It’s a pleasure. [he scooped her hand into his own and pulled it through the bars, placing a kiss atop the back of her hand. He released it and sighed, his smile gone like a light.] I imagine there’s not a lot of mental stimulation around here. [he cast his eyes around the dreary cell.]
Would you like me to bring you something to read to make the days easier?
Of course we have. We have How to give the perfect blowjob 101: a guide to oral sex and How not to kill your master… They are really estimulating.
Excuse my sarcasm, it just gets really bored if there is any. We are treated like dead flies here. I would love it.
And most of them were depressive existentialists trying to get the same point across.
I’m Ira.
Actually, I think Freud and Marx were as compatible as me and… Ty August, which is nothing at all.
But I see your point. Mad genius are often misunderstood, but their names surmount centuries. I suppose I can say it is nice to meet you, as being polite, but it is nice to have an actual conversation too.
Philosophically, I get your point — purposes are instilled in us to give us direction and promote productivity and industrialization and consumerism and armies and wars and ego and discovery. I get it.
But we all die. We’re all forgotten. We’re all just meat stuck to an armature, carrying around these hopes and dreams. And 98% of people that dream never translate them into a medium to which others are privy. Happy endings exist so people don’t end up madcaps. Like me. [he grinned] What’s your name, bird?
Not all are forgotten. Poe, Kant, Nietzsche, Freud, Marx… And the list goes on. Of course, most of us will lead a mediocre life, but that was never my plan, I had enough of mediocre. Happy ending might be a fictional creation, but some transpose.
Thalia.
For all Gods created any mythologies so far,
And keep on with this holier than thou attitude. Honestly, all you sound like is a silly little girl who thinks that her mediocre remarks are enough to get her out of this mess. They aren’t. No one cares about your hopes and dreams, any dreams you had are done. Gone. Over.
I know what it’s like to pretend to be someone I’m not. But pretending to know about someone else when you clearly don’t is just embarrassing.
Funny enough you are the one pretending you know anything about me, when I am clearly not the one in the public eyes, so do yourself a little favour and stop talking, you are the one embarrassing yourself by doing what you say I shouldn’t.
Now, you are not worthy the energy I burn.
He’s a brilliant man.
I’m just never stirred by a happy ending. I’d much rather explore the hollowness of hopelessness. Society seems hung on immortality and the importance of the human soul — or some bullshit. If I do anything with my film, I hope I force the reality that we’re all just as purposeless as water swirling in a drain.
He is a mad genius, but we are all alike.
Movies’ happy endings are not very real projections, if I may say. I do believe in a real happy ending, but the movies just lie way too much. But isn’t the pursue for the happiness pre-establish by society a purpose? Dreams are also purpose. We are not just floating away, but to each, they find their aim.
For all Gods created any mythologies so far,
I don’t think so.
You sound so ignorant and delusional right now, it’s hot.
Oh right, keep believing you are a smart ass, because your small hopes and few dreams are the only thing that keeps you moving.
You sound so arrogant and wannabe, it is such a turn off.
[he grinned, somewhat pleased by what she said.] You have a point.
I write because it exercises my melancholy. There are few things more exquisite than sadness. Without it, I’d be lost which is why I try to capture it and dissect it in my films.
“Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering - and it’s all over much too soon” Woody Allen.
So you just try to prolong the pain also, because you know, there is an endless pursue to a never finding happiness in which the human being pretend they found it, because the society cannot cope with the complaints, but by the same time, melancholy is highly appreciated, otherwise you are just a fake, a product by the environment. The typical no pain, no gain. Sounds reasonable. Crazy, on my eyes, but to each their own.
I suppose that’s how most people see it.
I, on the other hand, have a sweet-tooth for misery.
So, why do you write? I can only assume that your world wrecking would bring a lot of misery.
Of course I write.
If I didn’t, I’d probably single-handedly destroy the world.
I suppose it is a great escapism.
