This is me, I know you won’t want to read this because it will make you sad but I can’t be a coward. And that doesn’t make you one. But it does make some. And I won’t be. I want to make you promises but the risks are huge, you know that and I know that. I have to raise Lazarus from the deep and when I do everyone will benefit from it and that makes me proud. I know you have said it before but I can’t lie to you. I
Hi, this is me. I’ll be home later tonight! Love, John
Scowls as I enter into the marble-decked hall I call my ‘second living room’. Jealousy maybe, or its more vicious brother Envy. As a man who has ever uttered the phrase, ‘I think I have too much money’, I have become used to the twisted faces of the people who were once humble. Strange to think, those in a less wealthy place would look at me with such demeaning distaste, fueled by the thought that chance (and not hard work) should have put them in the place of me. Well, I’m never inviting THESE people to my holiday mansion ever again.
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He woke. It was sunrise. The sun peaked gently over the horizon. The bus hummed along a road skirting the Black Sea. Everyone else was sleeping. Pink light bounced neatly across the blue-black water which turned, churned, reflected in a frenzied mixing of color and light and shadow.
I should grab my camera, he thought. He didn’t. This, he decided, would be his alone. He made a silent promise that this memory would remain pure and perfect and true.
Three years on, he was shocked that he could no longer recall it with any kind of clarity.
– posted by Walleyed via Reddit
“When you see with your eye, hear with your ear, taste with your tongue, touch with your finger, and smell with your nose, all interpret into a creation”. All good stories start with creativity.
You’ve often heard me say that we all possess the power and creativity to create. We are creators, all of us. We can create something out of nothing. Creativity knows no bounds. We all borrow from popular culture, from history, music, art, oral tradition, crafts, design, graffiti, film, sculpture, architecture, dance; these things all know no bounds and have no keepers once they enter the public sphere. They are not static but are continuously evolving and taking on new meanings. We all traverse space and time in our different context and imbue those structures and forms in our lives with new meanings.
Or so we should. If you entered our house this week you were sure to be met by these scenarios: there was jazz playing in the background, flowing simultaneously in the corners of our minds, rousing various sensations and urging us to create our respective arts. Reinier was…
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A boy meets a girl. But the girl is a cat, a little feathery long light-grey haired critter. It looks at him with big jade green eyes and says, ‘dude, I thought you like bitches’. The boy looks at him, confused. Is love only reserved for humans? No, love is for everyone and everything! ‘I mean like bitches. Like. Dogs. Swag.’ The cat meows. ‘oh’, the boy says as he turns to see his dog beside him, keeping him company as always. ‘yeah what the hell man’ the dog barks.
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Here’s a really great video of cinematographer Wally Pfister talking about his work with Director/Writer Christopher Nolan.
It really shows that what interests us in movies are really stories and that cinematography is often simple and uncomplicated in order for the story to really shine. Pfister’s work on Memento, Inception, The Prestige and the Batman Trilogy have all contributed to the success of these films but none to the power of the stories within those films.
The amazing twist at the end of Memento? Haven’t seen it? WATCH IT
What kept you guessing at the mind blowing illusions in The Prestige? :O
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Bring back the love for story!
A lady sits in an armchair by the window of her living room. The fire is lit, its orange glow siting in the company of dark mahogany furniture. It is snowing outside, a window of pale grey touches her face and fills her with its lonely sorrow. She is isolated from the warmth of home, family. There is a knock on the door, things can change. It’s her daughter, filled with the life and colour of her home, none that she shared with her mother. Is there hope? No, for that grey has always been death.
We think this one is chilling! Such imagery!
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Thanks for reading