Garbage on full display without the canister


The last few weeks have been a gem to behold, as I've been driven out of slumber and into a state where now all i really want to do is write. And although much of the penmanship fashioned with keystrokes has been in direct contrast to true creativity, I have been writing. Not purported to reason or justice, just simply things to behold - enough to keep someone insane, sane; at least for the time being.

Tonight was a cornerstone, not only in my perpetual - and I'm almost sure - eternal lonliness, but in my recognition of the things that make a Woody Allen film great. Without reservation Mr. Allen for years has not made movies for the likes of Hollywood junkies, or teenage adrenaline 7-11 slurpy junkies. No. He has made movies he has wanted to make. And you can't fault anyone more than everyone else in Hollywood who doesn't do the same thing. I for years have wanted to watch only what I want to watch, and why should a creator be any different? With the amassed collection of revenue generating filth being poured out onto Hollywood Blvd, at least someone has the audacity to stand on his own two feet to not only write, but direct several films that he's wanted to make.

His most recent film, and the one which has inspired me to jot down this blabbering mess of text, To Rome with Love was just that; a love letter to the beautiful city. Recently I took part, alone as always, to watch the documentary on Woody Allen, his quirks, his other talents - which includes playing a jazz clarinet - and a cinescope of all his work, which until recently I hadn't put in order. Therein was mentioned tha much of Mr. Allen's talent had been spent in the only city he knew - the only city that really mattered to him - the only city that truly beckons those with creative-neurotic minds, yet spits them out into New Jersey before even getting through the Lincoln Tunnel. New York, is where all of Allen's best films take place, yet as he has entered the twilight of probably his life and career - both of which go hand in hand, I'm sure - he is reaching out to cities like Paris (2011) and Rome, in his most recent film, to bid them adeu in the spirit of his filmaking style. Contingent on quirky perceptions of the cities - to which I've always identified - and unabashed, yet attractive, insecure main characters, 'Midnight in Paris' and 'Rome' have both created what Allen has always wanted to create - a film, for those who adore his style and wit, but most importantly for himself.

Three things appeared to be in the crowd of themes so representative of Mr. Allen, and the films I've grown up with and into; first, his tired jokes keep rolling yet give rise to the beginning of the end. 

Second; perhaps love is best served on screen, or on a stage through the passions, characters and scharades of the human narrative - backdrop set in some of the most beautiful places this world offers. 

And third; bums are always in conflict.

Hopefully more later - I have to get up early to give rides to some of the slurpy slurpers, otherwise known as high school students. I was never one.


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