Paranoid Park

Just watched Gus Van Sant's Paranoid Park (IMDB, Torrent), and I feel compelled to write a review. So here it is:

This is one of those films that immediately makes me see the world differently. It gives me the same quiet feeling that 'Lost In Translation' does - one of subtle, awareness. It's weird, it's like after watching it I experience reality just a little more acutely. 'Off The Map' has the same effect.

It's shot very matter-of-fact, no bullshit flashy effects or attention-whoring performances - just honest filmmaking and editing. As a matter of fact, the editing is awesome, not at all understated or manipulative, it cuts when a cut is required, regardless of what's happening onscreen. It doesn't pander or condescend, it assumes that the viewer is astute enough to appreciate it's genuineness and honesty.

So, the lead character Alex is a skater kid (in highschool) who at some point accidentally kills a man. But half of the movie is about his life, told non-linearly. We get clips and pieces of before and after the murder, all mixed up, and it's up to the viewer to put the pieces together to figure out what happened.

Alex is not extraordinary, he doesn't skate well, and is kind of a dork. He has a hot cheerleader girlfriend who eventually puts out (a very nice, understated, abstract scene) but he dumps her soon after. His main concern is emotional and spiritual.

Throughout the film I really felt his boredom and listlessness. Not in a bad way mind you, it's beautifully shot and cut, but the sense of hopelessness and anxiety hangs in the air pretty deep.

Paranoid Park is a skate park built (as we're told in the somewhat unnecessary voice-over) by skaters themselves. One of the highschool kids remarks that it's 'scary'. I got the sense that that is because it's so small and confined, a little claustrophobic. Alex never skates there, only choosing to watch (the quintessential outsider) as other, more experienced guys weave in and out between each other on the ramps.

Van Sant mixes slo-mo and full-speed shots very nicely, putting almost half of the film to a soundtrack alone - inducing the effect of a trip or drunken memories. It's very subtle, but extremely effective. I wish I could make my films look the way he makes his look - surreal, but not unintelligible.

There's a scene where Alex breaks up with his girlfriend, and instead of giving it away literally, Van Sant slowly implies the purpose of the conversation, no sound, only the girlfriend's reaction and we're left to ponder the meaning of her expressions and body language, until it slowly becomes obvious what is happening, then the audio kicks in and we get confirmation that, yes, this is the breakup. It's pretty masterful, the slo-mo/ambient audio/music IMHO.

All in all, a very nice piece of cinema as far as I am concerned. Shot with subtlety and edited with taste and artistry. Van Sant knows what the fuck he is doing, and in Paranoid Park, he does it well.

The Forest for the trees.

So I wait. I feel like I'm awaiting a verdict. The trial is taking place inside of her.

She turned off her phone. She wants uninterrupted time with him.

She said she sobbed last night after we talked. It was because she doesn't want me to hurt. Not wanting me to hurt wouldn't cause her to sob, but the guilt of knowing that I will soon be in pain because of her actions might.

Am I assuming too much? Am I jumping to too many conclusions?

I can do 1 of 2 things. Attempt to analyze what little information I have and come to some conclusions, or try not to think about it. Analyzing without real information leads to a tremendous amount of conjecture, and amplifies my anxiety.

I've been doing it without recognizing that I am. It's been automatic and restless. The consequences of doing that have been to make her not want to speak to me - or at least that's the optimistic conclusion.

I want to resist analyzing what's happening over there. It doesn't do me any good and it can't lead to the truth. All I can do is analyze my emotions and actions to learn from them, to illuminate a larger portion of my inner world.

I have to remind myself that I am the being initiating the thought process, I am not the thought process itself. I am the being to whom the emotions are communicating, I am not the emotions nor their communication.

I can choose to focus the attention of my thoughts on whatever I please. They'll analyze what I tell them to if I can remember to direct them and not identify with them. What would I have them analyze? What would benefit my journey? Through experience and logic it's obvious that directing the thoughts to K's actions isn't getting me anywhere.

As I was outside smoking the image of a forest came into my mind. In the image I was hovering above the trees, analyzing the landscape. I could flap my wings, or open them and soar on the wind.

All of those trees combined to form a being called the forest. Each tree was a part of that whole, but seen from the ground this wasn't apparent. All that is apparent from that perspective is the individual vegetation: trees, shrubs, grass. Wandering through the brush and towering trees is frightening; it's a labyrinth.

On the forest floor the trees control me, but above them I control me.

That winged being is my attention. I wish for him to soar and see the landscape for what it really is.

Twisting, Wrenching...

My stomach is in knots. All the anxiety and uncertainty, foreboding and worry I feel has nowhere to manifest it's nervous energy except in the pit of my stomach. I'm warm and out of breath. I can hardy focus my attention on anything, my mind being occupied with keeping this tension from pulling my muscles and organs apart inside this body.

I had almost forgotten how this feels, how it chases away all other sensation away like a tortured, rabid dog, starved for affection and comfort, willing to maim and devour anything nearby. I can feel my heart, not so much beating as it is striking against my ribcage in a seeming attempt to break out through the bars of it's cage.

She sounded nervous on the phone. She's been there for a couple of hours. He's been eyeing her body hungrily for at least that long. I can only imagine the depth of his desire for her flesh - she likes to play with fire. Getting burned has happened often enough to her that it's become an identifyable pattern. I can only Will, hope and pray that she comes back unscorched.

My emotions are mine. I have to seek to change how it feels. I can't expect "the outside" to avoid hurting me in this way, that's foolish. Running will only strengthen the anguish. God, I had forgotten how debilitating this is.

I can't overwhelm myself by thinking that's it's just begun - the first of 4 days (or worse, 3 nights). Stop it!

She told me weeks ago that this trip will not affect our relationship. I never asked her to make specific promises. If I had she would have told me what I wanted to hear regardless of what the actual plan may be. Even assuming she was truthful, plans change. That is something I've learned to expect with her - her word is based only on present emotions, when they shift (or reveal their true character) the plan may easily change.

I can only trust. I can't trust that she won't do something with him. I can't trust that she won't give him the opportunity to do something to her. I can't trust that he won't manufacture an opportunity to do something to her. I can only trust that this is the way it has to be, that this is the way Nature intended for it to be.

All experience is an opportunity to grow, learn and evolve. I have to seize my opportunities here, I must not only cope, but learn to redirect the incoming energy to my benefit. So easily said, yet so immensely daunting.

Something I've learned from art: Deep, nuanced blacks and lower grays provide the image with an enormous potential for contrast. A contrast that lends itself to a stark beauty, full of hues and values pregnant with depth and meaning.

When I set down to draw, I start with the darks. They define the composition and allow for the mental sensation of slowly and carefully "pulling" the image out of the bleakness and chaos. It's only dawned on me recently how symbolically important that process is to me.

Maybe I can understand more if I force myself to perform that symbolic action. Maybe that is my Magick. Perhaps that is my ritual incantation. All of this power and energy MUST go somewhere and if I don't use it for insight and spiritual evolution, it will fester and seep out through the cracks in the walls of my soul, the cracks which are my weaknesses; my drives to self-destruction and torment, self-pity and despair.

How can I avoid using the drawing process as a distraction? That is a question I have to give serious thought to. Right now I need fresh air, I'm starting to feel like I can't breathe again.

The Wise Self or He Who Knows or Holy Guardian Angel

I've always been aware of an aspect of my consciousness that had answers. This aspect has always been something that I could consult for direction or ideas that I could translate into words or images. I've called it "The Wise Self".

It now occurs to me that my "Wise Self" may be the same aspect that Crowley called "The Holy Guardian Angel" or HGA.

Upon recent reflection on what I mean when I internally use the concept "I" (as opposed to the socially useful concept of "I" which refers to the body and mind), it seems to me that I have unwittingly identified with my entire inner world in general, including the desires, drives, analytic/logical faculty, nervous system/sense impressions, etc., calling the whole "I".

If I take that wholistic concept and subject it to the Fire of the intellect, it becomes immediately apparent that there are influences which are felt that cannot possibly be included in the true "I" because they are fleeting, effervecant, controllable, etc. If I can control an impulse for example, that impulse must not be "I" because then who would be the one controlling it?

An image came to me earlier which can best be described as a cloud among a night sky littered with stars. This cloud moves in one direction, then in another. It splits itself off into pieces, then coalesces again taking on a new shape. It never ceases, it continually changes - becoming dense and white, then airy and subtle.

Along it's travels and evolution it seems to come into contact with nearby stars and constellations. One minute engulfing Ursa Major, the next branching off to cover partly the constellation and reaching towards and finally touching some other stars with it's newly formed limbs.

Some of the stars are very bright, some are barely noticable, some in clusters, some without close neighbors.

Is this an analogy for my sense of self? Am "I" the immense cloud(s) with it's limbs and siblings constantly identifying with the stars it comes into contact with? only to shift and move and become another shape that takes in other influences, creating a new "I"?

In this metaphor the Wise Self or HGA must be the Moon, brighter than the other stars, huge in it's influence and grandeur. While the other stars/influences stand out against the night sky, The Wise Self illuminates the earth by reflecting the eternal light of The Sun.

This cloud of identity is controllable, I have it within my power to focus it. If I wish to expend my energy on the sexual influences say (possibly corresponding to a constellation?) I can do so by searching the internet for pictures that arouse that aspect of my libido - the cloud shifts to my will.

If I wish to expend that same energy on spiritual matters, I can do that as well. All the time I mistakenly identify with those impulses, they become "I".

In conclusion, it is obvious to me that I can with sustained effort and perserverance I can learn to shift or identify with The Moon or The Wise Self by concentrating my attention not in the impulsive or emotional or intellectual influences, but by not allowing those influences to distract me. By doing this I can gather the strength/density of The Cloud Called I and direct it/me to The Wise Self, the teacher and master, He Who Knows.

If I can learn to do this efficiently than I'd be willing to bet that I will see dramatic increases in my creative capacity/receptivity, my understanding of the particular plan or narrative that I am involved in, my overall sense of well-being and trust in Nature, and a decrease in the sometimes crippling anxiety about the future that I deal with.

I am convinced that these words are a translation of the impressions and ideas given to my intellect by my Wise Self.

... ...waiting... ...

I was reading this thread just now entitled A feeling like you are waiting for something??? and I realized that there are other people who have this same feeling.

Ever since I really began a quest to understand myself through introspection and self-reflection around maybe 10 years ago I've noticed this feeling. In fact, it's become one of the most dominate, yet ubiquitous feelings I have on a constant basis throughout the day.

Just this morning it became so strong and almost overwhelming that I found myself silently chanting, "I'm waiting for something. I'm waiting for something. What am I waiting for?"

Is it 2012? Is it the introduction to a spiritual master? Whatever it is, my deeper self seems convinced that it is coming, and it will change things. It may a personal change, or it may be something bigger.

This feeling called "waiting" has lead to a tremendous amount of anxiety, discomfort, and foreboding for me. It seems to have something to do with culture or civilization because it seems connected to my sense of lack of purpose - a general apathy concerning my material life.

I'm constantly asking myself, "Why am I still here?" "Why do I pretend to care about stuff?" "Why don't I just stop trying?" "What am I supposed to be doing?" "Why do I act at all?"

I'm also waiting for the answers to those questions. I'm waiting for something to give me purpose, something that I can believe in and strive toward. Something I feel is important and worthwhile.

I hesitate to become too entrenched in the world because it feels like it doesn't matter. But I am here aren't I? There must be a reason I am here in the first place. In a way, I feel I do have a purpose for continuing - unfortunately it's unclear to me what that is.

I feel like I should be doing something with my time and energy, something that gets me closer to fulfilling the hidden purpose.

I have to go. My cousin wants to show me her new car. I will act, but I really don't give a shit.

Disgusting

I was working tonight, and in the background the tv was playing a program about the history of the mormon church.

There was a part which described how during the time of the industrial revolution in Britain, the church leaders in America decided to send missionaries to convert the poor, destitute, suffering masses of villagers who had been forced into the cities to live and work in truly horrible, dehumanising conditions.

I was struck by the audacity of such a decision. There are many ugly things that people can do to one another, none more deserving of the term "Evil" than those which prey upon and profit from the spiritual desperation of a suffering soul.

Organized religion has made it it's central focus to control and profit from man's natural longing to understand his god, to find communion with the mystical, and to feel himself a part of the beauty that's inherant in the creations of the universe.

There can be no darker evil, than to prey upon another's spiritual deficit. This is a crime for which there is no equal. This is a crime against The Great Spirit Himself, a criminal act set against the magical Beauty of the Mother Universe Herself.

The most sacred part of the human being is her longing to participate in the Love of her creator, that one true ecstacy of spiritual connection, the Truth that is in fact the only truth.

In God's infinite wisdom and love, all things are forgivable and understood in the light of suffering. But I believe that the Karmic effects of hideous acts like these must be the greatest tragedy that a soul can endure.

To set out to gain from that most mystical of all human suffering; the timeless spiritual longing that has created our wisest shaman, our greatest spiritual teachers, our most profound and beautiful works of art and music; makes me feel deeply angry and sick.

What action could possibly be more horrendous and evil than to take advantage of the very highest, most noble and sweetly innocent pursuit that a suffering soul can engage in?

In my opinion, none.

Ominous unmarked black helicopter

I awoke this morning to my Aunt knocking on my door in a panic. "Wake up! There's an airplane about to crash over us!" I immediately heard a very loud noise echoing through the neighborhood. I looked out the window and saw lights, and decided to go outside to investigate.

We went out to the front yard and hovering in the sky very close to the house was a black helicopter. I've never seen one that close before, and have never seen one hover almost directly overhead for so long. It continued to hover as we looked at it. My aunt said she heard it sputter, and make weird noises, which is what originally alarmed her.

It was daylight (around 6:20am). As we were standing there it suddenly turned on it's lights and slowly turned to face us. I got the impression that it was looking for someone (or something) in the immediate area. I went inside to get my phone and snapped a couple of pictures of it, thinking to myself, "Ok, this'll scare it away..." After about 3 pics had been snapped it began to fly in larger and larger circles around our house. I went inside, thinking it must be leaving soon.

I then thought that I would go back outside, have a smoke and get another look at it to try and figure out what was so interesting here on this street. As I went outside, it was still flying in circles overhead, and as soon as I saw it again it broke off to slow path straight north.

Following it were 2 small triangle bird formations.

It was there in pretty much one spot just overhead and to the east for around 15 min. before it began to circle, which it did for about another 5 before it left. the pics I snapped suck, and don't convey the confusion and trepidation I felt as whomever was flying it seemed to be interested in us.

What the hell was it doing just sitting there? Why did it seem interested in this house in particular? Was it looking for someone? If so, did it find him?