No-one Understands Me

Two... weeks...

Jeez.

At the risk of sounding painfully romanticized and dangerously teen-angsty, I feel very few people get where I'm coming from. I have felt this way so strongly and or such a long time, I have chosen to adop the idea of non-understanding as my persona in this and in many other spaces.

Even I sometimes have difficulty discerning why I am attempting what I am currently attempting or why I am doing what I am, in fact, at any given time, doing. I am a cypher unto myself.

I don't say this as means of self-pity, I'm just stating a fact that I believe, by and large, to be true. For example:

When I was young, I remember watching a cartoon in which two trains were hurtling towards each other at an intersecting point between their respective tracks. When the time came for them to finally collide, however, rather than smash into each other, they passed each other, the cars of which intersecting each other one by one, and at speed, no less.

I remember watching this and immediately excepting it, and only being curious as to how trains would do that. I asked my dad, who gave me some answer that I only remember as unsatisfying. No doubt, it was something patronizing along the lines of "cartoons aren't real." Well no shit. I never thought cartoons were real, as far as I can remember. However, up until that point, I had thought that they depicted realistic events. It wasn't that I was watching two real cartoon trains partaking in that fantastic happening, just that they were drawings of something that could logically happen in reality, whether or not I understood how exactly that would come to pass.

I feel like, for the most part, people don't really get what I'm talking about at any given time. I feel as if I'm misunderstood, not solely of my intentions, but perhaps the actual literal definitions of the things I've been trying to get across. These instances are mostly evident in fights that break out between the Mrs. and I from me not being too fantastically clear on whatever it is I'm saying, but also in scholastic considerations. I sometimes achieve slightly below what I'm capable of simply because I give an answer that, while satisfactory to me, is not what the professor expected and/or was looking for. This... is bullshit.

I bring this up not only to express my general alienation with the world around me, and the desire for someone, anyone, who could get where I'm coming from with my perception of at least half of it, but also to show how seldom it is that I run into anything that I thoroughly have a problem understanding. I'm normally pretty adept at putting myself in the shoes of other people, and seeing things from a different, sometimes subjective, perspective. It is in this light that I present the following.

What?! WHAT?! The father-in-law? What was it? The ear...

WHAT?!

I don't want to set a precedent for incredulity here at Dead Language after having to deal with that unknown species of mantled marine life, but.... WHAT?

WHAT.

I felt physically exhausted after watching this movie. To this moment, I'm still getting bits and pieces of it, checking in with the Mrs. every now and then (as she watched it with me and the only other person I know to have seen it I am sure does not remember it) to cross-reference my new theorums as to what the hell happened.

So much happens and so much is attempted within the film, and all with almost no effects. No CG time-tunnels, no bullshit green-screened overcrisp doubles who exist solely to show that they do, indeed, have the technology to do so. Just good filmmaking and labyrinthine writing.

Incidentally, you want to see a film that wants to impress you with its use of CGI to duplicate one actor multiple times in a scene (apart from the fact that you are a jackass), go see Multiplicity or something like that. You want to see a film with anything in it, you're asking to see a sub-standard film, simply because you're asking for a quality to stand out of the film, and not be a part of it. On the other end of the spectrum from that Keaton Katastrophe (and, for God's sake, the man was Batman. I need expect no less from him than perfection) is the Jonze/Kaufman anxietyfest Adaptation, which while being one of my favorite films of all time, causes you to forget that Nicholas cage is only one person and not, in fact a set of twins, let alone notice the amazingly difficult shots that Jonze had to capture (the car scene, the party scene, etc.).

Also, I was right. After my previous post and a few more fires (one in Santiago park, one in the Mainplace Mall, and one right next to my house in one of those o-so-utilitarian fields within the curvature of an off-ramp), and an article in the paper stating that the police were beginning to have "suspicions," they arrested a group of juvenile arsonists who stated their reasons for the persistent enflamation was "fun."

I'm not going to say my actions were solely responsible for their aprehension, but doesn't it feel better knowing, in this world of fake cartoons and teenage firestarters...

There's me?

Dead Language. No one understands me. It's... yeah.