new film? only if it’s boring

In this week’s edition of “Blooming Geek” we watch our heroine tackle unix confusion, cult SF Cube trilogy, and Stephenson’s Quicksilver. Other highlights include disappointment and cynicism about contemporary Hollywood fatansy/SF slaughter movies  [the concepts get slaughtered, the movies get duller] — this time prompted by The Golden Compass which was definitely not a piece of art. I’ve had enough of mediocre films doing OK for a mediocre film. This reminds me of one of Kingsley Amis introduction to a SF collection from the sixties. He indicated remorse at doing  a course on SF in the sixties and thus helping popularise the genre. Gone was the purity and innocence of the 40’s and especially 50’s. Gone was the golden age. Now more than everyone are aware of graphic novels and SF/Fantasy. Which is cool since it means I have access to much more information than I would have otherwise. But, the new fans like the new wave of films. Films with no artistic vision. It’s now technically feasible to produce stunning looking films with no substance to them. Great photography and scenery and costumes and special effects which aren’t that special no more. And they are all fucking boring. They bore me to death and numb me and insult my intelligence. I refuse to watch any more of this bullshit. They are still plenty films I haven’t watched. I’m looking backwards.  

alone at last

I feel safe again now that I know no–one’s being in the past week. Enter me. (My remarks always end up cryptic. Even to myself. Sometimes I wonder who’s the author of my thoughts — well, and the origin of that expression too but that’s another story.) I have some tasks ahead. One of them is to kill a daemon baby.Watch out. Closet New Age Reveals All. It’s true. My name is mkdirusername. (Because I’m a closet/aspiring geek too.)  And. I’m. Gasp. New Age. (‘Cause these are the cyberpunk hippies alright?)  And I believe that I carry a huge childhood trauma that’s impeding my personal advancement and is manifesting itself as a daemon deeply rooted in my solar plexus. (Phew, that one was a doozy.) Within the next ten days I will kill the daemon–baby (corresponding to a poor baby girl whose mummy didn’t love her — as cliche as it gets).  I am doing psychological and physical preparation for this. The beast is dead. Fatherfucker.