EPT
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Picture by cine
My Marla. The mischivious women, girl and child. The stepdaughter of a suicided father, the dancer, alcoholic, drug user, smoker, philosopher. Marla drives drunk without a licence, takes whatever she can find, whichever boytoy is available or whatever life throws her way in the moment. We can solve the riddle of life in an instant only to lose it in the next. Marla is the perfect child of the modern age. A free soul, a strong exterior, a sad story, the ability to drink twice as fast as anyone. The inability to express love and the desire to do so coupled with the unforfilled need to be a child, a loved one, a unique person in a world where we are all born and live life as monkeys in a zoo, as monks in a monestary.
We are empty shells, forfilling our eartly duties to the society we have built, catering to our own needs to feel fullfilled. We chase money, happyness as Angelina and Brad teaches us, self-improvement to spend time with our kids. Kids who, like us, will grow up longing for Steve's apple-branded white toys, spend 15 years in school and 40 years working 9 to 5, live most of their life between 4 walls and searhing for the feeling of usefullness. Our happyness is created by paid robots whose own false joy is based on the sense of accomplishment a 6-digit salary and a red italian sportcar gives.
I could love Marla. In the Hollywood, walking hand-in-hand in high grass, kissing under the stars, sitting by the ocean kind of way. In the unfortunate ways of my sex, my eyes have since I was a child been groomed to accept one kind of beauty. I, in my semi-abstract awareness still find myself drawn to the californicated, fake kind of women with their perfect tans, teeth and boobs picked off a store shelf, personality traded for long lush hair, their ability to think long since removed by the clensing ever-destroying aftermath of white powder, green grass, pink pills, blue drinks, pointy needles. An accelerated life under the influence, expending the body twice as fast and leaving the soul stranded in the first slope.
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I want to have a real conversation. No cell phones, music, tv, jokes, stimulants. I don't want to share the attention with anything, because I am selfish. The dying art of listening. The rudeness that we accept from every angle. It's normal. Your fucking cellphone has nothing to do in our time. Youtube should die along with somethingawfull, internet porn and cable tv. You never have as amazing a conversation as you do with a joint between your fingers. Give me your full attention and I will give the same. A lost art is just old and boring, however the ability to single-task is rapidly dwindling from our collective gene pool. We can't be bothered to remember even the names of the people we meet. We wake up naked next to people we never bothered to know. We need drugs to interact with our own species. It's 2008 and we are dying.
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This is just a short sample from a project I'm working on. I'm looking for some feedback.
Thanks.
