Three Billboards outside Ebbin Missouri review

three billboards outside Ebbing Missouri Review

 the one thing that was lambently clear in thw trailers and promo material for this fil was that It rested on the shoulders of Frances McDormand and gave her a real chance to flex her very considerable acting muscles; indeed eveveryone I know got into a proper tizzy in anticipation. It is no surprise that Frances Mc Dormand delivers a tour -de-force performance of the kind all too rarely see in these dull times What *is* surprising though is that some of her co-stars nearly-just nearly act her off the screen. Woody Harrelson for one delivers a performance I would never have suspected he was capable of , with a script and character most actors would give Harvey Weinstein a naked neck rub for(sorry) but he really *is* that good - and so is the script. In fact,I found the story itself to be nothing short of delightful and the script that held it together to be  a thing of wonder, I laughed, I cried I was rendered slck-jawed at how dry and how black the humour could be and I was tantilised until the final, highly satisfying twist of plot. I think clapping at the end of films is really pretty stupid, but I was sorely tempted to. Since I maintained a dignified silence in the theatre, this review should be considered as my belated standing ovation.

Today I walked all the way across the gym, a distance of about sixty or seventy feet or perhaps twenty five metres in the new lingo. Yesterday I walked the corridor in my apartment building either the same general distance or perhaps slightly less On both occasions I used a quad stick and was slow and a bit wobbly.Both times when I sat down at the end I was equivelently fucked as I had used to be after walking twenty kilometres before I got sick or again about forty five minutes on a cross-trainer
before my stroke. So there you have it, 20 kilometres was simply accepted as a walk, and now 20 something metres is regarded as a great triumph and a milestone. the demarkation line was perhaps one hundred millilitres of blood pumped into my braincase through a hole in a ruptured artery on the evening of August 16 2009. the blood pumped into the sealed container of my braincase caused a rise in pressure which crushed parts of my brain, causing damage, a lot of pain, a ride in an ambulance and fifteen hours of brain surgery. So much for my plan to go to Aarows and suck cock. Instead I went to hospital and had my skull case vacuumed out of the extra blood my overenthusiastic heart had pumped in To fuck my life up. And now I promise I'llSTFU about my health status because, bluntly thsubject usually bores the shit out of me: Deal?

the Horror, The Horror,

well, just for fun today I *am* going to whine, so you all get a (better) ide of how pitiable I am and how much more deserving of an air-drop of collective guilt I am than the refugees or the cellar dwellers in Syria. Lets start with the big guns; I was dragged out of bed at 8am and made to take a shower I was forced to set the temperature to my maxium comfort and was abandoned while I had a teeny nap. Dried, almost against my, will decanted into my wheelchair, given breakfast and left to my own devices. Naturally I played with the XBox and felt sorry for myself I mean wouldn't you? It never ceases to shock me how spineless and self indulgent I can be. I mean, in some ways things are crap; half my body is paralysed, I can't walk or use my left hand - to type, or whatever; But in other ways life is pretty good. I'm not in pain, I can talk again. I'm getting good enough at typing with one finger that I'm getting really good at writing short stories and better at well, just writing generaly. As I said, it could be worse I mean, if I'm emotionally lonely and everyone I've broached the subject with seems repused by the concept of having anything sexual to do with a cripple- well, tough! That's everyone's loss! I mean, no-one will even let me suck their cock anymore, And I *know* I'm really good at that! So here I am, 8 years after my stroke finally shit back together! Finally I feel that the dust has settled and my industrious sweeping is gaining ground

review "Colossal."

"Colossal"-film review

This is a very odd film. On the face of it the central idea that a huge Godzilla-like reptile is trompling Seoul, South Korea is really pretty silly; after all, Godzilla, Mothra, King Gidhorah were never real, and those Toho films were for Japanese kids - they weren't documentaries. Yet one morning, after a night on the tiles, hungover Anne Hathaway, more party mess than party girl, has a wealth of TV coverage proving the opposite. 

Then it gets stranger. She realises that the creature is mirroring her every move. She scratches her head, it scratches its head; She dances a silly dance, a goodly part of Seoul gets crushed. Its a strange idea yet an excellent script, good direction and a remarkably good performance work in concert to carry it off. I was surprised to find that I had suspended my disbelief completely, and sitting there in the Dendy Newtown, my wheelchair cushion committing crimes to my poor arse, I was completely in the thrall of what ultimately was a pretty silly film. I laughed uproariously in all the right places, I happily accepted the rather poetic/expressionistic explanation for all the "goings on". And I *loved* the ending. All in All I had a great afternoon at the movies. 

"Collossal" manages to capture the spirit of great 1960's Science fiction Short stories like Lewis Padgett's "The Proud Robot" - which it bares no resemblance to at all, except in tone. And while I was watching the film I felt the same content lassitude I used to feel when I hid on the roof of my mother's house with a book to escape the troubles below. I recommend "Colossal" wholeheartedly and I'm looking forward to seeing it again soon myself - 

Alex Rieneck.

I could whine about my symptoms, or about how my foot hurts or something of that ilk-it's been ages since I've had a good whine; but fuck that! if the glass is only half full its because I've guzzled half of it, and anyway- I saw Doctor Strange on Thursday and I still haven't gotten over it! There's a story there too as it happens that morning, by accident, I found a piece of txt on the net from this guy who recounted that only once in his life had he seen a film like "strange" a long time ago when he was much younger, he'd run to his elder brother announcing that he'd just seen the "Best film*ever*- not, he admitted the best made most laudable film, but one that simply overpowered him and drowned him in its tsunami of artistic power(my words) That film had been "The fifth Element" with Bruce Willis and he had me right there-*ANY* film that elicits comparison with that one has me deeply interested, and that review had me on my way to see a movie based on a comic book.(something I had vowed would never happen again

I was talking to my nurse this morning about those highly realistic solid silicone sex dolls. I said I'd thought about getting one as a "photographic model".

He said that when he'd been in Japan there'd been coffee shops where one could pay to be seated next to one. There was some jocularity on the subject of people talking to inanimate objects. He said that it was a new (japanese) invention.

I laughed at him, I said"Ha! what about all those twats who talk to crucifixes and swear their invisible friend in the sky talks back?" ( of course I didn't say "twats"- but used another word, equally unflattering)

He took my point in good form, laughed and was unoffended (he is a good nurse and like me sails the wide apostasea).

I said "I love blaspheming!"

he said "yes I can see that. They'd be offended having their crucifixes compared to sex dolls! I laughed. "what about the other mob?"

"What other mob?"

"The ones who'd be insulted by having their sex dolls compared to crucifixes!"

We both cracked up

Transa carnaval a Louca
This film takes the common "tried and true" paradigm of tranny porn (and porn generally) and turns it onto its head.It abandons the three minute "quick sank ideal of the old school porno industry ; a hangover of the length of super-8 loops (discussed elsewhere in this blog and discards it instead for the "meditation sank paradigm" of a person to wants to engage in long periods of "tantric wanking"(where orgasm is not a race/important. Its a very pleasant change. The film takes the form of a  documentary camera at a  large carnival party for "differently sexed" clientele; Anyone who has been to a big party will no the ethos, all sorts of shenanigans in the corners while the unimaginative or inhibited  dance themselves to death under the lights; This is a pretty respectable party though, there are people having sex right on the dance floor, on the tables, brazenly, shamelessly, outrageously. It's a fun party, and its fun to watch, after a time you realise the truth. If places like this exist on Earth, and at least this one obviously did(at least for a day or so; then all those "values" you were brought up with were and are rubbish, because here in front of you is a whole *other* set of values and, not to mince words, these values are obviously- better Then, with much drama you reach orgasm. And, you can take it from me, it probably won't be a normal orgasm. After all, how could you expect it to be? You've probably been lolling around, masturbating and thinking increasingly frenzied and rebellious thoughts for upwards of an hour; when you finally cross the line into the glories of tantric orgasmland the effects are likely to be noticeable, indeed, they could get you in the eye, or stain the ceiling.-recommended. Indeed, its highly recommended.