I don't have a problem getting Things done. But getting Shit done is another story.
It must feel so good. Think of the children, create more jobs. The planet's just fine, don't listen to them. The world's going to pieces, and it's everyone else's fault. I've got mine.
I could join them. It'd be so easy. I look like them. They confide in me when they don't know me, I can speak all their codes. Less taxes. More testing. Secure our borders. Personal responsibility. Teach the controversy. Law and order.
I'd blend in effortlessly. Every single advantage, I've got them. Why not just take it all? It's right there. I could breathe easy, my guy will always be mostly in power, I'd never be in danger of losing it all. Nothing to change, no one to convince.
Why not relax? I could vote a straight reactionary ticket tomorrow and it would have no effect on my life at all. And isn't that what privilege feels like? To take the easiest, shortest path and be rewarded as though you climbed a mountain?
My critic showed up this morning before heading out to shoot.
This is a frame pulled from from one of today's shots (no color correction). Utah Beach.
First day shooting in Rouen, in a plague cemetery. Cemetery isn't really the right word, it was more of a pit for hundreds of bodies to decompose.
In a city this old, everything been repurposed over and over again for centuries. So of course this place is now an art school.
(added: here's a photo)
This semester I tried a new project and I gave each of the students in my animation class 100 frames of a live action sequence for them to rotoscope. This is the resulting film all cut together. Pretty good stuff.
First, good on Jay Hawker and Gawker for being the latest to call bullshit. Second, anyone notice the toxic anti-pattern? There are so many of us you can't deny majority will to impose our specific sharia on everyone, so stop persecuting us!
The northeast corner dog barks itself hoarse as we pass, barks itself hoarse as anyone passes, barks itself hoarse at no one, at other dogs, cars, birds, the air.
There is no threat, there is no intruder, no invasion, no injustice but passers-by. Nothing but a red pillow to rest on and a sturdy fence to keep everyone in their places.
this is not our work:
to be so generous that
the selfish change paths.
Part of the new film I'm making takes place in rural Pennsylvania, where the tank commander owned a dairy. Scrapple country. Sausage of my forebears. The joke is you're not supposed to ask how it's made.
This thing where a communications method asserts control over how and when it reaches you is inviting unneeded chaos and pain. Which is, of course, what capitalism requires to devalue labor and create surplus.
Collusion and subterfuge.
Maybe you're too tweaked out to catch the subtleties.