Chrysanthemumbles

Florial stigma calisthenic clutter

chatterbox chowda grimacing gruel,

discordant snag touchdowncast iron

tenacious troll bitesize embankment. 

Cheerio chisel postal precision

indented margins Kodiak foal,

dilapotato tumbledown thesp

neolithic narration sculpted foam.

Tame effervescence mild precipitation

meteor showerefore chocolate chips,

decadent fluke lithe charisma

gloatisserie gleam sugar shack shimmy. 

Sonarly squiggle sonorous swag

écoute les hiboux verdant pulse,

evergreen surroundings wild inculcation

incorrigible shuffle lay 'doctrination. 

Glade befuddle transfixed aura

solar elixir ceremonious glide,

edible berries serene implosion

subconscious subset manifest slumber.

Ludicrous luncheon anthropomorphized 

exacting impossibility convex shards,

mid-afternoon tea recuperative snack

animate alchemy wondrous conv'lution.

Crisp calabreeze dainty declamation

febrile compartment improvised custom,

embeelzebubbly uproarious hilt

glib variation fomenting blush. 

Trowel delegation indesjardins

potentate proxy Methuselah mettle,

indisposed quake irrelevant zounds

primordial spool waylaid tricoté.

Decathlon flummox insolvent decorum

itinerant craze barmy sombrew,

mellow expedient corrugated crib

impersonal jinx delicate moj'.

Cloven dispersal magnanimous herd 

ungulate gammon Venetian blinds,

coal collocation charming flamb

disorderly douse famished liaison. 

Stagnating roundabout coiled disposition

slithering sidewind donutter frill,

lucid illusion chomp chomp chomp chomp

acquisitive faction surmontivideo. 

Gallant excursion fluid residual

snowbelt contorsion bonhomme luge,

insatiable iris tasty cuisine

convivial vacay studious sliver. 

Dragonfly

Do voices from supernatural realms at times attempt to communicate with the terrestrially composed, is there something to be said for uncanny spiritual instincts without resorting to coincidence or mental illness, as Tom Shadyac's Dragonfly directly hypothesizes?

A lot of the time it seems like mumbo jumbo that can't be clarified or reasonably explained, even if it's supposed to exist beyond rationality and therefore isn't logically disposed. 

It's foolish to take the irrational seriously since believing in ghosts or the like can lead to folly, although it's fun to imagine they might exist while leaning towards the generally improbable. 

One trick is to consider the possibility of keeping an open yet skeptical mind, while always immediately denying its logical potential if someone starts asking for more than 10$.

I saw many an episode of America's Most Wanted as a lad where true believers were cheated out of tens of thousands, and it seemed like such a depressing waste considering the trusting hearts who took a faithful leap. 

I hate to see the innocent cheated especially when they're gentle and kind. Why people who prey on their humble instincts can't find something more constructive to do is beyond me.

Those humble instincts have persisted nevertheless after a century or so of scientific advancement, advancements that have found evidenced based factual reasons to validate so many practical truths.

As science proves more and more practical theories you would think religious belief would become more and more obsolete, but it still persists with resounding tenacity in many jurisdictions still spiritually composed.

It's like there's an innate drive residing in many to believe in the supernatural regardless of fact, and even if such a drive seems improbable, yet can still sometimes be fun, in the interests of democratic community, methinks it's best not to dismiss it.

Of course I tend to operate within a communal domain where there's mutual respect for opposing viewpoints, and improbability doesn't have the upper hand and isn't creating laws to dismiss science or pandemics accordingly.

I like to hear people tell stories so I'll listen as they narrate away, it's incredible the things some people say, the force of their convictions at times unsettling.

Just proving and dismissing everything with science can be incredibly boring too. Life needs a bit of excitement now and then that only werebears and vampires (etc.) can provide.

As long as you don't believe werebears and vampires are real and can find a practical metaphorical application for them.

Thus rationalizing fantasy.

To tell even more incredible stories.

With planned obsolescence and conflicting authenticities so much discourse sounds absurd (especially as you age).

But what's life without absurdity?

As long as it doesn't cost too much.

The Man Who Knew Infinity

Transcendently calculating with pure artistic spirituality, rarefied inspiration, crystalline caricatures, an East Indian genius leaves loved ones behind to study mathematics abroad, challenging racial and cultural stereotypes to do so, undeniably unique and innocent, picturesque prognostic in plume.

A gift beyond reason, like Proust, Shakespeare, Dickens or Joyce, he miraculously finds a patron at Trinity College, who sets out to formalize his spry romantic methods.

Malheureusement, academic rigour has its own contentions, and G.H. Hardy (Jeremy Irons) and his jealous colleagues initially distrust/dismiss Srinivasa Ramanujan's (Dev Patel) revelations.

Obsessions with the genuine.

Could he be the one?

There is no one, but mathematical proof is required (Ramanujan writes mathematical formulas at the highest level like squirrels climb trees or cheetahs swiftly accelerate), but would Srinivasa have written more profusely had Hardy sat back to obtain those proofs himself, giving his correspondent more freedom to think, thereby preventing the sterilization of genius?

Training Ramanujan to become an academic would have transformed him from dust devil to tornado, but in terms of both knowledge and refined intuitive creativity, it may have been better to leave him be, with a stipend, to maximize his unaccounted for mystifications.

These thoughts loosely reflect conversations held between Hardy and Prof. Littlewood (Toby Jones) as The Man Who Knew Infinity examines detections of the exceptional.

I thought it was a great film, comfortably blending brilliance and banality with modest poise and tenacious dignity.

Even at that level, amongst what Bowie called the elite and first, racist attitudes still obscure understandings, enviously orchestrating a fermented xenophobic squelch, as opposed to idealizing grand authentic freedom. 

Curious this 1729.

A modest proposal?

*Saw Alfred everywhere in this film.

A Dangerous Method

Usually I'm a big fan of David Cronenberg's films but A Dangerous Method didn't work for me. Which is surprising considering that if someone had suggested that I could go see a movie that blends Sense and Sensibility with Blue Velvet I would have responded with glee and eagerly anticipated an upcoming screening.

Oh well.

While Sigmund Freud (Viggo Mortensen) and Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender) become acquainted with one another their dialogues are sound enough. Both are working within a traditional framework and trying to modify its rigidity in order to make room for modern theories. Freud's disciplined innovative approach is contrasted with Jung's emphasis on the hyper-experimental and both confidently support their differing yet supportive points of view (they're working within a new theoretical paradigm which calls into question various institutional bulwarks but coming at it from different practical angles). Their analytic proclivities and formidable egos squander the potential of a prolonged working relationship, however, and eventually their productive bond is ruptured.

The main problem with the film comes from the interactions between the two and patient/student/love interest/colleague Sabina Spielrein (Keira Knightley). As her and Jung start having an affair, the dialogue becomes increasingly maudlin and precludes any chance of a sharp unifying disruptive climax. When it suddenly jumps to scenes displaying their raucous lovemaking, the movie takes on a comedic aspect whose carnally cerebral concupiscent dexterity playfully problematizes/extends its focus on professionalism.

Classic Cronenberg.

But while the rigorous carnivalesque dreamlike fortitude radiates Method's formal elements, the melodramatic sentimental tedious exchanges surficially complicate things.

Perhaps Cronenberg is simply trying to say that it's the dreamwork that's more important?

Who knows.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Delicate operations requiring providential mnemonic triggers and creative conditional calculations present themselves to retired intelligence agent George Smiley (Gary Oldman) as he attempts to identify a Russian spy. Having infiltrated the highest level of the British Secret Intelligence Service (MI6), this spy is well positioned to discretely disseminate significant flourishes of information to his superiors in the Soviet Union. Tacit knowledge, social and institutional information management, and the threat of death play integral roles in Smiley's clandestinely profitable wagers. The stakes are high and the opposition fierce as he descends into the labyrinthine foundations of memory, availability, and time.

In the interests of precision.

Taking ordinary research and adorning it with a strict lethal sense of provocative immediacy, Tomas Alfredson's Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy tantalizes the inquisitive faculties while proceeding staggeringly from point A to point B in a laconic linear warp.

Like an indirect salute to editorial predilections.

Trying to unearth the hidden adhesive catalyst whose motivational propulsion will synthesize his pensive analytic re/formulations, George Smiley pursues his subject with a cunningly subtle rigour which wisely sublimates feelings of joy.

While occasionally permitting its ephemeral presence.

In order to thwart bureaucratic instabilities.

Monsieur Lazhar

Immigrating. Searching for work. Adapting to the dynamics of your new surroundings. Quietly suffering from the trauma of your previous ones.

Philippe Falardeau's Monsieur Lazhar follows the activities of Bachir Lazhar (Mohamed Fellag) as he seeks refugee status in Montréal and finds a job teaching in an inner-city elementary school. Matters are complicated by the fact that he replaces a respected facilitator of learning who recently committed suicide in the classroom. His students are confused and shocked.

His antiquated teaching style doesn't placate things.

But his strict yet forgiving direct approach has its merits as he attempts to bring his students's pain out into the open. Simultaneously creating a cathartic outlet and an administrative backlash, he boldly proceeds while negotiating the consequences.

With neither teaching degree nor classroom experience.

His traditional signs and points of reference have been displaced, transformed and differentiated, yet his wit remains intact, enabling him to manufacture structured cultural resources through the process of active creativity.

Which facilitate his socio-economic recovery.

Flexibly managing the viewpoints of the other while adopting components of their constructive criticisms to his professional and social practices leads to his modest integration.

Synthesizing divergent contents with similar forms systematically acculturates his multifaceted tenacity.

Because he gives a shit.