JULY 17 form, function, film
Sticky sweetness of melon juice runs on the table and already the yellow jackets are here, grazing it for sugar. Sugar and blood the insects come seeking. And the juices of decay, nectars to them all, they feed their broods on our effluent. The nature of being is to process and decay. We proud mammals build blood and bone, for the dining pleasure of mosquito and tiger alike.
Johnny Depp as the Libertine. Powerful. Hmm, CF is so taken with him. I am so sickened by his self-destruction. Victory would have been his triumph over this self-loathing. She keeps equating him to V… but V vulcanized his destruction into change. Wilmot wallowed in his until he rotted too soon. What would I have him do? If he could do what he did with one hand tied behind him, in his first 3 decades, imagine what he’d been capable of had he lived. It was revolutionary for him to help that actress transform. For HER to be such a fierce artist in her time. The stage mother reminds me of Leda’s theater mistress in Arcanum. Wilmot’s revolution was more personal, intimate. He could have written more. And what might that have revealed?
CB sees V as destroyed, untouchable, unable to love, a ruined empty shell. The one who says, “Oh I am finished and glad of it. For twenty years I have sought only this day.” CF is devastated by the destruction of his skin and sexual person. She is horrified by Evey’s torture, cannot bear it. These seem to me harsh comic (not funny, but of the comic book genre) devices for the radical change necessary. Wilmot begins to compare himself with Jesus in his suffering. Outrageous it seems, even to his servant Alcock. Yet CF thinks he converts on deathbed. Some research into the historical Wilmot is called for.
Must ask Leda and MK whom they read… Leda refers to herself as a Victorian writer…. What does this mean?
High high heat today, so is supposed to be. Perhaps a jaunt to fetch another AC unit is in order, and a nice, cool movie – Superman is next in my pantheon of modern gods.
And back to the form and function essay. What have I got so far: form follows function. "Who is but the form, following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask."
We forge ourselves by conscious intent into the form we become. We create our world projected self, and its effects, according to our belief, intention and metaphysical will, by holding the vision and belief in our minds eye. Thus we become the form of our intent. It is Bloodworth and Gawain’s metaphysics. As you believe (and act) so you are. The form, a tree, follows function, to convert sunlight into sugar. Many plants find a unique form to per-form this function. The obverse is also true. If you halve a log and hollow it into a trough, (form) it will function as a drainpipe if one end is lower than the other. Or, in order to convert sunlight into sugar, one must collect the light, allow the right chemistry to process and transport the raw materials from storage to production to infrastructure. Thus a tree, a potato, a rose.
Begins to sound strange… intelligent design rears it head in here. How farfetched, or rather, who or what is willing the conversion of sunlight into sugar? Who? Who is but the form (tree) following the function of what, and what I am is a parasol of chlorophyll solar receptors crowning a fibrous vascular system. Who? Who is but the form (cat) following the function of what, and what I am is a predatory feline carnivore, domesticated to idyll mischief. Who? Who is but the form (Ven), following the function of what. And what I am is woman robed in fat and fear.
And what of the philosophers of V’s antique time? He is but quoting to us several earlier centuries, isn’t he, the Elizabethan, the Victorian no doubt. Look at the timeline of philosophy, for Sullivan comes at late 19th, following Hegel from whom the poets and founding fathers perhaps drew their sense of divine destiny. A belief in what we were born to be.
And mayhaps intelligent design is but the latest sprout of that dearly held notion, that we were created by God for a divine purpose, that we are meant to be great and good and godlike, and this means we are entitled to spread our selves and all our divine filth al lover the earth, trampling anyone else who happens to live here.
Wilmot and CF: It’s about the power of stories. He was enchanted with the language of theater. Today we have the movies to blow us back in our seats and lift us out of the mundane.
Johnny Depp as the Libertine. Powerful. Hmm, CF is so taken with him. I am so sickened by his self-destruction. Victory would have been his triumph over this self-loathing. She keeps equating him to V… but V vulcanized his destruction into change. Wilmot wallowed in his until he rotted too soon. What would I have him do? If he could do what he did with one hand tied behind him, in his first 3 decades, imagine what he’d been capable of had he lived. It was revolutionary for him to help that actress transform. For HER to be such a fierce artist in her time. The stage mother reminds me of Leda’s theater mistress in Arcanum. Wilmot’s revolution was more personal, intimate. He could have written more. And what might that have revealed?
CB sees V as destroyed, untouchable, unable to love, a ruined empty shell. The one who says, “Oh I am finished and glad of it. For twenty years I have sought only this day.” CF is devastated by the destruction of his skin and sexual person. She is horrified by Evey’s torture, cannot bear it. These seem to me harsh comic (not funny, but of the comic book genre) devices for the radical change necessary. Wilmot begins to compare himself with Jesus in his suffering. Outrageous it seems, even to his servant Alcock. Yet CF thinks he converts on deathbed. Some research into the historical Wilmot is called for.
Must ask Leda and MK whom they read… Leda refers to herself as a Victorian writer…. What does this mean?
High high heat today, so is supposed to be. Perhaps a jaunt to fetch another AC unit is in order, and a nice, cool movie – Superman is next in my pantheon of modern gods.
And back to the form and function essay. What have I got so far: form follows function. "Who is but the form, following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask."
We forge ourselves by conscious intent into the form we become. We create our world projected self, and its effects, according to our belief, intention and metaphysical will, by holding the vision and belief in our minds eye. Thus we become the form of our intent. It is Bloodworth and Gawain’s metaphysics. As you believe (and act) so you are. The form, a tree, follows function, to convert sunlight into sugar. Many plants find a unique form to per-form this function. The obverse is also true. If you halve a log and hollow it into a trough, (form) it will function as a drainpipe if one end is lower than the other. Or, in order to convert sunlight into sugar, one must collect the light, allow the right chemistry to process and transport the raw materials from storage to production to infrastructure. Thus a tree, a potato, a rose.
Begins to sound strange… intelligent design rears it head in here. How farfetched, or rather, who or what is willing the conversion of sunlight into sugar? Who? Who is but the form (tree) following the function of what, and what I am is a parasol of chlorophyll solar receptors crowning a fibrous vascular system. Who? Who is but the form (cat) following the function of what, and what I am is a predatory feline carnivore, domesticated to idyll mischief. Who? Who is but the form (Ven), following the function of what. And what I am is woman robed in fat and fear.
And what of the philosophers of V’s antique time? He is but quoting to us several earlier centuries, isn’t he, the Elizabethan, the Victorian no doubt. Look at the timeline of philosophy, for Sullivan comes at late 19th, following Hegel from whom the poets and founding fathers perhaps drew their sense of divine destiny. A belief in what we were born to be.
And mayhaps intelligent design is but the latest sprout of that dearly held notion, that we were created by God for a divine purpose, that we are meant to be great and good and godlike, and this means we are entitled to spread our selves and all our divine filth al lover the earth, trampling anyone else who happens to live here.
Wilmot and CF: It’s about the power of stories. He was enchanted with the language of theater. Today we have the movies to blow us back in our seats and lift us out of the mundane.
posted by Ven at 6:33 PM
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