There’s no getting around the fact that Yeezus is my favorite record of the year, but I’ve listened to all of these a bunch.
Wanna pull a QT and repurpose this theme for my own movie at some point. Homage to a great film and just some great Romantic, synthy, triumphant-but-sad swellings and clarity.
He’s me. And:
We, we who seek knowledge, remain unknown to ourselves; and for good reason. We have never sought ourselves. —How then should it happen that one day we mayfind ourselves? Our treasure can be found in the beehives of our knowledge. We are forever bound towards it, like bees honey-gathering the spirit, concerned with only one task at hand: to bring something home. As for the rest of life and its so-called experiences, who among us takes them seriously? Who has the time? Much as a divinely distracted, self-absorbed person who hears a clock toll twelve noon and suddenly awakens to ask “What did it actually toll just now?” so we rub our ears afterwards and ask ourselves, completely amazed, completely disconcerted, “What did we actually experience just now?” Even: “Who are we actually?” And we count up, afterwards, as stated, all twelve quavering bellstrokes of our experience, our life, of our being—and alas we miscount in the process! —We remain, necessarily, strangers to ourselves; we do not understand ourselves; we must mistake ourselves; for, with respect to ourselves, we who seek knowledge, we are not knowledgable people.
—Fred, via Arnaud, synthesized by me
Look at these dopes.
I’m not sad about “losing” Elmore Leonard to the beyond. He gave us a lot. James Gandolfini, however, should have spent the next thirty or so years giving us even more great performances full of nuance that some might be quick to call “human” and that I enjoy rather as the magic of what art can do for us humans: to show us another’s failures in the kind of light that reveals life.
Plenty of people die, and it’s really pretty silly to single out these two dudes for this random jotting, but I was struck, just a minute ago, by this idea of what it is we actually mourn for in the wake of another. About 95% my losses are emotional rather than physical so such a loss is still a lesson I’ve yet to be given; but when I think about mourning, I think, what about celebrating somebody? Then I remembered Gandolfini and how, when I watched both Enough Said and Don’t Fade Away recently, I was struck by a bone-marrow sadness that this man (a man I do not know and now never will) will no longer be available to us outside his family as anything more than a material ghost whose instances/appearances/manifestations are now all too finite.
—What’s this desire for more? Is it greed? Maybe a little, but primarily I’m reminded that one of my favorite functions of art and artists is how a great work of art or a great body of work by an artist can conjure that feeling of being returned home from the wilds of experience; that reminder that your loneliness is an illusion our world reinforces.
There is a spirit at work among the greats and losing some access to it, via another human being I’m quick to think of as “my brother,” is what pangs inside. At least when it comes to this kind of loss.
When one’s tangible relations are diminished, one cannot help but feel likewise reduced. The trick, it seems, is to remember that you are alive, and living, and time has no sympathy for the fact of death. (Nor, I would argue, moping.) We’re given one shot to enjoy our defeats as readily as our victories.