adieu

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As the days grow shorter and the nights grow colder I'm reminded that dry spells, blue skies & pink hued sunsets are soon to become distant memories. Summer is respectfully bowing down to welcome rain-bearing cold fronts of forthcoming Autumn. Summer has never failed to impress me with it's joie de vivre and its willingness to bear fruit.
This Summer I traveled across the South Pacific, snuck into a concert of two thousand raging latinos under the stars, hiked up a mountain at the base of the Andes in chuck taylors (which I highly discourage if you want to not break your ankles), kissed and hugged street children to see hopeful smiles, laughed the night away on a patio in the city of good air, consumed a gagillion litres of ice cream, drank a gagillion litres of beer, got a tattoo with the most beautiful friend, got my septum pierced (then regretted it), bought a skateboard (?), grew my hair, spend my days sitting on a balcony sipping on cocktails, went through 30 disposal cameras, had three jobs and quit two, cooked dinner for friends and terrorised Sydney's beaches with 'lettuce knee' and 'pineapple bum'





Su(reel)












Last night I dreamt a somewhat nightmarish, surreal dream. From what I recall I escape despotic Communist personages only to enter a hyper real world with a colour scheme right out of Dali, I'm talking disorientingly big flowers that flutter away as butterflies. Anyway I can't disclose much more for a) the risk of being psychoanalysed b) just not being able to remember.
The point is, I got thinking about Terry Gilliam, a wicked hollywood (in the loosest use of the term) director in the surrealist paradigm. He directed Fear & Loating in Las Vegas *drool*, Monty Python & the Holy Grail and his master piece (in my eyes) Brazil.
With the risk of sounding haughty I consider Brazil to kick Blade Runner's ass and gives Clockwork Orange a run for it's money. But I have valid justification: This film is a visual tour-de-force, kinda noir-ish, kinda art deco, kinda industrial, kinda futuristic, totally surreal! Gilliam's penchant for the absurd and grotesque really shines through.
Oh and the satire is perfectly executed, mostly about bureaucratic paper pushers.
Anyway I'm happy that Terry Gilliam is keeping the century old flame of surrealist art alight.