Films and Flippings, Optimism No Comments

I do not act as the critic when I blog about films. And I guess I never will be. It doesn’t mean that the technical side is taken for granted, but it’s just that sometimes there’s more to a movie than what it technically is.

Usually I’d ask myself if it touched me—which most of the time I need not do, since I’d know it even before I bring in the question. This was what happened when I watched Conversations with God. I got a “yes” even before the question, “Did it move me?”

A scene from the movie. Click the link above to watch.

And I’m not afraid to use as many I’s as I want to in this post. No, not now. This film is about me, and I guess, about a lot of other people too.

The movie’s based on a book of the same title by Neale Walsch. It has some answers that I think most of us need. It’s simple, and light, but real.

I urge you to see it.

Train collection 004: the unicorn

Masquerade, the Train collection 1 Comment

It was just there, in front of me. Listening to its teammate about something, maybe volleyball, soccer. While the pal was scribbling something, game strategies perhaps, it was listening intently—black mane, and the whitest set of enamels I’ve ever seen. A kind of white only fantasy creates. It was almost real.

I now think that unicorns, not rainbows, show up after the rain. You see, it has been pouring since daybreak and only until about past 2 in the afternoon, well at least in Yokohama, did it start to clear up. I got to see this magical creature inside a train car. Matching its wavy black mane is a bonnet on. Lips a little bit dry—it’s late winter—but still pinkish, almost red, and full—not the erotic type, but a fullness that’s pure, almost innocent. The late afternoon sun was up, with its last soft glow of light, when this apparition of a wavy-maned unicorn, in black bonnet caught my eyes.

It was in a stop in Koenji, or in Kichijoji, when it noticed my glances. But how can one keep from doing so when a unicorn—listening to strategies in a volleyball/soccer game—is just in the opposite seat? I couldn’t. And then I focused on the hooves, one word: magical. The eyes, indescribable; I just glanced at them, and hoped that the images caught would be preserved in my head forever. But when it noticed my glances, I decided to stop. Stop glancing. I tell you, it was the sweetest self-inflicted punishment I’ve ever done and felt. To not glance at this bonneted unicorn with wavy mane pained me with excruciating fear that never again shall I see it; but this also ecstatically swirled my world on this seat of a train with images of what I just behold of a creature of magic.

It’s my stop (I mean the station where I get off). And since I decided not to glance again when it noticed I was doing so, I was also resolved that everything was unreal. That it was just, as I’ve said, fantasy.

But they, the teammate and the unicorn who appeared after the rain, also stepped out of the train. So it lives somewhere ’round my area. But I’ve already stopped glancing. For to glance one last time would spell my destruction: remember a scene in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone? It warned that when you try to suck out the blood of a unicorn, you will live an immortal life—but a cursed life nonetheless. My glances had begun to suck its blood out, and I don’t want to live in a meaningless eternity, what’s more, I don’t want to have anything to do in the death of such pure a creature—that unicorn with a black bonnet on a wavy mane, with the whitest set of enamels only fantasy can create, looking at me now getting out of 武蔵境駅:Musashisakai station’s south exit.

I didn’t glance back. Goodbye unicorn.