It all falls on the director

The Rupp family were Roman Catholics, the Clutters, Methodist – a fact that should in itself be sufficient to terminate whatever fancies she and this boy might have of some day marrying. (Page 6)

Page 6 and I read this and I do what I do now when I’m reading a book and I want to remember a part; I fold down the page. I fold down the page and then whenever I go back, no matter how much time has passed I’ll still be able to zero in on the reason I folded that particular page.  This is true because I’m not compelled to fold a page unless something speaks to me immediately and makes a strong impression.

I never use to fold pages but now I do, so that I can pick up a book, flip to a page and straight away let why I liked/loved/adored a book wash over me and relive it, because what happens is, one glance at a folded page – and it doesn’t matter which folded page you turn too first – sets off a chain reaction as your brain makes connections, joins the dots and brings you back into it’s world.

So memory is the principle thing I guess: Remembering a great piece of writing, or a point that was made that spoke to me, or even marking something new about life that was revealed to me.

So I get to page 6 and I feel a mix of mirth and melancholy at just how skilled humans are at putting barriers up to happiness, togetherness, freedom. I feel it deeply because I have experienced the sharp end of segregation and separation based on no more flimsy grounds than the piece I have quoted, and those grounds are social class and colour. Now, I can safely say that I am over that experience.

But I also wonder if that is just a story I tell myself. I’ve learnt that as well as being first class specimens of erecting barriers, we (us, people) have a wonderful ability for self-deception, and also that it can take years for us to realise the deceptions we have been telling ourselves. Which is weird, that we can cut off and compartmentalise parts of our conciousness to the degree that we can fool ourselves and be completely and utterly deceived as to our own true wants, desires, longings and just, in general, pulling the wool over our own eyes in the pursuit of being able to say everything is OK.

You know, I still don’t really know if I use ; : and – correctly.

And but so, I wonder if like, I shouldn’t have sat there and written blog posts along the way as I read Infinite Jest because God knows that has some serious folded pages and like, if nothing else, it will be another piece of the memory puzzle w/r/t remembering pieces that mean something to me in a book. That seems more important to me these days, remembering what I’m consuming and not becoming, passive.

Right now that seems very important, not being passive, maybe that’s why I’m really writing this. Being passive to me right now seems like the one thing I’m doing but the one thing I shouldn’t be doing.

The beginnings of an idea for a poem keep going through my head today. Something about drowning your sorrows, but then, what do you do when the tide goes out and those rocky depths of whatever you were drowning (assuming it was more than sorrows or at the very least, more descriptions of those sorrows) are once again exposed and raw and you’re feeling it all again, anew? And then, from there something about always living in perpetual darkness then because something about the moon and the tides but I can’t quite connect the dots but I think it sounds good, or promising, or both.

I haven’t drunk anything tonight.

 

Both involved the necessity of making decisions – a process she had always disliked, and had learned to dread for when her husband was off on one of his business journeys she was continually expected, in his absence – to supply snap judgements concerning the affairs of the farm, and it was unendurable, a torment. What if she made a mistake? What if Herb should be displeased? Better to lock the bedroom door and pretend not to hear, or say, as she sometimes did, ‘I can”t. I don’t know. Please.’ Page 27

And isn’t that the point? (There will now follow a short video) (and for the purposes of whatever is going on here, watch from like 7:50 minutes up to 10 minutes)

And isn’t that the fucking point? I get what you’re saying Mr Friedkin and I’m just applying it in a different context and also, I get you Mrs Clutter. Just where do you put the fucking cameras? That’s what the guys talking about in that video, and I shouldn’t go ahead and give any indication of what he was talking about but if you didn’t go ahead and watch the video, he’s talking about how everything falls on the director. The director has to have all the answers – even if they’re the wrong answers – you have to have the answers at any given moment.

But the most important thing is deciding where the camera goes. But at any given moment, and then the next proceeding moments, that changes.

But you can’t go ahead and re-shoot your life.

You can abandon the take your currently doing and do a new one, most definitely, if you have the energy to do so after endless re-shoots.

This isn’t particularly hard to follow is it? What I’m getting at?

When faced with what to do next in your life story – what do you the director, choose to do? Where will you place the camera?

Clear as day now I think, what I’m getting at.

It’s easy to be passive.

Stasis is a good word: a state or condition in which things do not change, move, or progress. 

Better to lock the bedroom door and pretend not to hear, or say, as she sometimes did, ‘I can”t. I don’t know. Please.’

 

 

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