Tag Archives: enterntainment

What I shit, when I am bulshitting


Broadway Market’s roaring streets sort of forgot our rustic table. The oldie now was beautified with freshly baked pizzas and house wine enough to forget its age and it all left our weird trio in a movie-like atmosphere. Perhaps it was the alcohol or exhaustion, but suddenly the overview effect overtook my neurons of perception and life as a movie reminded me about the ones on the big screen. Me, being idea hamster as I am, suddenly spat out:

-I have to admit… I am a sucker for shitty movies.

Duo nodded.

Shawshank Redemption? Thank you, but no thank you … Wait a second, before suddenly silently or out loud naming me with the synonyms of arrogance that frequently are censored in more official media platforms. The movie is beautiful: a heart-breaking plot and deep meaning, but why do I feel that something is missing? As if all of my functions turn off, with the exceptions of unpermitted emotions running wild together with my hand-popcorn-mouth combo of fattening  tradition. Sure, there’s a napkin or two covered in tears (I hate to be disgusting , but it’s actually a sleeve. As if I would waste my money on napkins) and snot, but is that enough? I become a fat  marionette on director’s vampiric strings that suck tears and money. Exaggeration? Yes… But sometimes weirdos do think like that and tumblerers in my defense claim that “weird is rad”.


So yeah, I loooove shitty films and four incompetent “o’s” just stand here to prove the point. The bigger (longer) the better. Every weird dialogue or hilariously unrealistic effect, automates the critical machine of thinking and amuses me in similar patterns of Bakhtin’s idea of a carnival and forbidden laughter. I have to admit, I feel better about myself. Is that sad? By all means. But you know what, guys? I’d rather choose to be happy about what I have or never direct instead of crying that Brad Pit (Fight Club) does not exist or that I would never become successful (partly) like Jordan (The Wolf of Wall Street) or the fact that maybe I would never create a masterpiece as above.

I am not suggesting to think alike, for fuck’s sake, what would we do without the people who can have intellectual conversations about the costumes on Coppola’s Antoinette or similar bullshit. I bow to you sirs, but if there’s anyone who slightly agrees with me, please do not hesitate in recommending the shittiest crap you’ve ever came across, here.


Photo Diary: Chapter 1

My cheeks are hurting, as it is a warm midsummer’s night-time and I am fenced by a joyful swarm of folks, all of it causing me to grin around-the-clock. I keep on floating within the crowd and a dim Italian ballad resides in the interior of my ear cosily beating its drum. Now this wholehearted sound grew into a personal tinnitus. Rome & Florence, It was nice to meet you