First, they leverage an archetypal character pattern. Second they ‘tell’ an archetypal story. Third, they resolve for us conflicts in primal desires, which exist within us as individuals but which also surface in society as cultural contradictions.

Source

pag.13, Story , McKee

when storytelling goes bad, the result is decadence

flawed and false storytelling is forced to substitute spectacle for substance, trickery for truth

Notes to self:

…this seems to be a description of the clowning industry, as i perceive it.

A very complex definition of love: “there, there..”

as i already told you,
’twas the year of 2200
and the streets had as many holes as in 2000.

at the exit, near my door,
many ways of transportation were waiting
for me
to take me out
for a walk.

on the streets there were imperial carts
and Ferraries
and flying balloons
and i was taken away by each one of them.

and you, people!,
you no longer existed.

i was driving cars made by no man,
i was riding horses fed by no groom,
i was rising the balloon all by myself.
and i was doing all these things at the same time,
all alone, in the dark old dusty deserted city.

This would have been a great poem, hadn’t it been for the formalist paradigm

This house.

We take our time and drink tea on the second floor
Like cats
Yawning on the pillows,
Leaving slobbers on the wooden walls
In silence.
grotesque social intimacy!

Familiar faces..

As 10 pairs of eyes examine the room, no words interfere
With the formal sound of cups,
Of smoke breathed out of our toasted lungs,
It’s the sound of pressed wrinkles
with the “look-at-me but don’t look!” expression.
never meet the eyes, you self-sufficient bastard!

…with no names, please.

- Ma’ name iz Leon an’ I come from everywhere.
He wades in the dribbled tables, in the snotty ashtrays.
He drinks his wine from plastic glasses.
One sip after another,
Looking towards the eyes
And talking.
– we speak Internationalish!

Did you see “Le Bal”, 1983?

El mundo era tan reciente, que muchas cosas carecían de nombre, y para mencionarlas había que señaralas con el dedo.

…and my dear friend said to me this evening, while having more than a couple of beers: heaven is not at work, in your patents’ house, in your friends’ living-room, not with me having this great discussion and NOT even in your lover’s heart. heaven is the most beautiful place you’ve ever been. when people die, they go to this perfect place they once visited.

c’est encroyable (yonderboi – ohne chanteuse)

your doodle is being checked for naughtiness.

play

When I first started to write Little Boys’ Diary, I thought that everything is going to be just the way I imagined. Every poem should have been written with one specific memory in mind. One poem, one goal to achieve, and the whole project with perfect sense when combining the little pieces. I’m a bit troubled right now.

My next writing should be about a lollipop and a wood. I feel like being in the movie that Serghei showed me last night – Waking Life, that is. I’m just sitting here, with the one memory in my head and I’m not sure what’s wiser:

1. To let go, move on and write the next poem in the project. I could just come back to this subject whenever I feel like it. I’d still have the chance to finish when planned.

2. To stick to the plan and write The Lollipop Wood, whenever I’ll feel like doing it, postponing the whole project and breaking the deadline.

My dilemma can be funny and stupid and childish, but it’s not the first time I deal with this question. What to believe in? Rush or idleness? (Is this question even legitimate?)

Later edit: We should act as much as we think.

- Fane, I saw you playing football
With the gypsies in the school yard
And even if you’re 12,
You were looking like the best player of Real Madrid.

- Fane, when your words are dirty
My twelve year old princess dress
Wants to be taken off
In the middle of the street.

- Fane, let’s smoke some pot.
Let’s kiss in front of our neighbors
And let our friends give us
The applauses we deserve.

- ‘Cause, Fane, when you’re pushing your tongue
And everybody watches
Your teen blonde hair
Makes it all pure.

- Fane, let’s have babies
And play “lapte gros”
With all the scumbags
On the sidewalk
In our neighborhood.

- Fane, I really hope
You’re acting stupid.