Buckle up, this is gonna be a long entry; and a rather confusing one, I suppose.
It is now the 3rd of September. Your gal has survived summer of 2k19; allegedly. What it means to survive, don’t ask me I can’t even grasp the concept anymore. My yearly resolutions are in order during summer and not around New Year’s Eve. I believe this has to do with the fact that I am a summer baby, born in early June. But I also believe it has to do with some undertaken archetypal conception of how the seasons change and life proceeds in a more pagan mindset. You can take the girl out of the Balkans but you can’t take the Balkans out of the girl, can you?
First things first: I have completed my so-called training. And I am pretty satisfied with myself. That’s good. I now understand that this period was not only a dedication and focus experiment, but also a not-so-conscious try to make the little me interested in continuing living among the alive. Again, that’s good.
To get it out of the way, I want to list the hard data, so here it goes.
Read:
• C. Walker Bynum – Resurrection of the Body in Western Christianity, 200 – 1336 (didn’t finished it yet cause the shit is big but I will)
• J. Baudrillard – Seduction
• L. J. Grace – Tranny
• A. Reynolds – Revenger (the fucking sequel hasn’t arrived yet, if it would I would have binged it too)
• H. Rossiter – She’s always a woman (this was an essay)
• J. Dufaux, E. Marini – Raptors (that’s a graphic novel, I read all four volumes in one sit, during an insomniac night)
• Ch. Tsiolkas – Barracuda (okay, to be fair I didn’t finish it yet cause I am rationing the last thirty pages for the book to last longer cause that Tsiolkas person had seriously FUCKED ME UP – good stuff)
• Numerous and random online articles and essays about pretty much everything; from film critique and technical manuals about film/digi photography to explicit yet hilarious web comics (Oglaf I’m looking at you) and a billion blog entries.
Watched:
• The Matrix (1999)
• Haxan (1922)
• Howl’s Moving Castle (2004)
• The Cube (1997)
• Girl (2018)
• Gemini (2017)
• Whisper of the Heart (1995)
• Izzy Gets the Fuck Across Town (2017)
• The Changelling (1980)
• A Star Is Born (2018) – what the fuck is that scene where Lady Gaga burst out in singing in the street in front of a fucking super market after fucking midnight, is it the funniest supposed-to-be-dramatic thing ever happening in a film or what?
• Mary Magdalene (2018)
• Throne of Blood (1957) – couldn’t finish it, I am embarrassed to say Kurosawa is only decor and locations to me, sorry.
• Frozen (2013)
• Dracula (1992) – I can’t believe I haven’t seen this film as an adult, it’s magical.
• Jaws (1975)
• A Wrinkle in Time (2018) – alternative title: A Waste of Time.
• Lovesong (2016) – as much as I hate these white american existential dramas I am so keen on some of the actors that are typically selected to embody the characters. Riley Keough in this case, but I am thinking this has something to do with her being also in Mad Max: Furry Road? Very possible, knowing me.
• Captain Marvel (2019) – can’t remember a single thing that’s happening in it.
• Mid90s (2018) – I see what’s you doing Jonah Hill. I still don’t like you but I see.
• Laputa: Castle In The Sky (1986)
• A Nightmare in Elm Street (1984)
• Head On (1998) – the script is based on a Tsiolkas book, Francesca’s recommendation, I liked it and want to learn more about this australian circle of greeks that seem to be decent.
• Taxi Driver (1976)
• Berlin I Love You (2019) – ABOMINATION but Mickey Rourke.
• Boogie Nights (1997)
• Magnolia (1999) – decided I like PTA, sue me.
• Sorry To Bother You (2018) – loved the idea, hated all the characters. No kidding, all of them.
• Thunder Road (2018) – confused. It seems a certain category of creators exist, those actors who know that are good actors but want also to be directors and they are not so good in directing, so they are reading and researching and doing every technical aspect of directing absolutely correct, they present a technically complete vision, they put in tones of work and it shows, nobody can say they have a bad film but their product always lacks something in the end. For me. They do get awards and exposure though. I guess I like them because I like focus and dedication but I don’t like the films very much if I want to be honest. Also I have this itchy feeling they are somehow richer than me and it drives me mad.
• Scanners (1981)
• Lords of Chaos (2018)
• Panic Room (2002) – as I said on FB on an analytical spree there is a certain time that a child (not an age thing but this tends to happen early in life) sees someone doing something and decides they want to be that person doing that thing. This moment for Kristen Steward MUST be during Panic Room and the person doing the thing was definitely Jodie Foster. Also, I like Fincher, sue me.
• Dawn of the Dead (1978)
• A Rainy Day in New York (2019) – okay those who know me know I am sworn against anything that Woody Allen does and that I cannot watch anything of his, at least nothing recent. BUT I was on holiday, there were only three films playing at the open-air cinema in Molyvos and this was the only one neither of us had seen so we decided to hate-watch it. Was is a bad decision? Yes. Was it the worst decision ever? No. If anything I felt pity for that old excuse of a person and for everyone that thinks he is or ever was that relevant. Oh and I really don’t like Timothée Chalamet. And since I’m on it, I don’t like Donald Glover too.
• Euphoria S01
• Pose S02
• Mad Men S01 and half of S02 – I won’t continue I’m bored, I got into it to rest my brain.
• Some random reality TV on Netflix, also for a brain break.
Among the above, I have watched many dance videos cause I have this new infatuation with dance. To be fair, my infatuation is not with dance per se but with body. Because of the things I have felt during the last months I came to the conclusion that all the dysphories I am familiar with, all the anxieties and the psychosomatics they result to, are deeply connected and maybe rooted to this distance I have with my body. It is not that I hate it, no. I can even say I love it by now. But I have hated it in the past. And I can see now that I do not know it at all. I mean I know some basic functions of it, and because some of them are linked to pleasure or desire, I thought that I have mastered my body. This is very far from truth though. And that point brings me on the next subject which is the physical part of my training.
When I created the schedule I had in mind that I need to engage in at least a basic body movement routine. I thought that since I am putting myself into a program I might as well benefit in different ways. I might as well protect myself, for example, from this terrible back pain that occurs every now and then and is untreatable. Those with chronic back pains will understand. When it happens it cuts your life in half. It is a disability but it’s not always there so you forget your status can change from able to disable any fucking moment. Hell, one time I got two months of excruciating pain at all the nerves of my body just because I sneezed! And painkillers don’t help much and I don’t want to have cortisone or steroids every time cause I’m fucking weak and this won’t turn out good. The only thing that makes a difference is to strengthen certain muscles. Back muscles, abs and the core in general. This kind of exercising I put in the program. I threw in some light weights too, cause I am a narcissist and I want to see strong arms and hands when I look down. Or in the – now – rare occasions when I have sex or masturbate. My legs don’t need much work they are already strong, they carry me here and there more than decently. I can walk miles and miles on a respected tempo. I can even play ball if I am careful enough with my injured knee.
So I kept my promise the first week, I did the deed. Only some of the days I wasn’t moving at all and they were really few so it didn’t matter. Week two, week three and four passed by similarly and then I discovered I wanted more. All this time being severely into my head has taken its toll and the social obligations which were occurring every couple of days didn’t help me to keep a balance. If anything they made a balance more difficult to achieve, more far away and as a result more desired. It is hard to be metaphysical to the state of hallucination the one day and all smart and well-behaved the other. The first is leaking into the latter and it is always the scary one that leaves stains. I was obsessed with been brought to a balance. I wasn’t sure what kind of balance was the one I yearned but it didn’t bother me to not know. I have begun not sleeping at nights, not until it was all sunny outside anyway and this made me crazier so I thought what I needed may be the tiredness of a good sporting day. On week five’s Tuesday I bought a basket ball and got Christina to follow me to some open-air court in Strefis hill so we can play together. Like each of us have played when we were kids and teens, three, even four times a week. We were both on one of Stavroupole’s local teams back in the 90’s and 00’s, both of us don’t have a lot to show for it but it happened.
She did follow me, fortunately, and we had a nice two-hours spree. At first I was like an infant trying to walk. With my hands and arms unsynched, with two left feet, with clothing slipping from places, skin showing and my mind always alerted. I seemed to seek hungrily for the eyes nailed on my clumsiness, on my fatness, embarrassed in advance. I felt I hadn’t the right to be there and that everyone knew. Look at this sweaty mess, what a loser, pretending to play ball. Fat girls don’t play, crazy persons don’t play either, who the fuck she thinks she is? But I also knew I had every right as anyone had to be there (thank you fat politics!) and that all those deafening thoughts are sourcing from my body dysphoria, rooted fatphobia and fucking fear. I was terrified and ashamed. So I said fuck it. I said, since I managed to bring myself here, and you know it’s hard to do in the first place, I might as well be a grown-ass person and finish something for a change, how about that. Fifteen, twenty minutes in I tucked my already sweated t-shirt into my shorts, I pulled my socks up and tighten my shoe laces. I kept playing. I kept shooting. I kept searching only for Christina’s eyes and no one else’s. No one else was there, just me, my sister who smiled at me happily each time she scored a point and the fucking ball I just bought with money I don’t have. I played through the shame, I played through the pain, I played through paranoia and it just worked. My steps became steadier, my knee let me know its limit and I heard it, respected it, my arms became less jerky and my hands remembered the moves from back then. Suddenly the ball started landing in the net (or what’s left of it anyway). I saw myself doing the whole dance. Dribbling, staying low. Controlling. Bending the knees to catch the ball, secure it in your palms and stretch the fingers. Breath in. Own it. Slowly raise, pulling power from toes, soles and ankles, to the legs, to the core, raising, to the upper back, raising above, arms following, power to the shoulders, the hands are pulling up now, emerging, the feet are pushing through, legs tight, strong like tree trunks, steady, breath out, a tiny jump, ball in the air. A perfect arc. A swoosh. If there was a net that is but still. And landing. Softly. Carefully. Gently. In control.
A breakthrough is a period in time when you become conscious of something important. I had a breakthrough in the past, didn’t I? I had plenty, but nothing like that. What’s the difference, you ask? I know now. It wasn’t me I had the revelation, it was my body. I just stayed in silence for once, turned off the lights in my head, letting my other me, the body-me, to do the work. And it was majestic.
Week six I went on holidays. Thank god Vassilia insisted and payed my tickets otherwise I wouldn’t be able to go. Thank god that the wise voice in my head stepped in and said to all the others to shut up and take this present cause we need it. And she was right, we did need it. We left on the 26th, a Monday and I returned on the 2nd, a Monday also. Seven full days. We did well. I slept eventually. I ate normal things at normal hours that someone else cooked for me. I saw green and brown and blue. I smelled plants and animals and dirt. I got a sunburn. I swam each day. I really did. In swimming outfit and everything. I say this to people and they look at me, smiling condescendingly, saying “Nice! Good for you, mate” but they don’t understand what it really means and I find it hilarious.
So, this brings us to today. Survivor of summer of 2k19. It was a fucking journey, wasn’t it? It was. Am I ready to continue? Shit, I have no clue what I’m ready for. The real question is, do I want to continue? Honestly, I think I do and I have my body to thank for it, for being there when I searched for it. And my mind that is not entirely out of control just yet. And maybe those two matters of different quality can work together sometimes and I don’t need to stress that much and always separate them like a fucking idiot.
life is a horror film synopsis 