Danny DeVito, Birdseye

Not only do people point to very different features when they describe aesthetic experience or justify aesthetic judgments, but the language of aesthetic discourse also varies tremendously from one place and time to another.--Marcia Eaton

10 Rillington Place encapsulates a verity that transcends its age as a film. I remember viewing parts of it at a young age, but believe the lugubrious waif this spastic moll once was took it as a thriller; the revisitation and nostalgia of it is more chilling, and sexually arousing. Being drugged into passivity pussy access is a stimulus. Asphyxiation after the fact is not. Necrophilia is putrid. No one looks at a man like Christie and wants to suspect that he can strangle an innocent child, achieve erection with cadavers, and yet the lexicon has overtaken us, giving Hannibal in his incarnations another kind of veracity, a language of irony with pop culture and the liberation of murder, a liberation that takes on its own linguistic structure, embedded in Saussure's classification of human vocalization. The parent empire has staid formulations, even the same frictions with the African diaspora. Bryan Fuller mitigates it by being hip. Americans like a classy subversion.

I mull Devito's arc. Drowning Mona has yet another kind of truism, marred or not by familiar casting. Mothers have to live with the psychological score cards imprinted, and as a consequence, we laugh at the adult maiming and emasculation, wincing. Marcus projects a good old schlub in the end while we whack each other with all our emotional baggage, naked vulnerability.  Jamie Lee Curtis hits one out of the park. She made me laugh in a 25 year old satirical drama that ran fresh for me, cuing recognitions in its exaggeration. But our real vulnerabilities inflict real trauma.

"I've always recognized the personal bond between us."

Linda Dezenski wrote that to me fourteen years ago and what the fuck is she doing? is what I asked myself. She never telephoned Matrix to see how I was. Never extended her friendship after I had resigned from her department. I felt gratified, however, and thought her authority would remain a safe harbor for me. Infantile? Perhaps. In 01, in a tactical mistake, I met with her between mutual human shields. You stay away from me. An indictment uttered I've been putting on trial ever since. I liked her before I made the attempt to trust her. It is difficult, not having healthy and happy social bindings, and that was one thing I wanted, friendships. The esteem of work, my own self reliance, all up in smoke. Let's see.

Louise tried. Daniel Schneider tried, but these are online contacts. Schneider was a misconstrued apprehension. Louise was too close to home and too young. Ed tried, and miscued and I bristled, again, on trust, I engaged his associate. Zach and I bumped like fools, but it was not Zach. My history with Project Share is best left as ancient history. Everything instant digital access is necessarily beneficial?