A Plea for Occasional Boredom
Editing has made life a long series of pauses. Empty gaps between the moments of action. PRESS the button, POUR the coffee, take a SIP. SLURP. Closeup on the smile, curving like a Muslim dagger. I imagine that the feeling I have waiting at the bus stop (or collating faxes, or walking to the store) is akin to the sudden jaw snapping slam that light feels sinking into the atmosphere, going from the endless grande jeté of travel through a vacuum to the rude deceleration of a seventy percent nitrogen chemical bath. Imagine sprinting into Jello. Falling through a succession of paper towels. Obeying the speed limit in a school zone.
And thanks to clever film editors, I feel this way all night and day. I shake off the curdled moments each time I find cause to run, to jump, to somersault. The pace of the music and the rumble in the tires buttress my high spirits, but soon enough there will be a line. Standing behind a woman with four neatly wrapped portobella mushrooms. “It's very simple, today,” she intones with a voice like icewater being stirred. Today, she says, implying that she and this cashier are intimately familiar, like she's just been here, but neglected to purchase fungus, or like she noticed they were on sale and had been meaning to stock up, but at $6.25 a pound, who can find the spare cash... four dollars, though, that's a fucking deal! Don't even get me started on how portobella mushrooms and simple don't belong in the same sentence. My mind squirms like a claustrophobic rubber band ball the entire time, but then I'm snapped free and almost trip over friction, my head moving before the thought can get to my feet.
Editors, though, like a high school karate competition, chopping bricks and boards and blocks of time into manageable moments. Chewing the visual image until it is nearly digested, and feeding it back like some fricassee a la mother penguin. Is it true what they say? That the youth raised on rapid fire images and seventy cuts a minute will have damage done to their eyes and minds? Is the heritage we share mental framework not dissimilar from attention deficit disorder? Tennis-match-eyes and Vietnam nerves. Reflexes trained to the heights of Halo and Half-life, while our parents strain to keep pace with Ms. Pac Man.
Even now, having exhausted my jokes and clever references, I feel like things have slowed too much. I'm going to stop writing now.
And thanks to clever film editors, I feel this way all night and day. I shake off the curdled moments each time I find cause to run, to jump, to somersault. The pace of the music and the rumble in the tires buttress my high spirits, but soon enough there will be a line. Standing behind a woman with four neatly wrapped portobella mushrooms. “It's very simple, today,” she intones with a voice like icewater being stirred. Today, she says, implying that she and this cashier are intimately familiar, like she's just been here, but neglected to purchase fungus, or like she noticed they were on sale and had been meaning to stock up, but at $6.25 a pound, who can find the spare cash... four dollars, though, that's a fucking deal! Don't even get me started on how portobella mushrooms and simple don't belong in the same sentence. My mind squirms like a claustrophobic rubber band ball the entire time, but then I'm snapped free and almost trip over friction, my head moving before the thought can get to my feet.
Editors, though, like a high school karate competition, chopping bricks and boards and blocks of time into manageable moments. Chewing the visual image until it is nearly digested, and feeding it back like some fricassee a la mother penguin. Is it true what they say? That the youth raised on rapid fire images and seventy cuts a minute will have damage done to their eyes and minds? Is the heritage we share mental framework not dissimilar from attention deficit disorder? Tennis-match-eyes and Vietnam nerves. Reflexes trained to the heights of Halo and Half-life, while our parents strain to keep pace with Ms. Pac Man.
Even now, having exhausted my jokes and clever references, I feel like things have slowed too much. I'm going to stop writing now.
posted by Maximillian @ 10:16 AM
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