Trawling through the 200 odd pages of movies I came across one called genius and, it kinda stands to reason, something like that is going to interest me, I've had that thrown at me often enough, not for a while thank God, but enough in the past I've found it intriguing.
And the movie had quite a low IMDB rating, which was interesting given the cast, and was about a writer, one I'm not familiar with but that's not surprising as I'm not only not well read, in the sense of understanding these things, but I'm also incredibly forgetful of any ideas about what rates in society and what doesn't, I have my own way of looking at things... which, tinkle, tinkle, you might already sense where I'm going with this.
Yesterday I had a dose of what's unmistakable for me though just washes off. Had a look from someone, they had a feeling of recognition, started out as something else but in coming up through them was, as usual, directed without much cognisance, once it surfaced, well, perturbed by the imbalances most feel as a kind of fear between intellect and emotion... nothing I can do about that, at all, so, as I said, just washes off. This leads quite nicely into Thomas Wolfe but I still have to widen it out.
Later I'm coming home and remember that big ol' tree that's still there on the edge of the water between Otahuhu and Mangere. Normally it's just big and massive, doing it's own thing, but this time i'd somehow managed to notice these other biggies leading up to it, spaced out across and through which was my ol' stomping ground, that curiously wild place where I grew up and every so often go gliding on through.
So this big ol' tree had been hit by a car, a car I'd been following way, way back when I was maybe 16 or so, maybe a little older, and coming the other way, meaning coming from Otahuhu, most probably a early winter night as it was dark and I wasn't. at that age, out too late, and so I'm following this car, we're just going past Pacific Steel, and I can feel a dread from it, maybe mounting maybe sudden but I start to back off, give it some room. It's a Mark 3 Zephyr, not straight but a bit hoony, bit of a hot rod, South Auckland styles of those days, and the distance between us lengthens and I start to feel comfortable again, kinda have room to feel whatever it was in a sense of it being clarity though I'm still decades away from even knowing what that is, and it's not quite mournful and not quite angry as there's a crazy edge to it, a scattered and frenetic jarring cacophony but there's a distance now so it's almost like I can be curious but then, of a sudden, it just ramps up, this, I'd suppose, psychic phenomena and with that whomever floors the accelerator, a rush of blat from the exhaust and then the big metal is aimed across the road and, within milliseconds, has smashed into the tree and part of me, feeling the whole thing as violent and dangerous, just goes 'you fucker, how dare you even begin to make me a part of this' which, and here I'm kind of assuming, but not too much as I've always had this, has me throttling up myself and getting home to ring the powers that be.
I mean I'm only 16 and completely uninterested in knowing what a sense of responsibility is at least in the sense of being societal and only really curious about how what I feel fit's in and I just felt bully, like this selfish fucker had taken a swing at me, minding my own business and this 'out of the blue' aggravation just isn't worth any effort.
And It's South Auckland, not that that's an excuse, but when you're a skinny white boy there's certain things you learn, certain way's of being that aren't just about being in the wrong place but if the wrong place finds you there is a quite certain way to respond, despite what hurt might be, which needs to be understood.
Why I say that is because I got home and rang the 111 and said what I'd seen and was almost immediately told off, like why didn't you stop and see what you could do to which, and here we're getting into details and who the fuck knows what I replied but somehow I seem to remember saying something or other that got me off the hook and put him on the line back on his own.
So early years having what might be termed psychic sewage thrown at me but this wise ol' deep voice that reckons towards having to wade through it and see what my validity is against drawing up the terms of engagement and so yesterday I get this feeling, a by now quite obvious refrain, from this woman standing in line at the flash place to buy food and know exactly what it is but too, there's the responsibility, which both is and isn't, that if she's gotten this old, late thirties early forties, and still doesn't know then not only is there nothing I can do but doing anything, given it's taken this long, will just dig the naivety deeper.
Ah, but no... jump on out. What I do, what anyone is, feelings go back in, not to be suppressed but the simplicity of just allowing, say from my end, that's part of it. A little of how I am potentially adds itself to what she is feeling as it does what it all does.
Back then to Thomas Wolfe and the movie called Genius and maybe why that isn't a statement and might be a question?
An interesting part of the movie is when Tom and the editor start cutting all that is seen as not to the point, discussed as overly flowery, even ostentatious, so the point can be made. And that's kinda interesting and maybe it's about the fine line if there even is a line. 'Cause when one does the work, gets attuned as it were, and eventually as it's not an easy commitment then it often isn't about getting to the point so much as allowing moments to be so wide and so full that even knowing there might be a point needs forgotten.
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