outwait outrun outwit


an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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"When I could go out of the hospital on weekends I would go to wakes. It might seem strange to you, but not to me. I liked sitting with the families of the dead, there were always coffee and cigarettes. No one ever asked me to leave."--Man quoted in latest Colours issue on madness.


Lately? Wisconsin Death Trip caught at the Castro with Mel and Anne; yellow butterflies spray-painted on the sidewalk; an old man's intricately tattooed bald pate in transit; the sound of foil crinkling fragile, a chocolate bar finally unwrapped in cinematically-charged darkness, the salt-prickly aroma of popcorn riling nose-hair.


Onscreen, churchgoers line up to receive tiny plastic cups brimming with the blood of Christ. Mel snickers, Church made me an alcoholic.

I grumble, My church preferred grape juice.


And Friday at the Red Vic? Little Otik, by Czech filmmaker Jan Svankmajer, a grim faery tale done in stop-motion animation and live-action.

Excited about this undoubtedly gory tale about a monster or a minor miracle, take your pick; especially after seeing Svankmajer's interpretation of Faust in deep December, a cinematic encounter with the city's subterranean self, bloody and barely comprehensible, compelled by a violence akin to the violence--sometimes robust, sometimes subtle--that underlies the faery tales grown-ups would tell each other whilst caught within tightly coiled night.


"My illness has lived wiht me all my life. A normal life, but with her."--Woman quoted in Colours


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