Mood: mock intellectual...whatever the hell that's supposed to mean...
Song: Sunny Afternoon - The Kinks
Book: Le Comte de Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas (almost finished! 
)
Quote: "Life seems nothing more than a quick succession of busy nothings." (prolly Jane Austen, since it is taken from the film of Mansfield Park...however, since its been a while since I read it, I'd have to check of that)
Film: Les Amants Réguliers...nouvelle Nouvelle Vague (I do believe Louis Garrel might be my new cinematic crush...
)
Il n'y a que le cynisme... You may create these romanticised, nostalgic ideas about living among parisian students in '68, or the bohemians at the turn-of-the-century. Yet somehow I can't help but feel it was all just bullshit. Dreams of an artiste...delusions...what are the chances? More importantly, what is the point? Spending all your time getting stoned, doing absolutely nothing with your life. Revolution? The idea died before it was ever born.
I can't say it was only this film that spurred on this rant (I actually enjoyed it...even though Nouvelle Vague has never been much of a favourite). This is no more than a thought I've been mulling over time and time again, marvelling at my own hypocrisy. On the one hand, the attractiveness of being (seen as) the youthful idealist; on the other, the desperation in search of independance and (apparent) maturity.
("If you’re not a liberal before you’re thirty, you lack a heart; if you're still a liberal after thirty then you lack brains." last heard in The Edukators, but been around for longer...origin unknown...)
Must clean this up soon...terrible post, terrible writing, but v. late and tired.
EDIT: Have just realized I have in fact rambled on this subject yonks ago...and much more elloquently rambled too...
Ps. Why didn't I even mention Sandi Thom's I Wish I was a Punk Rocker (with Flowers in my Hair)? So appropriate...
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
In 77 and 69, revolution was in the air
I was born too late, into a world that doesn't care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
When the head of state didn't play guitar,
Not everybody drove a car,
When music really mattered and when radio was king.
When accountants didn't have control,
And the media couldn't buy your soul,
And computers were still scary and we didn’t know everything.
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
In 77 and 69, revolution was in the air
I was born too late, into a world that doesn't care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
When popstars still remained a myth,
And ignorance could still be bliss,
And when God Saved the Queen she turned a whiter shade of pale.
When mum and dad were in their teens,
And anarchy was still a dream,
And the only way to stay in touch was a letter in the mail.
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
In 77 and 69, revolution was in the air
I was born too late, into a world that doesn't care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
When record shops were on top,
And vinyl was all that they stocked ,
And the super info highway was still drifting out in space.
Kids were wearing hand me downs,
And playing games meant kick arounds,
And footballers still had long hair and dirt across their face.
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
In 77 and 69, revolution was in the air
I was born too late, into a world that doesn't care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
I was born too late, into a world that doesn't care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
Pps. Lovely little piece of philosophising spurred by Louis Garrel's aimaisse regulière...(don't ask me if that is an actual French word, I think I just made it up...)
