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.  

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. 

Don't Play Us Cheap

Lo and behold, a classic dinner party festively abounding with rhythmic song, the random celebratory inspired exclamations as unconcerned and versatile as they are contagious!

But the laidback chill and welcoming get-together has found its pernicious carnal adversaries, uptight individuals austerely prone to bombastically break up the tranquil merrymaking.

Imps from Hell in fact who can instantaneously change their shape and form, initially existing as vainglorious bats before diabolically transforming into humanoid revellers.

They strive to impress the Dark Lord by ruining an otherwise felicitous night, seeking reward recompense and favour in abysmal pits ominously inhabited. 

Fortunately, the guests assembled are far too good natured to fall for their traps, and easily find reflexive criticisms carefreely capable of sustaining the fun.

Most of the characters have a song to sing that's full of harmonious hard-working accords, mellifluous tales of united resplendency avidly coaxing freeflowing rebellion. 

Salt-of-the-Earth recitals fluidly enchant with gracious exactitude, Melvin Van Peebles having written the songs while expertly directing the feature as well (originally performed as a live musical).

I loved it so much I found the soundtrack and listened to many of the songs again, impressive soulful collaborative music gossamer gospel Motown motivation.

The music continuously innovates the feverish climax bewitching ensemble, as many of the characters gather together and sing several songs at the same chillaxed time.

It starts out humble and modest and slow then virtuously builds as other artists join in, before suddenly emerging as a bona fide fulcrum of synergistic spectacular stardust.

Why not simultaneously compose mischievous quotidian narrative accompaniments, cheerfully championing hard work and play and teamwork and friendship and family and Christmas (not technically a Christmas movie)?

The food looks so good too and there's so so so much of it freely available.

Fortuitously praising one more Saturday night.

Tantalizing treatise.

Mind-blowing maestros.

Neko no ongaeshi (The Cat Returns)

Simple acts of genuine kindness at times cultivate appreciation and respect, the unsuspecting recipients flush with reciprocity should time's passage munificently flow.

Thus, in Neko no ongaeshi (The Cat Returns), the Kingdom of Cats regards Haru with admiration, for having generously gone out of her way while altruistically assuming death-defying risks.

She's rather mild-mannered yet inquisitive and enjoys sleeping in with no time for breakfast, teachers critical of her habitual tardiness yet still sympathetic to the studious cause.

Having naturally developed an intuitive love for animals she notices one legendary day, that a cat may be run over by a fearsome passing truck, which encourages genuine distress.

She quickly scoots into traffic and boldly saves the unobservant feline, who, as fate would have ceremoniously have it, happens to be the Prince of Cats.

Cat kind responds in turn with abundant gifts freely delivered, and even if Haru doesn't know what to do with the mice, she's still taken aback from all the attention.

But soon she's taken away to the exotic otherworldly mythological chillaxed cat kingdom.

Where she's betrothed to the very same Prince.

As she starts to transform into a cat!

Imagine a less self-obsessed world where sincere kindness and warmth played a role, and people looked out for one another like the Québecois while structuring their cultural and communal relations.

I don't hear it mentioned often anymore but the Pay it Forward movement was a very cool thing, I don't know what it transformed into but hopefully the thought behind it's the same. 

The movement as I recall sought to reward acts of kindness, self-sacrificingly shared between conscious individuals, conscientiously aware of the tender exchange.

If someone was kind enough to do someone a favour or help someone out without having been called upon, then the person who received the aid would then help someone else in the near future, or Pay it Forward.

Marrying the King of Cat's son and transforming into a cat may have taken things too far, but had there been a courtship ritual involved, perhaps the results would have been somewhat different.

An appealing idea nonetheless which effortlessly radiates cohesive collegiality. 

It exists in so many forms.

Constructively mutating across the land.  

Un beau soleil intérieur (Let the Sunshine In)

A match.

Endurance.

Compatibility.

R & D.

Pastoral paradigms emanating golden harmonies rhetorically reverberating through multilateral millennia, joyfully narrativized like historical ambrosia, atemporally animated to mellifluously sing, unconditionally composed spry apian honeysuckle, youthfully absorbed then maturely articulated, with different methodologies, flexibly inscribed.

Passing years blending experiential summations curiously moving forward with impassioned conviction, truthful conception still tantalizingly motivates without ever asking why?

Enchantments, disappointments, routines, bewilderments, a scintillating literary array miscellaneously nuancing biodiverse auto/biography, sifting through the acquired knowledge like basking in metropolitan obscurity, multiplicities aligning quotients with commensurate psychological constituencies, strategic planning wondrously liaising with lampooned spontaneity, crème brûlée, a quiche, a grilled cheese, a bumptious timbit in Milan, a marigold scone brashly drenched in herbal tease.

Tisane.

Itinerant ecstasies dependable denominators express escapades mundane nebulae, a resonant echo still conceiving la clé labyrinthique, the maze itself intuitively reliable, as long as theoretical conclusions remain determinately uncertain.

Ephemeral clarifications auriferously constructing poetic periodicals classically mystifying formal assumption, jazzy rhythms alternating beats with inspired endemic hypothesis, comical complements relieving inquisitive bouts of suspicious vertigo, extraterrestrial revelations, steeping thematic controversy.

Doubts, delusions, denials.

Elasticity.

Sitting back later on, settled and sequestered, conceptually caressing canvases, a story takes shape.

Notwithstanding unclassified frontiers, the tumults and triumphs and testaments and temptations serendipitously characterize life alight anew.

Outcomes conspicuously serializing no less, theatrics exemplifying latent desires quotidian.

And while observing sundry orchestrations mischievizing relational aesthetics, communal romance applauds in tune.

Without ever coldly abandoning.

Free longings for something true.

Immaterial.

Blessed.

Starchy.

Black Panther

A hidden civilization, majestically secluded in death-defying mountainous impeccability, technologically adept environmental symbiosis relying on ancient traditions to guide contemporary initiatives, a brilliantly constructed unparalleled postmodern wonder, Africa's colonial history having left it reasonably wary of the unknown, yet a new Wakandan leader has wisely arisen who is concerned with his community's global reputation, and may break with the past to encourage sustainable growth, generously nurtured, and cultivated worldwide.

His community at large.

Leaders, I should say.

One was abandoned and left to fend for himself in the U.S, the other grew up amongst his culture's elite within which he occupied a leading position.

Not to say the latter's life wasn't also filled with demanding challenges, challenges of a different kind, but finding food was likely less of a struggle, and the world's most advanced technological resources were readily available to be used at his discretion.

Yet to become King he must combat those who oppose him with raw brute strength alone, and when his streetwise exceptionally skilled cousin controversially lays down the gauntlet he's been running his entire life, T'Challa's (Chadwick Boseman) imposing prowess can't endure.

He's callously tossed.

Into the healing waters below.

As King, Erik Killmonger (Michael B. Jordan) seeks to move Wakanda in new directions.

Bitterly aware of how his culture has been marginalized in many domains, he's ready to fight his way to respectability, and use Wakandan technology to achieve vengeful ends.

Once again differing conceptions of how best to pursue communal objectives conflict, as civility is cast aside, and tradition is torn asunder.

Indubitably so.

Age old political stresses.

Wakanda may be a fictional creation, but its realistic metaphorical value can be seen in strong African communities across the globe, communities that continuously prove their cultural worth when often surrounded by savage persecution.

Wakandan seeds are globally developing and flourishing amidst sustained idiotic cultural devaluations, ignorantly born of jealousy and fear, and raised by systematic institutionalized stupidity.

Live well.

Ignore the hate fuelled poison and use wealth acquired to promote and facilitate education and commerce (Boyz n the Hood).

I don't know what to do if outsiders are flooding communities with hard drugs to destroy them.

I don't know what to do if bigots continue to hate even though they watch films like Hidden Figures and love the game of football.

I do know that studying, working hard, and respecting other respectful people is a rewarding way to live, especially if you share what you've l(e)arned with your community.

And if communities do this worldwide you've got a pretty chill and cool planet to live on, raise families on, flourish on.

Thrive on.

It's like Marvel's becoming a global conscience of sorts.

With all that cash, there's no telling how much cool they can do.

Loved Black Panther.