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contours provocations
journal - 2001-0524 - thu 2000 Maze, "Memento," Combat, Lunch, Laundry, Queerscribe About an hour ago, I switched on the tv and came across "Some Mother's Son," the story of the Irish hunger strikers at Maze Prison in Belfast in the early 80s. A powerful, evocative film that manages to distill some of the complex issues of Northern Ireland of the time. Ten young men died in the hunger strikes at Maze Prison. A terrifying and horrific sacrifice in the name of political freedom. Last night, I again checked the official web site for "Memento." After some exploration, I realized I'd missed a great deal on my first visits. It is a fascinating site that compliments the movie AND provides additional facts. I can't say that it resolves any doubts; if anything, it may introduce new ones. (BTW: The site is one of the best uses of Flash I've seen. It actually manages to mirror the story-telling technique of the movie.) Visit Memento. I also read through some more of the comments at IMBD about "Memento," and came across several perspectives I'd not considered before. So I'm still not certain if I have a fix on what happens in the film. This morning, I realized I was out of underwear, so I went combat for the day. With this in mind, I wore a pair of carpenter jeans that allows you to place your equipment clearly to one side or the other. This is such a practical thing because you know where everything is, and it can all be easily adjusted if need be. And it is a nice sensation to feel the fabric rubbing across your unencumbered balls when you're sitting. And I've this erotic fixation on being able to see buldges. At lunch I surreptitiously eyed the young, blond guy who was working the door where I ate. He is striking, but in a subdued way. Scultped, tight slightly curly blond hair. Wearing a gold restaurant shirt and black jeans. If I'd seen him when I came in, I could have opted for a seat at the bar with a better line of sight. After work, I hopped off to the laundry lugging two hampers of dirty clothes. I filled the washers, inserted quarters, pushed buttons and watched the machines begin to swoosh and jiggle. Since I knew I didn't have enough moola for the dryers, I sprinted off to the nearest ATM. When I returned I noticed someone I knew had appeared. Several times in the past, I've commented on seeing him at the laundry. (I'd been introduced to him several years ago, and I remember him. But I know he has no idea who I am.) He has the features of one of the 40s Latin movie idols. And he has always appeared so dapper even in shorts and a tee. It has been at least a year, since I've seen him. The first thing that struck me was how different he looked. His previously black hair was streaked with gray. His complexion was almost ashen. The first thing that occured to me was that he might be HIV+. Of course, I have no way of knowing that. He could have recently been ill. Or there could be many other explanations. None of which are any of my business. Several weeks ago, I'd e-mailed Queerscribe with a comment about his journal. He in return, started reading mine, and said he wanted to include it in his recommended list. He ask me for a journal description, which of coure, I dillied and dallied over, and never finished. But then I noticed the other day that he had generated one based on what he'd read. I'm impressed with how accurate it appears. PAX!
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