I think I recently mentioned how my latest foray into the wilds of America—national park style, which isn't entirely wild, tbf—was met with much apathy by my own "soul" or nature-loving subsection of my mind. Of course, I'm in a relationship and as most people know, the happiness of the other is highly correlated with one's own happiness.
Nevertheless, I was more than happy when we returned to the city and watched a series of short movies at what must have been Seattle's last anarchist bookstore. I'm not sure how, amongst all the glittering monuments to gluttony, envy, pride, greed, lust and Pharaohs, we found this place, but it was after some time looking for a bathroom open to other than customers that we did.
Inside, we heard about the local directors and their movies and this piqued our curiosity enough to stay for more (I will say that their posters were flashy enough to put most capitalists to shame). I've mentioned before how I love the short film medium; enough that I'm still shocked that they haven't caught on. And here, in a dusty, weed-filled theater, with little cats hunting our feet, I waited for the first film.
Unfortunately it, and all that followed, were too avant garde for me to enjoy. Certainly, they were all trying to break the viewer of their normative expectations from film, and to step away from the common peasant's narrative, but dammit it all, I wasn't ready for that: an uber driver who filmed his passengers, never asking them questions, just a few seconds of each being whatever they were; a film of a sidewalk in Syria, but instead of any linear time, it was all over the place, thus a strong statement could have been made about war, but it wasn't; a sad but true series of execution films from the internet; then the most popular gifs on the internet.
I mean, I kinda got what they were trying to say, but a rock settled in my chest and I couldn't deal with it anymore. Know what I mean?
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