Cinema

You walk around, you’re all in a big fucking rush and your eyes move here and there. You look. You look at the door, at your toothbrush. You look at yourself in the mirror in the morning after you get out of bed, stretching your arms out and getting the crust out of your eyes because it feels good. Look at that bitch on the corner of Elms Street. Look at the flashing red tail lights in front of you and don’t hit the break.

Stop fucking moving around and stop looking and see the shit in front of your fucking eyes. See your reflection in the mirror and those pimples behind your ear.

Sure, cinema is a representation. So is literature, painting, sculpture, every form of art, every form of expression. Hell, even those dumb video games. Representation of life, ideas, dreams – some of them are good, some of them are bad, some are entertaining and some aren’t.

My point?

A representation will never be a complete or perfect portrayal of what it is attempting to display. You know that. Everyone knows that.

If that is the case, than tell me why more people see through viewing cinema than what those individual films represent. Check out those folks who choose not to acknowledge anything at all in their surroundings and state of being, and restrict themselves to consuming complete shit through cinema. Waste of life if you ask me.

Actually, I don’t know what my point is.

Who gives a fuck.

Film is beautiful. The experiences and relationships you develop through a picture is infinitely more real – more truthful – than anything in your life. In good cinema, the way you feel about a character is exactly the same, or more significant than those of “real life.” They’re one and the same. If anything, the only difference is the amount of time you spend with them.

Then they’re gone forever.

Sure, that dream isn’t the same. It’s focused, it’s displayed, it’s truth and meaning. It isn’t a lie, it’s never a lie. You take it as it is.