue versatile innocence, thunderous sympathy locked-down elusivity courageous thirst impish bearings.

Synchronous senses volatile venom meticulous maestro macabre maelstrom, jalapẽnned halo vehement vortex invaluable lotus reticent mamba.

Temperate treasure humble happenstance modest mavenlea generous gremlin, supersonic simplicity salt-of-the-earth tenaciously tilled formidably fastened.

Oriole opposition fujitsu fugitives underling unction bellicose bandits, ancillary antennae undisciplined dogma D'artagnan deaconstruct awkward aversion.

Duplicitous deputy calibrated collusion impractical inspection neoclassical nerve, dandelion dodgeball rutabaga ruse cattail collaboration milkweed wham-o.

Humorous doctor fertilized friendship salubrious saki voluminous laughter, adequate slodgings ambient vertices virtuous Vermeer elegant portrait. 

Cacophonous clash macroscopic orchestrations indefinite delineations tsunami surge, Benedictine blade multifaceted mugwamp magnanimusterings trailblazing munificence. 

Despotic dissonance impulsive embarkation rash reorganization insipid rearrangements, woebegone brinkmanship feverish fortitude bold distillations audacious implosion.

The Zatoichi Zephyr freeform and honest carefree caregiving sensational soil, erudite dissections innovative fair play intuitive bravery inherent stewardship.

Consequent wandering itinerant roll call forensic righteousness playful politesse, omniscient albatross farseeing fulcrum compassionate grizzly acute democracy.

Feudal ferocity.

Immortal sympathy.

Cerebral composition.

Heartfelt hommages. 

*A more intricate Zatoichi. With multiple stakes. And tragic final blows. 

Blood Simple

Ligament liturgy ecstatic entropy impassioned unleashed covert clandestine captions, fledgling fervour innocuous oater newfound necessities cradle crunch.

Resigned shamanatee hesitant harbinger grotesque gumption supine shutterbug, despotic disclosure tragic forbearance reluctant ransom accurséd accounts.

Vigorous fury toxic engagement outcomes unexpected incipient fugue, disgruntled affection fusillade photoshop disclaimed deceptions demonstrative nerve.

Serendipitous enterprise curmudgeon cashew expedient itinerary audacious embrasure, scurrilous sand-wedge lugubrious sigma gossamer getaway gallantine grief.

Accidental discovery mynock misfortune despondent discomfiture hyena hysterics, improvised onrush maladroit excavation environs entombed disconsolate guava.

Awkward ubiquity psychotic stern renegade reanimation potentate pulse, egregious centigrade uncharacteristic bellicose burmeasles inspired feeling.

Reticent explanation hardboiled anxiety encrypted confusion illiterate torque, bewildered bombastic diagnostic distress unwitting algorhythmic detrital spunk. 

Spontaneous chase forensic foreknowledge oblique discretion carcinogen clambake, ambivalent aloha nebulous necromancy beguiling glenigma otiose oblivion.

Gruesome unsettling ominous scenarios borderline barking mendacious maestros, frigid and frozen fugacious fumigation albeit squishy traumatic high tide.

To stay so dismally determined calabrese calculation pervasive ghouls, hemorrhaged matrimony unyielding formulae enervating exotic tollgate truncheon.

To go so wild and spirited jocose rejuvenation on the road, rekindled rebirth exuberant partner uncertain finances chillaxed extolled. 

Obsessive disabled bleak bland envy power-mad meticulous critical observation, lascivious lifestyle no curious family routine remonstrance dull disquietude. 

Darkly comic embalmed compulsion exhaled disillusion cadaverous consignments, concrete contusions objective misalignments worthwhile macabre mordant malaise.

Inchoate gambit excessively beloved calibrated careers acclaimed and distinguished, varicose variety perpetual motion delirious decades homegrown Americana.

*This is the Coen Brothers's first film.

**Noiresque. Worth checking out. 

Gypsy 83

Bucolic fashions habitually annoy Gypsy Vale as she randomly fluctuates, moving more style to quip to inspiration as concrete dissonance mundanely obscures.

Her friend Clive offers flamboyant accompaniment as they shoot videos and intuitively experiment, their cohesive bond actively facilitating insouciant fun and alternative brokerage. 

One day they learn of an upcoming talent show to be exotically held in New York City, where they've unfortunately never been but would love to energetically check out.

Gypsy's mom couldn't handle the 'burbs and reluctantly moved there years ago, Gypsy hoping to somehow reestablish contact during the voyage although she's still rather angry.

Their road trip adventure spontaneously begins and they soon find themselves travelling state to state, with improvised stops and inconclusive reckonings emergently enabling freeform postures. 

Their keen choice of clothes and elaborate makeup lead to complications as they flourish.

In a world inarticulately composed.

Foolishly observed with dismissive resonance (they run into a lot of flack). 

Good vibes and genuine friendship impressionably motivate in Gypsy 83, as creative sincere individuals find expression through play and fantasy.

Although woe does abound and wherever they go criticisms arise, their inevitable championing of the blasé reverberates dependable amicable rhythms. 

Even amongst their fellow misfits dispiriting vitriol enervatingly erupts, the critical world fraught with intense snobbery which is often more destructive than lowbrow ignorance. 

The Amish hitchhiker adds some flare as they enthusiastically drive along, with complications eventually devastating the inaugural window harmless and playful.

So irritating that so much sadness has to consistently be resiliently overcome, a less vituperative cultural consensus open-mindedly applied leading to less bitterness.

An active life helps the criticisms fade while tenderly engaged in novel exploration.

Tough to believe in a country as dynamic as the U.S.

There aren't more than a handful of chill cities to live in.

Excluding contemporary times. 

*Criterion keyword: lounge.