DIAL M FOR MOORE



At the moment people who are using shamanism and magic to shape our culture are advertisers. Rather than try to wake people up, their shamanism is used as an opiate to tranquilize people, to make people more manipulative. Their magic box of television, their magic words, their jingles can cause everybody in the country to be thinking the same words and have the same banal thoughts all at the exact same moment.

Alan Moore the magician and the shaman

YOU FREUD, ME JANE?

Then I dreamed I was in a huge
theatre where one of my motion
pictures was being shown.
But the theatre was absolutely
empty, not a full seat anywhere.
On one wall was a gigantic
mirror, and when I looked into it,
I didn't see my own face...


Alfred Hitchcock Presents Episode 69: The Three Dreams of Mr. Findlater (1957)

FAYE FADES AWAY



Jake Gittes:There's something black in the green part of your eye.

Evelyn Mulwray: Oh, that. It's a... it's a flaw in the iris.

Jake Gittes: Flaw?

Evelyn Mulwray: Yes, it's a sort of birthmark

A LOVELEY WAY TO SPEND AN EVENING





"What is it that you fear?", she whispered, while looking straight into Redrose's eyes. Fear, he thought, was not of his concern, and was in any case related to the situation he was living or had lived with her. It was time that worried him more than anything else. Clocks. The flow of the river.


So Redrose thought he should think twice before answering. Slow it down, don't rush. Don't make it hard on both of you.


"Nothing" he replied back. A predictible answer. But how could Redrose explain? He and his notion of indirect faithfulness, of being there for a few only. Unable to embrace humanity in its whole, he had made a choice. A choice based on a simple fact: be there for the ones you care. And Redrose could only care for a few. Very few.


She was one of them. An important one. But she, fragile she, expected something else. And that something he could not give. How much longer would social codes make her suffer? Her past, her losses, her betrayals, her bleeding heart didn't help. And the word love, abused, violated to such extreme we don't even know when and how to use it. Our mistake, underrated mistake.


Her request was a projection in time of the intangible.


Redrose was looking at her. "We waste these moments by discussing a future that might not be, always one step ahead of ourselves." And after a short pause, while her eyes melted in the darkness of the room he concluded, "This is now and this is us. Future has no reason to be"

VOCALE POLLY MAGGOO

There was no need to shout. Redrose was upset, very upset and could not write a note on the blog about his friend Polly as he was planning to. So he thought he should hang that picture anyhow, just to convince himself to take it all as a joke.

Confused about this silly note on the blog?

So was Redrose on that Friday afternoon...

AND ON THY CHEEK
A FADING ROSE





Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

Excerpt from John kaets' "La Belle Dame Sans Merci"

GIVE MY LOVE TO THE SUNRISE

Redrose was spending another rainy afternoon in his new town. He was quietly walking back home when a few drops of water started knocking on his head, hammering with grace his confused thoughts. For a moment, words he was once trying to forget, came back to life. Very specific words, almost meaningless on their own but so powerful when united. "We could have gone off together" words said.

Something was still haunting him. Another blurred piece of the puzzle that composed his broken life came into the light at the very same moment his mouth whispered "together". His cinematic memory was still playing him some painful tricks, but at this stage fo the play handling pain was not an issue. For Redrose, it was just like opening an umbrella on a rainy day.

Elsa: After that I knew I couldn't trust him. He was mad. He had to be shot.

Michael: And What about me?

Elsa: We could have gone off together.
Michael:Into the sunrise. You and me? Or you and Grisby?
Elsa: I love you.

Michael:One who follows his nature keeps his original nature in the end.But haven´t you heard ever of something better to follow?

Elsa: No.

Dialogue from "The Lady from Shanghai", 1948, directed by Orson Welles

IN ME TOO THE WAVE RISES

Virginia Wolf's words took a sudden meaning while Redrose watched the picture of that blue sea. The loneliness of the soul, the desperate search, the commitment in order to survive.

In me too the wave rises. It Swells; it arches its back. I am aware, once more, of a new desire. Something rising beneath me like the proud horse whose rider first spurs and then pulls him back.

Virginia Wolf's "The Waves"

SIR ALFRED'S FLOWER SHOP



I've always dreamed of
a murder in a tulip field.
Two characters: the killer
behind the girl,
his victim. As his shadow
creeps up on her, she
turns and screams.
Immediately, we pan
down the struggling
feet in the tulip field.
One petal fills the
screen, and suddenly a
drop of blood splashes
all over it.

Alfred Hitchcock in François Truffaut, "Hitchcock Interviews" Touchstone Edition, Simon & Schuster, New York, 1983.

ANOTHER KIND OF FLOWERS













Eight and a half mesmerizing flowers.
The Valley Girls.

http://www.alexprager.com/

BROKEN FLOWERS









The first time he saw those roses in front of that white fence, clashing against that blue sky he felt strangely moved, almost aroused. A simple stripped composition.


Then the colors melted and took various forms. Shadows won over. The flowers turned into bright faces. Still, their beauty moved and aroused.