From Woody Allen's 1979 cinematic masterpiece. Allen undoubtedly has an obsession with the cities, constantly using them as muses, with New York, Paris, Barcelona and Rome all giving colour to his storylines respectfully. And he always comes back to New York. This is his ode to his soulmate: Manhattan
Even if the film turns out to be disappointing, we'll always have the trailer. Malick's trailers are always so rapturously inspiring (Tree of Life anyone?). The panning fluid cinematic shots, the connection to all things esoteric, the score, the dialogue. As cantankerous as he is, Malick's defining 'film experience' on his own terms. Ugh, I can't get enough of the dialogue in the trailer. I love his trailers which never fail to convey a longing, the poignancy in each moment - a glance, a smile, a laugh, the small moments that make up our entire lives, the moments some people wait forever for. These are the moments we remember, that we live and wait for; and like everything good and bad in this world, happiness in love is fleeting, but love always remains.
You shall love, whether you like it or not Emotions, they come and go like clouds Love is not only a feeling You shall love To love is to run the risk of failure, the risk of betrayal You fear your love has died It perhaps is waiting to be transformed into something higher Awake in the divine presence Which lives in each man, each woman Know each other in that love, that never, changes.
"I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
because we’ never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.
So I can get an oral fix from each oriface
And taste you passionate imagination."
This kid is a true lyrical talent. His poem "A Penny for Your Thoughts" works on a subconcious level through the use of sexy - descriptive - lustful prose. Enjoy!
Can I offer you a penny for your thoughts?
As a matter of fact, how about three?
One penny for you, one penny for me,
And one penny for our minds engaged not so sexually.
Getting intimately closer as we approach the
Climatic altitude of nude, mental, sensational… conversation.
Because I’m trying to get to know everything about you
From the neck… up.
So these are not your typical, sexual, poetical prose.
I’m trying to close the door on that all too firmiliar freaky foreplay game.
With which most guys have chose to approach you.
While they are trying to get deeply inbedded
In the fine fibers of your bedsheets,
I’m trying to find and define the fibers of which your mind speaks.
I want to engage you
By putting a two karat solitaire diamond on your mind
Marrying your every thought!
I want to lick every inch of every crevasse
So I can get an oral fix from each oriface
And taste you passionate imagination.
I’d rather be naked and exposed, holding you
As we’re lying and you’re crying
While confiding and describing the tough times you’ve had in life
And how you don’t know
If you can keep a relationshop long enough to be somebody’s wife.
I wanna feel the heartbeat of all your inner rhythms
As they lead me toward your warm, wet, waterfalls of feminine thoughts.
…And I’ll swin in them.
From backstroaks, to breaststrokes,
I’m penetrating every entrance… to your mind.
Taking my time to find out everything about you.
Did I ever tell you about how you
Fell asleep in my presence?
And your mere essance
Kept me awake for hours
As I cowered with this feeling
Of sexually unadulterated mental connection?
And as you lay by my side
I pushed the blinds aside
And took the time in the moonlight of that night
To count 72 eyelashes
On the upper eyelid of your right eye!
Because when you sleep
Your eyes remain open slightly.
And while we probably moves in too quickly into some sexual shit
I’ve always cared more about the expilicity illicitness
That came from between you lips.. meaning your voice.
So now I am standing here
Ready to trade in all the sexual acts that we’ve preformed
For the chance to reform the very foundation
And the basis of our relationship.
So I reiterate my opening statement
And I offer you another penny for your thoughts!
