DIY Filmmaker Sujewa: The Cool School trailer link

DIY Filmmaker Sujewa: The Cool School trailer link

I don’t pout, I brood.

I broody broody mr. moody. I am Buck Mulligan and you are Stephen Daedalus. Not only do we possess these characteristics of active life and thoughtful recording, but we have recognized and acknowledged it and even come to Rome, a cradle of civilization to actualize the potential that has been instilled in us. We are the new American Dream- we are living out what people don’t yet understand about this generation; we are giving meaning to a life that MTV has failed to define. We’re putting the brilliant young ass-holes of the 21^st century on the map.

No we are not. We are trying to find a bus that runs in this city at 4:30 am. We are drunk and spending other peoples money. We are foolish and with any other exchange rate would be overweight. We ate McDonalds this afternoon on the ruins of the Roman Forum. We are like the pigeons of St. Marks Piazza. Foolish birds clucking and concentrating solely on the food ix inches in front of their faces oblivious to the extrinstic beauty and worth around them- certainly never able understand any intrinsic value or meaning.

tes levres

"drive", the spot on the road- the ciggy tips the lips, taj mahal talkin' about cheatin' on you, i'm approachin' you. the truck in front of me, nasty size, i push past fast above eighty degrees, ask you please if we can stay up later. baltimore to paris, new york, back, then forth, like "come forth with everything you got, i'm yours", like a mix between the old and new sound, so it has a hot bass but fucks with some minor chords that just scream in a brazen anger, even ol' taj says "damn, give me that again". "you fit me", hit me with a reach, you could teach me so much if i had any patience or capacity to learn. if i speak one language, and you speak another, and we think in a collective language different than the first two, how can we talk? eyes are the window to the gut, but ours are the same color, so does that mean our guts are the same color? I didn't want to talk about souls. i mean that in a figurative way. i'm not talking to anyone at all, the truck is still in front of me, i tried to change lanes, but can't find space. i guess i could just go for it, and forget about the space, but i'm not one to gun it. i think i'll take my time.

C.R.E.A.M

i think the lull is because for so long this thing has just been a vent. Catch a breath of fresh air and you lose a bit of the edge on your tongue; these margins are seams thats can't hold in the view. that's not a "you'll never understand what i've seen tip." more like a - i'm having trouble understanding what i've seen. (seriously, who ever thought the quote we all grew up thinking was clever but false "fools speak cuz they have to say something, wise men speak cuz they have something to say" would ring true. I mean we get a taste and its a punch in the face. but you gotta hold your ground, and bite your tongue, let em know you're in with the times. can't blow your cover though. that blow put you in your place, you know you don't have shit to say.

but of course i'm full circle, once again wondering what everybody else has seen, and thinking maybe people are curious about me too. glad we got this little knights of the roundtable meeting ground. so guess i'll start the horseplay and splash around in this baby pool of slippery confusion.

basically just one thought of late;

im not sure of what utilitarian philosophers are proposing - that we already live in a utilitarian society, or that a just society is a utilitarian one? well either way John Rawls give a scathing critique; any conception of justice should be founded on the two independent entities of what is right and what is good, whereby what is right leads to the most good. but utilitarianism doesn't separate them, what is good is assumed to be right and thereby are one in the same. Guess that would make sense if I could explain his null hypothesis of why what is right and what is good have to be distinguished (instead of them being synonymous), but i can't. well either way...

ive just been thinking it seems like maybe we are living in a utilitarian society already. and i dont think utilitarianism is theoretically just, nor do i think our society is just. but, is capitalism naturally utilitarian, or can capitalism be responsible? can it be altruistic? sympathetic? humble enough to recognize that although we may all be rational and free thinking...we live in a society where your height can predispose you to making millions playing ball (just the tip of the iceberg)? idk guess just throwing out that when its said "assuming all other things being equal" we are just assuming. hmmill leave it at that, maybe ill go back to edit and make sense of this later, but for now...

im baaAAaack.

clean your glasses

im coming for this thing real soon

Apathy

My own mind is more interesting to me than the entire country.

Why should I feel guilty that I don’t light dollar bills up with the poor, huddled masses to illuminate the white house on a dark D.C. night?

My internal narrative is incessant and offers me no exit into the socially constructed reality
I know what is real to me and the foreman of that reality doesn’t give a fuck about anything else… Not Iraq, not inflated rats in front of my school, not Darfur, not nothing.

But then, alas, bile corrodes my soft pink throat and I know how ugly I am- I am guilty and the blood is on my hands—I am xenophobic, lazy, and too disinterested to pursue knowledge let alone materialize action.

I legitimize my games because the sun also rises, and I tell myself that I am James Joyce’s great nephew and silence, exile, and cunning will lead me through.

I’m confused now- because I do care- I care so god damn much and all I want is for things to be right, and to actualize the arsenal for change
But I am not ready- I know not even myself and my imagination is not fully developed to fictionalize a better world, one with hope, one that is different than the one in which I live.

We all want to be revolutionary, but…

This honesty is not revolutionary.
Smoking weed is not revolutionary.
Not cutting your hair is not revolutionary.
Over exposed film and incoherent plot lines not kept afloat by half-assed symbolism is not revolutionary.
Rage against the machine is revolutionary, but not when its coming through your headphones.
Cranking butts, and rubbing bleary eyes between sips of cold coffee is not revolutionary.
Having the outline of Africa on your Timberland boots is not revolutionary
The individual is not revolutionary
Hobart and William Smith Colleges is not revolutionary
A Hammer and Sickle novelty tee shirt is not revolutionary
A Che Guevera Trucker hat is not revolutionary
Cramming Marx and Engles for an exam is not revolutionary
Saying you’re a political liberal and fiscal conservative is not revolutionary
Wearing a bright red pin on your satchel book bag that reads “is it fascism yet?” is not revolutionary

These are empty shells of a revolution- the molting of a snake after he and his essence has moved forth apart. The only thing revolutionary in this day and age at Princeton Review’s 19th most politically apathetic school is ideas. As these seeds in my head grow, I want to plant them in the television and on the big screen and in a book and in a weekly column and in the soul of someone else who knows more than me.

White boy pain spilled out on the floor tonight because everyday life is getting easier and it’s making me uncomfortable. Life is good, I say and smile, because it really is and I am guilty but can’t stop smiling, and my own mind is still so much more important
and I am still an asshole
and Tuesday morning’s seat race is still a priority
and I will still never accomplish anything,
and I will still make money
and I will still drink rum at night and coffee in the morning
and life will still be good.

If however, my pugnacity shall arise from its paralysis, life will not be good, and my coffee will not be from starbucks, but my mind and body will have given back and the circle will be complete.
And my kids will respect me
and my wife will be tired but kiss me more deeply
and my head will ache but I will sleep more soundly.
and life will be good

I can’t wait to say thank you to the world for giving me this time to think, to develop my own personal narrative, to imagine what the world could be before I jump in and try and turn it into what it should be.

But for now, I am twenty years old and very happy to be confused. I wouldn’t worry about it though.

You may find yourself in a beautiful house...

...with a beautiful wife. You may ask yourself- how did I get here?

I'm driving from greenwich to newport in someone else's father's car. I am drinking rum at an expensive private beach. I act like I'm used to it, but I know I don't fit in- I can't fit in, it is not organic. But alas, I am there. These are my friends. This is not me. This is me. This is life, and to this point this is how the world has turned and this is where I am. Caught with one foot off the merry go round- whipped around weightlessly/feet planted firmly to the ground. My nose is broken after being smashed by a series of opening and closing books; and when I look up nothing makes sense because they're not words; it's life and people and water and sand and alcohol and the words mean nothing. I remember the words and sip slowly because I want it to taste good/ And it does taste good so I breathe deep and close my eyes knowing that there are more books to read. I promise myself these bullshit lies will end and I'll fucking do it, just do it- I swear I will. But god damn that chair is comfortable and those little kids are adorable in their little J Crew madras bathing suits/ and their mothers are fucking gorgeous because they don't work, but rather look good. At least I know I'm in the drivers seat/ but when you're drunk and have been sunning all day, you typically ride shotgun,..-I typically oblige.


You may ask yourself where does that highway lead to. You may ask yourself, "am I right, am I wrong?" You may say to yourself- "My God! What have I done?!"

I am the epitome of a lazy generation with too much of their parents money and subsequent low expectations. White= Advantaged. Money= Priveleged. Male= Never recieve prejudice. These blessings are daggers hanging from strings on the ornate ceiling above the throne of the Greek King I learned about in latin during my liberal arts education which is important to supposed to know. If only I were a poor mexican day laborer picking grapes in salinas, my ideas would mean something- because they would be all I have. But my American dream is one not yet constructed, for Horatio Alger and my father already lived out the one we all know.

Same as it ever was